Where I try to express, unsuccessfully, my love for Mike

The days following Laila's death found me having feelings for Mike that I had never felt before. When he was out of my sight I found myself missing him, looking for him. Was he ok? Did he need me? I saw Mike give Laila CPR with the most calm, level headed manner. He knew exactly what to do and there was no hesitating or falling apart (quite different from my own actions). He just went about trying to save his daughter--I'm sure he would have done anything for her if only she could have been brought back.

While I sobbed in the corner, he held me and turned my face away from the paramedics so I didn't have to watch them put the tube down her throat. Even in his suffering, he was protecting me, trying to make this less horrible for me.

After declaring her dead, they allowed us to come in the room and hold her. In his selfless way, Mike let me hold her first. He sat by my side and waited his turn until he could hold his precious daughter. We sat together, holding her, and sobbing. It is a scene I won't ever forget.

Two things prevent me from writing more about that moment: First, I don't have a good enough grasp of the English language and can't possibly put those words together to describe the feelings we felt and experienced. And second, it was one of the most sacred experiences of my life and writing about it on here would lessen it.

For Mike, the preparations for the funeral, brought him relief. He was able to focus on the task at hand and get the work done, because it was business and he didn't have to think about Laila. For me, it was torture. I sat in a disbelieving daze--How can I be making these choices about my baby like it's an every day thing to do? With the help of my in-laws, Mike was able to take care of all the business. The only good I provided was crying whenever a choice was presented that I found wretched. Really, we are going to put tulle and flying angels around my baby? No, please.

We were surrounded by people but Mike was the only one that understood what I was feeling. Everyone else had their own sorrow and could imagine what it was like to lose one of their own children. But Mike and I were the only ones to actually know what it was like to lose a child.

We have experienced a lot together but this experience has brought us closer together in two months than the past eight years combined.

Eight years ago today I married Mike. I passed out on the alter. I remember looking up at the sealer at the pivotal moment where I had to say yes, and he kept looking at me, like he was willing me to keep my head up. Somehow I was able to say yes. Mike said it looked like I was possessed. I'm not sure about that or not, but knowing what I know now, I think Satan was trying to keep us apart.

There is no one I'd rather live my mortal life or eternal life with. Here's to hoping our next eight years don't include another experience that's quite so stretching. If it does, then I know we can make it through together.