Jan

All The Days Are Normal {A Beginning, A Middle but Never An End}

Such a normal day.

Thought I should stay in bed and let Crayton get up with the kids, still sore from surgery. Didn’t. Thought about my new website..wrote emails..looked through toy catalogues. Ava asked me to use the IQ and rewind the show on tv but we couldn’t find the remote. We laughed while she scrambled to find it, me winding her up, saying that it was just about finished and it’d be too late. She watched it three times over.

In Grandad’s study she sat on my lap while I worked until I said “Sweetie Mummy loves having you here but I can’t see while your head’s in the way” and I put her beside me. She played with the beaded heart. She pulled out my craft supplies. She asked what something was in the catalogue. Over and over. The same thing. ”What’s this Mummy”. And over and over, I told her. Luca asking to rearrange beds. He didn’t want to share with his brother anymore. I said okay.

We left. She wanted to go back and get something. She yelled and cried because I wouldn’t. Ten paces from Grandads, I could have just turned around. But I didn’t. I walked inside. Grumpy. She followed me, grumpier. She yelled the house down and Daddy said to go and get it. And she did. She turned around and walked down that hall. Crying and complaining.

Re-arranging. Getting rid of rubbish. Making the boys rooms look so nice. Finding Ava’s missing baby doll. Should I take it over to her at Grandads? She’d be so happy I found it. No, I’ll just put it aside for her. ”Crayte be careful throwing things over the balcony, look out for Ava”. ”Yes boys, you can swim but sunscreen first.” They laughed while I used too much and made a game of it.

Cashews. I had a hand full of cashews. ”BOYS. IS AVA DOWN THERE?”. What? Ava wouldn’t be down there? Why is Ava not where she should be? Why is Crayton calling her? He’s just been to Grandads. Why is she not there? Where on Earth is she?

No, no, it’s okay, it’ll be okay..Frowning.

Walking, fast. There’s Grandad. In front of the car. Where’s Ava? Where did she say she was going? What? But she’s not at my house? And only ten seconds later. There was Ava. In an instant, a split instant, I knew. Before I even opened the door, I knew. The shock and the terror and the chaos and the panic and the confusion. She was there and she was breathing but she was gone. I knew.

And forty eight terrifying hours ticked by before our adored girl, our sweet, longed-for Ava, slipped away.

For many months I’ve had these words swirling around in my head. I’ve pieced them together into some kind of story..a beginning, a middle and an end. Except the ending hasn’t ended. I don’t expect it ever will. The ending is so long and painful and drawn out..I suppose it’s not really an ending at all then?

Why do I need to share Ava and espescially these moments? I don’t know. Maybe I hope someone will come along and explain it to me? Maybe someone has the answer as to how that perfectly ordinary, sunny day could become what it did? We adored Ava, she was so loved and protected. It was just a normal day. We are good parents. How?

And there are so so many things about the 24 hours before her accident that were not normal. Just little variations, tiny things really, but one-offs. All piecing together to make way for our tragedy. Lining up ready to steal our child and our joy and our vision of the future. Just one thing…one thing different. I can’t make sense of it, it scrambles and blurs when I try to.

What has become clear to me though is that you can plan and hope all you want, you can imagine and presume and expect life to go a certain way but really, there is no watertight guarantee. All the days are “normal”. The happy ones, the sick ones, the bored ones, the tragic ones. I am no expert, I have less clarity than the average person but what I have found, because of One Normal Day, is this:

Live each day, every single day, with the understanding that one does not necessarily lead into the other. Hug your family. Tight. Put aside What Does Not Matter. Tomorrow could be a completely new kind of normal.

S xxx

/ NEXT POST

amy j. says:

ebkouovuSheye,
I just wanted to know that the “why” of you telling these things to us…to hopefully teach us all a very valuable lesson. I read your blog, but with much trepidation I must admit. Losing a child has been my worst fear even before I had children. My mother lost my brother at the age of 12 so I know what a lifetime after such a thing is for a mother. I witnessed the pain my entire life. I fear ever experiencing that pain, as you can hopefully understand.

I’m not a perfect mother, far from it. I get way to upset with my girls sometimes over stupid things. And I always realize afterward how stupid and pointless it was. After. This mornign I got really upset with my five year old over her losing a shoe and making us late again for school. I yelled at her and upset her. I felt bad of course, after. But when reading your post I started sobbing in true fear and remorse and panic. What if today was the day I lost her? What if my last time with her was me yelling over a lost shoe? The pain of the thought made me sob and nearly lose my breath.

Thank you so much for helping me realize that I MUST try and take a moment and realize these things are so MINUTE in comparison to what could happen on any given day. I’m trying really hard to not hate myself for not seeing this ALL the time, letting my emotion or tiredness or whatever get the best of me and make me less than aware. I know it, deep down I do. I just don’t put it into action as I should, which is totally unacceptable.

I think of you and Ava often. I bought two of her princess prints because I couldn’t bear the thought of not. I hope all of this…finding your story, feeling your pain, realizing your truth and seeing your strength leads me to being a better mother. I so hope that is what will happen because I want to do that in honor of your sweet Ava. And for you, my fellow mother in arms.

I always say that when a mother is “made” she joins a very exclusive club, where only other members ever really understand what it means to be a member. And because of that fact, you and I, mothers, are united and connected. And that means because I love my children as much as I do, I understand completely how much you love yours and how much pain the loss of Ava is causing you. I want us to be better mothers…everyone one of us…to honor the grace and gift of your child and every other child that comes into our lives. They ARE meant to make us better people, in their arrival and even in their utterly senseless and painful departure. I find that remarkably beautiful.

I plan on falling at my little girls feet when she gets home from school and telling her how sorry I am for yelling at her this morning and helping her clean her playroom and making her a snack. And be so utterly thankful that I can that my heart just can’t stand it.

Thank you Sheye.
~n~ says:

Sheye, I have been addicted to your blog for a long time now but I’ve never found the words to write to you. I’ve read every posting and every single comment your readers have replied and every time I find myself welled up with a lump in my throat and a box of kleenex sitting on my printer! My body aches for you – that’s the only way I can describe the physical feeling I get when I read your blog. I look forward to sitting down every night with a cuppa once the kids are in bed to read your new posting. I even feel disappointed if a day goes by and you haven’t made an entry. You have an amazing ability to put your thoughts into words and photos in such a way that it can touch anyone. You make me cherish my family more every day…every ‘normal day’. You should be soooo proud of your little princess Ava as she has allowed you to touch the hearts and lives of thousands of families around the world. Ava has allowed you to enter into the homes of ‘us’ and share your life. Even whilst I am writing this to you I have my 4yr old hounding me to come look at the animal safari he made from blocks (I’ve been in to look 5 times now and every time he calls me I just keep going in and looking at the same thing. He says the same thing and I reply with the same thing then I walk away grinning and continue writing to you). You have taught me to appreciate the smallest things in life. You have taught me to look at my children in a different way. When I look at them I have so much love for them that sometimes it makes me cry because I feel like I love them too much. I often say to Max (my 4yr old) “I love you soooo much. I think I love you too much -is that possible?” and he says ” no mummy – you can’t love me too much”.
Sheye, I just want you to know I think about you and your beautiful family every day.

Thank you for sharing your life
xox
linda says:

Dear Sheye,
It seems strange to comment as I have been reading your blog for many months. I stumbled onto it while browsing photo blogs. I was immediately captivated and inspired by your pictures.I am a mom of three young kids and hope to someday have enough time and resources to pursue my love for photography, though after seeing yours I almost wanted to just give up. First, I want to thank you for sharing your work as I have loved learning through it. I like many others feel compelled to thank you for sharing your story and your pain. Ava’s life and your love for her has left it’s print on my heart. Her super princess prints hang on my little Ella’s wall and remind me to savor every fleeting moment. I have prayed many prayers for you these last months. May your lovely family find peace and blessing in the days ahead despite the wounded heart you will always carry. Thankyou for your realness and for sharing little Ava with so many.
Sincerely,
Linda
Kate says:

All my love – everyday…

k8
hollie says:

Live each day, every single day, with the understanding that one does not necessarily lead into the other…..I have thought about this many many times since reading it on your post and it brings me down to reality and clarifies the important things in every day life. All of you – in my prayers.
Melinda says:

Sheye, I love your blog, and all that it teaches me. When you said “Just little variations, tiny things really, but one-offs.” I knew exactly what you meant. My husband’s sweet sister was taken when she was just 19, and it was exactly that way. An ordinary day, but when you look back, those little things…
Paulyn says:

I wish I had something great to say, Sheye, but the words won’t come.

Know, know, know that you have made a difference. Big hugs to you. xxxlqftb
Morgan says:

xoxo, Sheye. I just want to cry. I’m so sorry this is your reality. I just love you and your honesty. xoxo
Mandy xxx says:

Thank you so much Sheye for sharing this personal story with us. It both tears at my heart to read it, and also warms my heart that you are now at a place where you felt you could share this with us.

Hold the beautiful part of your memories to you as you held Ava to you that morning as you worked.

I was thinking of Ava before as Kaiesha just started to sing “you are my Sunshine”; I gave her a special hug, thought of Ava then came here to catch up on how you’re all doing. Bless you Sheye, you have really given so many of us a gift. To love our children even more.
Kriscinda says:

A friend told me about your blog a few weeks ago. The way you write is just beautiful. This post brings tears to my eyes.
I lost my daughter 8yrs ago before she was born. It is still so painful to think about, but to go through what you did is just unimaginable to me! I’m am so sorry for your loss!
Sarah says:

Sheye, there are no words to console you. It’s strange to not know you at all but to be so moved by your story. Please know that Ava has touched my heart.
Big hugs.
jenica says:

you are the essence of bravery. it’s a badge that is difficult to wear though.

5 houses down the street from me this same thing happened to 5 little girls, 9 years ago. there was no rhyme or reason to what happened. how could something so dreadful happen??? but likewise, there were a few things that some of the girls said just hours before it occured that make us all wonder…

*mommy, what is that keeps us on the earth?* gravity, her mother replies. *oh, well, i think i’m losing mine!*

the girls had been clamoring over treats when the oldest declares to the youngers, *where we’re going, we won’t be needing these treats!*

and then they were gone.

and of course, their story doesn’t end either. it continues to effect all who know of it. the pain, the guilt (for not knowing what to say, for having children the ages of theirs), the ache that i feel when i see and talk with their mothers. and yet as you say, life continues on with a new sense of normalcy.

i think of you and your beautiful family often. you and ava have turned this awful tragedy into something that brings families across the world closer to one another. everyone who reads your words and sees her darling face can feel of that love. and we all hold our dear ones a little tighter.

(((hugs)))
Anonymous says:

If I could turn back time …I would…
Jeanette says:

Sheye,
I have not commented here in quite a while, but I wanted to let you know that Ava has been on my mind all month. I am one of the many who will always carry a piece of her with me.

jeanette
Kristy says:

Too hard to comprehend that one minute there, another… gone…unimaginable. Unbelievably unfair… My heart breaks for you all… No one should ~ever~ have to lose a child… xo
Jayne says:

Sheye and little Ava
thank you.
You’ve touched me with the reality of what every moment means more than anybody in a lifetime has.

Find peace in that Ava’s legacy will continue to be shared, in between parents and their families.
I am so sorry Ava is no longer with you here on earth, but i’m sure she is the brightest sparkly star inthe night sky.
I am so thankful you have the courage to share your story, and your beautiful images, with us all. Much love XXX
Vikki says:

Your words are magic. They have penetrated every soul who has had the privilege of reading them…and hearing them. We would be wiser yet to heed to them.

I don’t have any magic back to you other than a testimony that we live after we leave this earth. This earth is a probationary state that we must be in, for how ever long we are allowed, and while living here, we are enchanted with the love of children. To love them. And to be loved by them. Both are unconditional and needful to exist.

I know missing your child is a real physical pain, and your emotional one connects with it…the more we love someone, the more intense it is. It’s that much love that binds.

I do get carried away with photography [CTR image photography on Flickr], cleaning, running..and on and on with daily tasks at hand. I think about spending more quality time with the two left at home [ages 12 and 4]. Read to them. Talk with them. Listen carefully. And, I feel I do a good job. After reading your blog, after hearing your heart, and feeling what we all thought of, I am bound to improve upon that desire of being a better mother in the areas that matter most..and no, not in how clean their room is…but laying on the messy bed to chat, kiss, or hug.

Thank you for sharing what is most precious above precious with us, strangers in far lands, but somehow, connected by same shared love, fear, faith and events.

I will pay better attention to our life.
I will hug tighter.
I will listen more attentively.
I will remember your counsel.

Thank you.

Vikki Wiessner
Idaho, USA
vikspiks@aol.com

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All The Days Are Normal {A Beginning, A Middle but Never An End}

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