I update my blog every year with this message and photo of the empty chair we place beside our fireplace.
Like many who have lost a loved one, I tear up during the Christmas season when I hear Bing Crosby sing “I'll Be Home for Christmas" on the car radio. I cry for my daughter Elizabeth would have turned 25 on December 18, 2014.
Expecting Elizabeth, due to be born on Christmas Eve of 1989, had been an exciting experience. But the moment she arrived on the 18th, I felt a stab of fear. My immediate thought was, “Her head looks so small—so deformed.”The neonatologist said, "Your daughter's brain is very small with calcium deposits throughout. If she lives, she will never roll over, sit up, or feed herself." He concluded that Elizabeth's birth defects were caused by congenital cytomegalovirus (CMV). Women who care for young children are at a higher risk for catching it because preschoolers are the majority of carriers. Pregnant women need to be careful not to kiss young children on or around the mouth or share food or towels with them.
Why hadn’t my OB/GYN warned me about this? While I was pregnant with Elizabeth, I not only had a toddler of my own, but I also ran a licensed daycare center in my home. I felt sick at what my lack of knowledge had done to my little girl. In milder cases, children with congenital CMV may lose hearing or struggle with learning disabilities later in life. But Elizabeth's case was not a mild one.
When my husband Jim heard Elizabeth's grim prognosis, he stared at her and said, “She needs me”—just like Charlie Brown with that pathetic Christmas tree.It took me about a year, but I eventually stopped praying that a nuclear bomb would drop on my house so I could escape my overwhelming anguish over Elizabeth's condition. Life did become good again—but it took a lot of help from family, friends, some Valium, and the Book of Psalms. We were eventually able to move forward as a happy, "normal" family.
Sixteen years later, I awoke feeling so proud of Elizabeth. It was her 16th birthday and just one week before her 17th Christmas. When the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” played on the radio, I cried thinking how hard Elizabeth fought to be home with us, overcoming several battles with pneumonia, major surgeries, and most recently, seizures. Weighing only 50 pounds, she looked funny to strangers as a result of her small head and adult teeth, but she was lovely to us with her long, brown hair, large blue eyes and soul-capturing smile. Although still in diapers and unable to speak or hold up her head, Elizabeth was very happy and loved going for long car rides. She especially enjoyed going to school and being surrounded by people, paying no mind to the stares of “normal” children who thought she belonged on the "Island of Misfit Toys."Less than two months after she turned 16, I dropped Elizabeth off at school. Strapping her into her wheelchair, I held her face in my hands, kissed her cheek, and said, “Now be a good girl today.” She smiled as she heard her teacher say what she said every time, “Elizabeth is always a good girl!” With that, I left.
At the end of the day, I got the call I had always feared. “Mrs. Saunders, Elizabeth had a seizure and she’s not breathing." The medical team did all they could, but she was gone.While holding Elizabeth’s body on his lap, my husband looked down into her partially open, lifeless eyes and cried, “No one is ever going to look at me again the way she did.”
As I prepare to celebrate my ninth Christmas without her, it was with some heartache that I brought down the holiday decorations from the attic. Elizabeth used to love to sit on the couch with her big, once homeless old dog Riley, and watch us decorate. (Their story is told in my memoir, Anything But a Dog! The perfect pet for a girl with congenital CMV.)
Now, I perform a new Christmas tradition. I carefully unfold the black and red checked shirt Elizabeth wore on her last day and hang it over an empty chair beside our fireplace. Although she can't be home for Christmas, I feel that she is my “Tiny Tim” who would say if she could, “God bless us, everyone!”
Although I miss Elizabeth, I’m glad she is free from suffering, glad she is safe in her new, Heavenly home. When my time comes, I will see her again. My father wrote a fairytale that I found very helpful after Elizabeth died. I have made it available as a free e-book, Surviving Loss: The Woodcutter's Tale. It includes comments on grieving from Julie Russell, a licensed clinical social worker, plus heart-felt illustrations by Elizabeth's aunt, Marianne Greiner. Download your free e-book in several different formats at: //www.smashwords.com/books/view/283862
The Only Thing I Can Do for Elizabeth Now
Since Elizabeth no longer needs my care, the only thing I can do for her now is to care for those not yet born—to prevent them from suffering as Elizabeth did. I do that by speaking and writing about congenital CMV prevention and am trying to get Connecticut politicians to pass a bill requiring congenital CMV education--especially in daycare settings. The Public Health Committee and House of Representatives pass this bill during the 2014 legislative session, but the Senate failed to vote on it. I'm currently meeting with politicians to try again for 2015. Learn more: Mom Asks CT AGAIN to Stop #1 Birth Defects Virus
After presenting the story of Elizabeth's life at the international Congenital CMV conference held at the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta, GA, in 2008, scientists from all over the world approached to thank me for inspiring them to continue their work. Mothers, on the other hand, pushed their children towards me in wheelchairs and asked, “Why didn’t my OB/GYN tell me how to prevent this?” One mother even asked, "Learning what you did, why didn't you do all you could to shout it from the rooftops?"
Until OB/GYNs make CMV prevention a standard practice of care, I'm trying to "shout it from the rooftops" through my light-hearted memoir about my girls and their series of dysfunctional pets, Anything But a Dog! The perfect pet for a girl with congenital CMV, which culminates with the unusual account of how a big, old homeless dog found his way to Elizabeth's couch and of their quiet bond. I also try to interest the media in Elizabeth's story and how her death could have been prevented