Searcher, another lovely, emotional, well written story that is proof positive that you need to keep writing. Please print these things and keep them in a folder/binder. And keep writing them because they help heal you and positively bless others who are grieving.

Bluebird, Vi, Meredithbead, and Dotsie.

You are all so kind to me. I come here for comfort and healing, laughter and the chance maybe to help someone else with what I have learned along my way.....I have had all this and more. It is an absolute blessing to me. YOU all are an absolute blessing to me. And, remember, I'm not all that religious! (at least in the organized sense) So many of you really are helping me to grieve and to heal. This place has provided me with a opportunity to find myself again, to find what it is I need to be about in this world. And I am SO grateful to be able to tell my stories. To write about my little family , our memories, our Nichole and my Sam - and to have them recieved so well makes me cry with my very soul exposed. Each time I have written one of these, I have received encouragement from you - and this gives me the strength and the desire to write more. I am a little bit tentative still about beginning such a monumental thing as book, but writing in tiny bits as I have, seems to just be the thing for now. How many ways can I say THANK YOU?

Dotsie - I will print these, for if nothing else ever happens, Sam will some day be glad he has them. (Gotta get my new ink cartridge first!!)

I regret that I cannot traverse these forums as much as I would like - work has me busy. (Thank Harietta for that). I think I should develop a system. So If I don't respond as quickly or as wholly as I should, I beg your forgiveness. It is never my intention to slight anyone, or to be remiss in answering......

And so with all that, Here I go with another one!(Dotsie, you have heard this before, so you are free to go ! LOL)

(See, ya'll, where encouragement gets you! Pretty soon, you'll be saying "we've created a monster!!!)

I want to tell all of you about this story. It means soooo much to me.

When I found my Nichole, in the middle of the night, she was already gone. I never slept thoroughly, always listening with some other piece of myself for seizures. She had been fortunate enough to be the recipient of a vegus nerve stimulator. This was a miracle of a device, which fit just under the skin and delivered a small electrical stimulation to halt a seizure. It was working well, and she had returned almost to her pre-seizure self. (Sam and I count the years in terms of BS - before seizures -and a giggle is appropriate here) More alert, laughing more, able to comprehend her surroundings....We had our Niki back - after too many years of her life had been taken by drugs. The drugs were as bad, if not worse, than the seizures. And we had tried every new one on the market for 18 years. Only to find after a few months, that they ceased to work. We were so very hopeful this time. And were working toward decreasing the medications she was on. We had just bought a lift van for Nichole for a Christmas present, and were engaged in buying a most beautiful, handicapped accessible home - split design, so Sammy could have his living room, bath, and bedroom on one side, his own apartment really with a personal outside entrance, while Nichole and I had our bedrooms and bath on the other side. Perfect. And a gorgeous view of the mountains to boot!!! And still, the house backed up to the greenbelt - which is a walkway with plenty of empty land surrounding it that runs all around the Boise area for, I think, 40 miles or so, usually following the river.We had just bought the trappings for a little waterfall and pond for the backyard, which Nichole could finally access with her wheelchair...All was perfect. And we were so hopeful for the first time in ever so many years......Every morning, Nichole and I would look out at our mountain, and talk about what we saw today - the shadows, the sunlight and how it made the mountain look different every day, and the great, magnificence of the raptors which fly over the river beyond, diving to catch their prey. We marveled at the eagles, the hawks, and even the many songbirds who use this place as a migratory corridor. And every night, Nichole would say, "How is our sunset, Mom? Pink or orange?"

That night, I awoke hearing the beginnings of a grand mal seizure - I lay there listening to see if the VNS would stop it. It did. So, I thought, wonderful, we'll both sleep sweetly tonight...But then I heard nothing else. No rustling of covers, no turning in bed. Nothing. A deadly silence. I got up to investigate, and when I saw her, I panicked as I never do. I am not one who panics. Not after so many, many years of crisis. But there she was, inverted upside=down , on her neck, bottom in the air, between the bed and her wheelchair and the nightstand. A little triangle of space, with her in the middle, upside down. No noise, nothing. I screamed. And went to remove her chair so I could get at her. The chair would not engage for too long a time. The chair weighs 400 pounds or more. Finally, I got it moved back and then ,with strength only a mother can possess, I threw her with one hand clear across the room onto her back. I could see she was gone. I started CPR and pinked her up twice. Then I realized I had to get the phone. I ran to find it, leaving her there, not breathing. Knowing, knowing....too much time, too much time......Calling 911 - the woman was just doing her job, trying to keep me on the phone, but this was keeping me from doing my CPR - keeping precious breaths from my baby, I finally threw the phone across the room. By then the emergency squad was there. Knocking to get in - I screamed to come in but they didn't hear me. So I had to leave her again. It took them so long to get a hearbeat. Too long. Too long. I knew. I called my Sam - COME HOME - right now, he said? RIGHT THIS MINUTE, SAM - she's NOT BREATHING!!! I should have told him to drive carefully, because he sped home at 90 miles an hour. The next I knew, he was leaping over the end table, to avoid colliding with the paramedics and to get the dog out of the way. Winston, (the dog) was transfixed with sight of all going on - maybe as upset as we. And would not move. Sam picked him up and set him in the kitchen. (Winston was a black lab, very old, and very heavy - we had to put him down a few months later, we think he just gave up after Nichole )Next, I was in Sam's arms, each of us giving the other some of our depleted strength.

So I dressed, got my address book with the phone numbers, and went to the hospital. The news was not good. But they were going to try to "cool her down" - put her in ice - to retard any further brain damage. This was hard to see. She hated being cold, and was, often, because of her missing pituitary gland (another story). We waited for the prescribed 24 hours. And watched for any returning Nichole. There was not. Nothing, Nada. No movement, no pupils in her beautiful eyes to see. Dr. Han came. Love that man. He said, "just to prove to myself, and to you, that I haven't missed anything...." He ran a tissue over her pupil. Nothing. Nothing at all. No flinch, no nothing. I knew. She was so gone from us....So very gone.

I told the doctor that I was too exhausted to remove the ventilator that day. I was told it could take a long time. So I left. I knew she wasn't there anyway, just her body. So I went home with a friend who drove me. I wanted to stop at the Oregon Trail.( My poor friend Sharon I know was thinking, Should I call someone? Has she gone off the deep end? )Do you know that the Oregon Trail still exists? Here, you can actually step into the ruts of the wheels that are still there? This is remarkable to me. So much history. And so much loss - so many who didn't make it either. But so much encouragement, I guess, if they could manage it, so could we.

Next day, the vent was removed. 26 hours later, my Nichole's body died. I will never, ever, forget those agonal breaths, making her body rise from the bed. And the ever-running nose. Which no-one could figure out. Using box upon box of tissue. Sam there, wiping her nose. Me there, wiping her nose, her aunt there, wiping her nose. All the disease, running out of her at last. Running out, out, out, out......free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, Free at last.

The time came when I wondered what to do. Nichole wanted to be cremated, so I called the Crematorium. I expected them to tell me how I should proceed. They didn't. I was floundering, called them and they said, well, after she's gone, let us know. But this was not right to me. Her father and I (divorced since 1976)did not wish a viewing. But I couldn't let her be seen by even family looking as she did. Hair such a mess. So, Sam and I went to buy her a pretty outfit, and when we got back, we dressed her in a turqoise t-shirt, with a pretty yellow sweater- because it was spring, with the lilacs blooming; as they were when she first had surgery for her brain tumor, so many years ago....

But before that, I got angry. No one was coming to dress her or bathe her or anything. So I threw open the curtains to let the sunlight in. I went to get soap and water, and shampoo for her angel hair - her aunt came to help me. We bathed her. We brushed her angel hair to frame her face, and dressed her in her pretty clothes, her eyelashes so thick and dark, lying on her porcelain face. That ethereal face - with such a bright, bright smile. And those very dark, blue, blue eyes.....So pretty. Just then, watching the monitors, nurses ran to get her father (who couldn't manage to enter the room until now) and Sam, who just had gone out to rest a few minutes - and our Nichole sighed the prettiest, sweetest two sighs of her last breaths. I will never forget those. For all of my life.

After, we came home. And when I approached the front door, a "plethora" of butterflies surrounded my soul. They were flying above my face, around my head, my body, everywhere - the most beautiful sight I had ever seen - it was like being in Heaven. There must have been 30 of them, at least, their wings making soft impressions on my face. I had never seen such a thing in all my life. And one little butterfly lit on my door-frame. Lingered there. I knew it was my Nichole. Free and happy to be with my other loved ones of the past - all to be happy for ever more , and waiting for me. And Sam. All in due time........

Now, Meredith, I am wondering if you do special orders? Maybe something with a butterfly? Do you do your own designs? We should talk.....

Thank you for all who listened,
Jawanna (Searcher)

I'm speechless...

(((HUGS)))

There you go spilling that loving mom's heart of yours.
Searcher...you are so meant to write and share your love with others.
I can hardly see through my tears.

Searcher...you have a gift girl!!!..your words are precious gems that enlighten me and comfort me..and always have me wanting to hear just one more story...I so love the story about the ring in the drawer...I had a similar experience with my mother after her death... and I just know in my heart your Mother was reaching back to comfort you and assure you that she and Nichole are together on the other side and so that ring is to keep you close to them until you can all be together again...I love that you shared that story with us...thank you from the bottom of my heart....

Searcher, this brought tears to my eyes. I remember the part about the butterflies from a prior post. Nichole's spirit was finally free from the prison of her body. She appeared to you as a creature of perfect physical beauty because you always saw her beauty, but now the rest of the world could too. And butterflies are short-lived, as Nichole had been.

I can't begin to comprehend the pain you went through, but underneath the pain there was also great joy. Thank you for sharing.

Searcber, I am more moved than I can say. Thank you for sharing your story.

Thank You.

Bluebird, I needed your hugs.

Brenda, I'm just so glad to have somewhere to tell about my girl....Thank you for your confidence in my writing.....

AvalonBlondi- what was your similar experience? I would love to know about your mom. Thank you for being so encouraging to me.

Meredithbead, I believe what you have said. I did feel like she was at last free to be her beautiful self, unencumbered by her illness. And flying, too.

NHJackie, I'm glad you read my story. I'm glad you all read my story. And I know that Nichole is watching on, pleased with what she is seeing. She would be so happy that I am telling about our experiences - her experience.

Searcher, I have felt drawn to you since your first posting. What a loving mother you are, and a compassionate friend. I would love to have you as my neighbor.

Searcher...you always have my encouragement, my support and my love...I left you a PM....