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I always wanted to be
a mother. I was blessed three times. My son is my first-born.
There is something spiritual about your first child. My youngest daughter
is my blessing. Casey is my second child. I refer to her as my
shooting star. She blazed a bright path across the canvas of my life.
As with all shooting stars, the brilliance of her light was extinguished too quickly. You make a wish. I wished for her life.
Casey was born with a
recessive genetic disorder, Werdnig-Hoffman, a form of Spinal Muscular Atrophy.
She was given a life expectancy of one to two years. Love struggles
against the finality of a terminal diagnosis. Love embraces the hope of a miracle.
My miracle was sharing her life.
Casey gave me the
gift of pure simple love. She taught me so much about life and myself
with the gentle courage of her tiny example. We shared silly games and
songs. I learned the value of a moment and the ecstasy of simple.
Gazing into her expressive green eyes, she openly shared the secrets of her
heart. I learned to listen with my heart. I learned the pain of loss
is worth the risk to love. I learned I could do what I never imagined I
could do. She strengthened my faith.
I will always miss
her. Through the years, I silently acknowledge her milestones:
kindergarten, driver's license, each birthday. I wonder what kind of young
woman she would be. I thought about an appropriate background song for
this page. My Heart Will Go On is beautiful, but cliché. Casey was
not cliché.
I picked Dolly Parton's I Will Always Love You. It is reminiscent
of her spirit - soulful, beautiful, slightly jazzy, dramatic
break with a crescendo. The only words that come to mind...
Casey, I will always
love you.
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