Three months ago today, we said goodbye to our precious Melaina. Has it really been 3 months?!?! It seems like yesterday. Jeff and I had a good cry the other evening. We were listening to some sound bytes he had recorded on his phone of her singing. What an angelic voice she had...I miss hearing that voice, especially when she would belt out the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song. It seems so quiet around here sometimes...especially at night.
Sunday is Father's Day. A day to celebrate our dads--Melaina's daddy is super-special and really deserves to be celebrated. The bond he and Melaina shared was incredible. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little jealous sometimes. Especially at the hospital, whenever her daddy was around, she seemed to favor him over mommy. Even if Jeff had to leave the room momentarily to get a drink or to use the restroom, she would get so upset and often cry. That's when mommy and the nurses had to get creative about distracting her so she didn't see her daddy leave. Her daddy was also the best consoler. When she had to have a breathing treatment or procedure, she always reached out for her daddy to hold her hand....and he did, without hesitation. No doubt, Melaina had the key to her daddy's heart...always will.
I asked Jeff if he wanted to write anything in the journal, but he declined. I think it's still very hard for him--understandably so. Writing in the journal is kind of therapeutic for me and I think he channels his emotions differently, and that's okay. With his permission, I did, however, want to copy the letter Jeff wrote and was read at Melaina's memorial service.
I wish everyone could have gotten to know Melaina like we did, like our family did, and ultimately like the nurses and doctors did. I know all children are special. I know all girls are sweet. And I know all daddy’s are biased, but Melaina had a special sweetness that I wish everyone could have known. I keep thinking about her in the hospital. Even after two and a half months of being there and even with a tube down her throat, she still found ways to be happy. She still laughed and she still wanted to share her happiness with others.
Often, I would call in the middle of the night to check on Melaina only to hear she was awake, she was watching a movie and she was making the nurse that night watch it with her. Melaina loved to watch the same parts of movies over and over and she just knew that you would also enjoy seeing those parts multiple times as well. Who wouldn’t appreciate the beginning of Monsters Inc when a monster gets scared of a kid and screams? How could you miss the part in Toy Story where Woody gets flustered at Little Bo Peep? And what Dad doesn’t love to lip sync the song Cinderella sings at the beginning of that movie?
I realize now that in her own three year old way, she was brave. She tolerated all the wires and pokes and treatments and all she ever asked was for someone to hold her hand while it was happening, usually Dad. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have traded places with her. I wish I could have taken the pain away.
I miss her terribly. Everywhere I look, I see her. I fear the hidden item of hers I will come across some day without expecting it. I find myself saying things out loud just in case she can hear me. The pain is like the ocean, huge and deep and constant. Sometimes it’s calm and bearable. Sometimes it’s stormy with huge waves crashing down. I pray for more calm days than stormy ones. I pray to God that time won’t erase one minute of memory. I don’t want to forget anything.
Through this experience I learned something many of you have now figured out. Melaina has a very special mom. Andrea has shown me strength that I know I don’t possess and I am very proud of her and what she did for our little girl.
I remember a time during Melaina’s first hospitalization in St. Louis, right after she was born. Andrea and I were getting out of the hospital for one of our distractions, Target. It’s kind of sad when going to Target sounds like a great getaway. Nonetheless, it was driving in the car that we realized we had become “that couple.” The couple that people talk about in empathetic tones. Did you hear about Jeff and Andrea? Their baby is sick. The couple that you feel sorry for and the couple you are glad you aren’t. And that is all OK. It’s OK to be glad you’re not us. It’s been a hard road and we wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But please don’t feel sorry for us, if nothing else, for this reason: we would do it all again. We would do it all again in a minute because it was worth it. All the tears, all the pain, all the struggles. It was all worth it to get the short time we had with Melaina. As hard as it is, we feel blessed to have known such a precious gift. Sometimes I would ask myself, if I could go back in time and change things, would I? I realized I would never change having Melaina. I would change her having a terrible disease, but I would never trade having her in my life.
I am so proud to be the father of Melaina Cunningham. She taught me to find joy in simple things. To sing whenever you want. And to share your joy with others. Everyday I would ask her the same two questions. Do you know Daddy loves you? Are you daddy’s baby? Everyday and it still wasn’t enough. Melaina, Daddy loves you so much and Daddy is going to miss you.
Happy Father's Day to all the wonderful fathers out there, including my own!! XOXO!!
**On a side note, the annual Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA) Stride and Ride is next Saturday, June 27th at Cape County Park Pavillion # 21. Unfortunately, we won't be able to participate this year, but if you are interested in walking in this event to raise money for individuals and families affected by neuromuscular diseases, please contact Lori Dobbs or Jennifer Guard at (573) 335-4400 for more information.**
