It is a beautiful day by anyone’s account. The date is July 22, 2008. The sky is crystal clear and Caribbean blue. It is around 80 degrees and only getting hotter by the hour. A typical summer day in Chicago. The day has one vital flaw: It is the day I will bury my one and only child.
Her name is Mariana (Mar-ē-awe-na). She was 8½ years old when she left this earth on July 16th. I guess if you are getting ready to permanently say good-bye to the one person who has completely occupied your time and has helped define who you are today, at least it is a good day weather wise.
I get up, take a shower, and get dressed in my black sleeveless top with my black pinstriped pants. My stomach is in knots and I can hardly eat. We head out to the funeral home around 10am.
Even in death, Mari, as we like to call her, is the center of attention today and why everyone is coming. She lays there at the front of the room with her casket open for everyone to be able to say their good-byes. At this point, I am holding it together. I can still see her even though her spirit is gone from her body. She just looks so peaceful like she is sleeping with her Backyardigans and Wonder Pets beanie baby friends as they keep her company in the casket. When you look at her it’s like she will wake up at any moment and say, “Juice please.”
Almost everyone we care about has come to say their good-byes. My grandpa, my mom, my dad, my brother Erik and one of his daughters Athena, my sister Jenny, my husband Keith’s uncles Ken, Phil and Bob and his aunt Pat all flew in from the west coast. Everyone is still in complete shock because just a little over three weeks ago Mari was a perfectly healthy little girl that had her life taken away by E. coli.
The service could not have gone more perfectly. Pastor Steve, Pastor Bill and Army Chaplain McClerean spoke. Friends and family share memories. Jennifer, a woman from our old church, sings “I Raise You Up” by Josh Groban and “Praise You in the Storm” by Casting Crowns. The second song’s lyrics are the perfect words to close out her memorial service that nothing else is said after this.
Keith and I are in the front row sitting on a couch with our parents beside us. The Funeral Director starts with the back row so everyone can come forward to walk by Mari’s casket and say good-bye if they choose. It is row after row of people who come forward. Some are friends. Some are family members. Some are from my husband’s Army battalion. Some are teachers and aides that have all worked with Mari over the years in school. Some are a part of our church family in DeKalb. There are even a couple of people from Children’s Memorial Hospital that came to pay their respects to our believed little one. I think what touches me the most is the love all of these people have for a little girl who never understood any of that and yet she was able to touch everyone of their lives with her loving innocence to those around her. Some of these people stop while others just walk by. There had to be well over 200 people who came to her funeral that day. Finally our row is the last one left. First my mom, then my dad, then Keith’s mom and dad all get up, go over to the casket, and say their own good-byes to our believed angel.
Keith and I are the only ones left. It has finally hit me now. The dam that had been holding back my tears finally breaks and they pour out like a relentless flood that is utterly unstoppable. We finally stand up and walk over to where we have one of her very favorite blankets on display. It is her Precious Moments one. We take it down and bring it over to her casket. We then lay it on top of her like we are tucking her in one more time for what will be literally be our very last time. We take her Backyardigans and Wonder Pets friends and arrange them in her casket. In a way it’s like they will be watching over her while she “sleeps.”
I stand there and tell her, “I miss you baby girl. I love you so much. Mommy and Daddy so wish you were still here with us. Our lives will never be the same without you here with us. I love you with all my heart and I ache for you to be here with me. Just know you will never be forgotten. You will always be our precious baby girl.”
I go and sit back down on the couch and start to uncontrollably cry. Keith holds me. Keith’s dad is there to comfort me. Shelly, my best friend who is like a sister to me, comes back in the room and comforts me as well. I think we must have sat there for 10 to 15 minutes before Keith and I finally get back up and walk over to the casket. We say good-bye one last time, kiss her on the forehead, and then walk out of the room.
We only needed four pallbearers for Mari’s casket but we chose to have six instead so we left no one out. They are my brother Erik, two of Keith’s brothers Ruben and Michael, two of his brother-in-laws David and David, and our nephew Devin. They are called back into the room by the Funeral Director. He does whatever he has to so he can prep her casket by securely closing the lid and getting her ready for burial.
When they all come back out they are now carrying her casket. I head out of the building first with them not too far behind me. I stand behind the hearse and watch as they put her in. I do not take my eyes off once. Everyone now gets in the vehicle they will be riding in so they can follow the hearse. There are at least 20 to 25 vehicles taking the hour drive to the cemetery with each one filled to capacity. I think it is amazing how over 75 people followed us to the cemetery for a little girl who was 8 ½ years old while most adults do not have half that many people show for theirs. I guess it goes to show any of us how anyone out there can truly touch the lives of those around them if they will allow it. The whole way there, my eyes are glued on the hearse in front of us as I can see her casket in the rear window.
We finally get to the pavilion type area at the cemetery where a few short words are spoken by the pastors and Army chaplain. We pray and it is over. I just feel so numb. Keith says we should go mingle with everyone since they came all this way. So we get up and talk to a couple of people. Behind me I notice the pallbearers getting ready to roll her away. At this point, it does not dawn on me what this means.
I am sort of talking to someone when all of a sudden I realize that they are rolling Mari to the car that will take her to where she will be laid to rest. They are about half way to the vehicle when I make a b-line for her casket. I watch as they stick her into the vehicle. I walk up and put my hand on her casket. I immediately fall apart and just stand there crying for at least 5 minutes. Everyone starts to gather around me. The Funeral Director tells everyone to please step back and give me my space. I know once they close that door and drive away, reality will sink in that she is really gone.
I finally tell them it’s ok to close the door. I walk away but can only make it about 10 feet when my legs suddenly feel like Jell-O and I can no longer walk. My legs collapse from underneath me and I fall straight to the ground balling. It seems like everyone swarms around me all at once. Finally, Keith is called and he comes over to take care of me. Then Shelly comes over to my other side as well. I can’t move. I can’t believe Mari is really gone. The utter sadness I feel at this moment goes so deep. I know from this point on my life has been forever changed. They are able to finally help me to my feet and get me back into our limo for the ride home.
The day my daughter died I also died with her. A new Kristena has been reborn in her place. I was a stay at home mom taking care of our only child with severe autism to now having no children at home. I have had to try to redefine who I am today. Every day is a struggle with some being harder than the rest. The one thing that gives me peace is to know that Mari and I will be reunited again one day soon up in heaven.
The End
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