So amazing...by lauren7xx

The Triumph of Love Six short years: That’s all I had with my daughter. What she taught me will last forever By Vanessa VanCleave Coweta, Oklahoma Jeff, my coworker at the Salty Pelican Restaurant, and I hadn’t been dating that long during the summer of 1991, but I was already falling for him. He was different from other twentysomething guys, more serious and mature. He’d had to be. His wife died a year earlier, and he was raising their daughter on his own. From the way he talked about two-year-old Maegan, it was clear she was the light of his life. I was beyond thrilled the day he said he’d like for me to meet her. “I’ll have the babysitter bring Maegan by this afternoon,” Jeff said. “When you’re on your break.” “I can’t wait!” I exclaimed. “I know,” Jeff said, chuckling. Then he turned sober. “Remember what I told you about her hearing?” A bout with spinal meningitis had left Maegan completely deaf. “She can be a little shy with new people, so you might have to bear with her at first.” Jeff shouldn’t have worried. As soon as I saw his curly-haired, chubby-cheeked little girl in his arms that afternoon, my heart melted. “Vanessa, I’d like you to meet someone special. My daughter, Maegan.” Jeff gestured toward me. “Maegan, that’s someone special too—Vanessa.” Maegan reached out her little hand and touched my face. Her lively brown eyes met mine for a moment. Then she looked away and buried her head on her dad’s shoulder. “Can she sign?” I asked. “Not yet. I think maybe it’s too soon for her to learn.” I thought about that for the rest of the day. Most toddlers talked a blue streak. Okay, babbled, maybe. And Maegan couldn’t hear or say a word. Lord, that must be so lonely for her, I prayed. Show me how to reach her. I decided to take matters into my own hands. On my day off I went to the library and borrowed a Sesame Street sign-language book. Maegan and I could learn together. And so we did. She picked up signing so fast I could hardly keep up with her. I decided to take a sign-language class, and I talked to Jeff about enrolling Maegan in one too. “She’s ready to learn more,” I insisted. “I know she is.” “You’re really serious about this,” Jeff said, giving me a searching look. “Because I’m serious about being in Maegan’s life,” I said. “And yours.” Jeff took my hand. “I want you to be part of our lives too,” he said. “Always.” He smiled at me, but there was sadness in his eyes. “Vanessa, there’s something you need to know. My wife died of AIDS. We don’t know how she got it. I tested negative, but Maegan . . . she must have been infected at birth. She’s HIV positive.” For a moment I was speechless. “She looks so healthy.” “It’s not full-blown AIDS. Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.” Jeff hesitated, then went on, “I’ll understand if you change your mind. I wouldn’t blame you.” I looked at Jeff. All I could think was, Lord, I love this man. I love his daughter. “Nothing could change the way I feel about you and Maegan,” I said, squeezing his hand tightly. If anything, what he told me made me love him—and Maegan—all the more. By October 1993, the three of us had drawn so close that we were already a family. Our simple church wedding that month just made it official. Jeff and I explained to Maegan that she didn’t have to call me Momma. Since her momma was in heaven, she could keep calling me Vanessa, signed with a “V” hand shape over the heart. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a pang when Maegan told one of her friends, “Vanessa’s not my real momma. My real momma is in heaven.” I wondered if she really understood what heaven was. I could show her something as simple as a ball, then teach her the sign for the word. But how could I show her heaven? How could I teach Maegan about the Lord? I’d already been reading (signing) stories to Maegan at bedtime—Snow White was her all-time favorite—so I added Bible stories to our ritual. Maegan followed my signs, rapt, not asking questions like she usually did. It was as if I was reminding Maegan of something she already knew. I remembered how Annie Sullivan had signed the word God, then tried to explain about the Lord to Helen Keller. Helen’s response was, “I knew you were there, God. I just didn’t know your name.” Maybe it was the same for Maegan. One rainy afternoon I found Maegan in her room with paper and crayons, busily drawing. “That’s a pretty house, Honey,” I signed. She set down her crayon. “That’s Jesus’ mansion. This is my momma’s room. That’s my room—next to Momma’s. That’s where I’m going to live when I go to heaven, with Momma and Jesus.” Then she became serious. “Vanessa, does Jesus know sign language?” Jeff and I hadn’t explained AIDS to Maegan because she hadn’t shown any symptoms. Had she sensed our worries, the darker truth we had been trying to protect her from? I thought for a moment. “He knows every language there is. But he won’t need to sign, and neither will you. In heaven, no one is deaf. Or sick either. Your momma will be healthy there, and you’ll be with her. Forever.” Maegan looked at me for a long moment, then she picked up her crayon and went back to her drawing. Not long after that, I noticed the first signs that her immune system was under attack. Maegan caught a cold and couldn’t shake it. She woke up at night feverish and sweaty. It was finally happening—what we’d been dreading. We took her in for a blood test. The doctor called to break the news to us. “Mr. and Mrs. VanCleave, I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said. “But Maegan’s T cell count has dropped below 200, which indicates full-blown AIDS. You should prepare for what’s to come.” We both understood that gentle wording. Lord, whatever time we have left with Maegan, I prayed, let us make it happy for her. Jeff and I knew what Maegan wanted more than anything. A trip to Disney World. She couldn’t tear her eyes away when the TV commercial came on. She would sign, “See, Vanessa? That’s where the real Snow White lives!” We contacted the Make-A-Wish Foundation, an organization that helps make dreams come true for sick and dying children. In October 1994 they sent us to Disney World. Maegan had the time of her life. We’d never seen her so excited. She was treated like a princess, escorted to the front of the ride lines and backstage to meet the stars of the shows. But the biggest surprise came during a private photo session for terminally ill children and their families. The Disney characters had just begun to file in. I was loading my camera when I heard Maegan shriek. She ran to me, eyes shining, signing so fast her hands were a blur. “Slow down!” I told her. “I can’t understand you.” Maegan caught her breath and replied, “The real Snow White is here. And she knows sign language!” The “real” Snow White came up to us. She smiled at Maegan and signed, “My name is Snow White. I live in the Magic Kingdom.” Nothing could have been more magical than the joy on my daughter’s face. Thank you, Lord, I whispered to myself, for this moment. I tried to hold on to the memory of that moment as Maegan’s health deteriorated. Her T cell count fell below 50, and her immune system could no longer fight off infections. She was in and out of the hospital. She hung on longer than her doctors expected. Fighting harder than I ever knew a child could. But even her unwavering spirit couldn’t prevent the inevitable. By June 1997 Jeff and I made the painful decision to have Maegan spend her last days at home. Hospice nurses helped take care of her. We watched movies and played games with her on days when she was stronger. Most of the time, though, she was too sick to even leave her bed. She was looking out her window one afternoon when she gasped. She pointed at the summer sky. Drifting high across the horizon was a distinctive cloud formation etched against the blue. “Jesus sent me an ‘I love you’ sign in the clouds!” I propped up her pillow and said, “You see? He does know sign language.” Soon she no longer had the strength to get through a bedtime story. One night I sat on her bed, stroking her hair and waiting for the pain medication to take effect. Maegan was fading. “You know you’ll be my momma forever, right?” she signed weakly. I blinked back tears and nodded. She added, “I’m glad Jesus picked you to be my special momma here on earth.” “I’m glad he picked you to be my special little girl.” Her eyes closed and she drifted off, a soft smile on her pale lips. That was the last real conversation we had. Three days later, on June 25, Maegan died at the age of eight. I will never forget how she reached out to me the first time we met, that afternoon her father introduced us at the Salty Pelican. Maegan touched a part of me I hadn’t known existed, creating a wellspring of faith and love that will sustain me until we meet again, my God-given daughter and I, in our home in heaven.

Read 5 comments

hey i rlly like your diary too. =).

(onlyxyou)

[Anonymous]

it was just in my background thing... the site is at the top of my diary if you want to check it out..XOXO
[beautifullush]

[Anonymous]

aww. well i wouldnt expect him to be happy knowing his mom is in surgery. umm umm w0w g0sh thas lucky. u can have guys over & they can sleep over. that would NeVEr eVer happen in my house. my parents r sOo strict its unbelievable!

[Anonymous]

That is the saddest story but happy in a way.

-brooke

[Anonymous]

hahahah yes, very odd
kinda like when you see a tadple and it looks awkward because it has most frog parts yet it looks like a tadpole lol

[raineydays]