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Beautiful Quilt, Sad Realization

stephaniemoorewrites

When my sister-in-law, Rachel, came for Rory’s funeral she offered to make a quilt with Rory’s clothes.

It was an amazing offer.

Because of the move, ready or not, we were going to have to go through Rory’s clothes and possessions.

We had to decide what to keep, what to giveaway.

So, sending her clothes to a different state with a beloved aunt felt fine.

She called me with updates. She shared moments of love and tears as her and her friend labored over the quilt.

Within a few months Rory’s clothes were back with us in quilt form.

She did such an incredible job. It surpassed any expectation I ever had.

I touched her clothes.

Laid my head down on them.

The thought came to me.

“How is this all I have left of my daughter?”

She was vibrant.

Vivacious.

And spirited.

Now, there were things.

Clothes, toys, hair brush.

And memories. So many memories of this loving girl.

But there would be no more hugs.

No more loves.

No more giggles.

No more hand holds.

How is that possible?

How is this all I have left of my daughter?

Deaths from Unknown Causes Get Investigated

stephaniemoorewrites

The night Rory died.

The ambulance and paramedics arrived.

They relieved me from the chest compressions.

One of the paramedics pulled me aside and asked for details of the situation.

I said, “I don’t know. She was throwing up. That’s it. I don’t know.”

He asked about fever or any other symptoms.

“No. She was throwing up. Then she went limp in my arms.”

He left me and joined the rest of the paramedics who were busy trying to save my daughter.

Then more uniformed officers arrived. Police included.

A policeman pulled me aside and asked similar questions.

I said again.

I don’t know. I don’t understand. She was throwing up. That’s it. Throwing up. I don’t know. I don’t understand what happened.

He followed up. “Why was she in the garage?”

“I tried to get her to the emergency room. Then I realized it was too late so I laid her down and called 911.”

Then after time of death was called, we went to my parent’s house. While we were there I had multiple people tell me that our ecclesiastical leader, who was also a lawyer, was watching over our house while people were there.

I just kept saying okay.

After a long night of conjecture and questions, a police officer stopped by the next day.

He knew why Rory died.

He said something like this. As police officers we’re trained to look for the worse case scenarios all the time. We have to look for things that are out of place. And investigate.

Then he followed it up with, he didn’t have to go there with our situation.

He was so sorry for our loss. She died of appendicitis.

It took me until that moment to realize it.

They had been investigating me for Rory’s death.

I understand it.

I do.

But it was and is a sobering thought.

I would’ve given almost anything for her to have survived that night.

A Move Right After Loss

stephaniemoorewrites

I’ve had a lot of thoughts swirling about Rory’s death two years ago.

We’re approaching two years.

It’s like a different lifetime she was with us.

But also like I held her in my arms yesterday.

Time is weird.

We sold our house and bought a house three days before she died.

The house we were buying wasn’t in the area we were initially looking. And we kept saying but… And looking around again. And again.

In the end, we just kept being led to this community, this house.

Before we even moved, our Bishop contacted the Bishop of the church we were moving to across town.

With that call, we had people mourning with us, loving us, praying for us.

People that didn’t know us.

When we moved in, we were surrounded by love. Visits, hugs, baskets, dinners.

People we were meeting for the first time.

People that never had the opportunity to know our Rory.

They cried with us. They prayed with us. They held our hands through the hardest times in our lives.

Is this not the epitome of Christ-like love?

I’m so grateful my Heavenly Father knew what we were going to need.

He was aware of us.

He knew the love and patience we would need to be surrounded by.

He knew that we would need to love and serve ourselves.

He knew.

He knows.

He hasn’t forgotten us.

Not me.

Not you.

May you all feel surrounded by His love whether your life is shattered or it’s the happiest day of your life.

He loves each of us. Always.

It’s About Service, It’s About Love

stephaniemoorewrites
Totes filled with donated school supplies.

One of the struggles when someone passes away is how do you keep them with you.

When someone does, they’re gone from everyday life. The concerns, the events, the joys, the sorrows, that person is no longer part of them.

Each member of my family has different ways that we include Rory in our everyday life. But one that we do as a family is her birthday service projects, which we turned into the Rory Ann Moore Foundation.

It’s a time we spend together. It’s a time we gather in her name.

Last night we sorted all the school supplies that were donated the last few months.

The boys were completely overwhelmed.

“Where did this all come from???”

They witnessed people dropping stuff off or see stuff come in the mail but to see it all together.

It brought tears to my eyes.

These were donated by people that loved Rory.

Donated by people that love our family.

Donated by people that have been touched by our story and the love we try to spread in Rory’s name.

I’m so happy to announce:

We surpassed our goal for school supplies!

If I said this a million times, it would never be enough.

Thank you!

Thank you for your love and support.

Thank you for reaching out.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

If you are still wanting to donate, we need the following food items to include in Rory’s Bags of Love: Goldfish, Cup of Noodles, and juice boxes. You can find details on the following page:

https://writingthroughgrief.com/rory-ann-moore-foundation/

For a Moment, She’s Back

stephaniemoorewrites

For a very long time, every morning, I’d wake up and the realization would sink in again.

Rory is gone.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

It’s real.

She’s not coming back.

It’s a hard realization to get hit with every day.

The hit isn’t as hard as it used to be. I still feel it every morning. Now, I mostly tell her how much I miss her.

Last night I had a dream. (I know I keep telling you about dreams! Sorry!)

We were on a cruise as a family and Rory showed up.

She came back to us in all her 8-year-old glory!

She ran up and held my hand.

I stared at her for a minute. Then I asked around to no one in particular, “Is she here to stay?”

Then I seemed to get a confirmation.

I told everyone as we walked. “It took two years but we got it. We finally got our miracle. She was gone but she came back to us.”

I couldn’t help but spread the word to everyone we saw. I was elated! She was back!

It took two years, but she was back.

I couldn’t let her go. I just kept holding her hand, giving her hugs.

Talking to her.

Loving on her.

Listening to her.

Then I woke up.

Normally a dream like that sends me spiraling. Because I miss her so dang much.

This morning, I was grateful to have a few minutes with her. Even if it was just all in my head.

To feel her close to me.

To hear her laugh and have fun.

To have my family whole.

To imagine what our reunion might be.

It was a beautiful few minutes.

Love you, Baby Girl.