Missing them hoses

No more oxygen hoses.
No more G and J tubes.
No more drain leads.
No more million medicines.
No more diapers.
No more vomiting. 
No more ICU.
No more ER in the middle of the night.
No more ambulances. 
No more wheelchair. 
No more oxygen machine.
No more therapeutic standers. 
No more therapies. 
No more Dr visits.
No more car ramp. 
No more lift systems. 
No more feeding one teaspoon at a time.
No more walks with Liam in the `hood. 
No more OOOOOOWWWWWWies into the night. 
No more bad back lifting a heavy, floppy body.
No more Frog & Toad. 
No more Curious George. 
No more Poppleton.
No more Templeton. 
No more hospital parking passes. 
No more sharing the TV (it's all mine!!!)
No more "Abba, Abba, Abba" waiting for me on the porch. 
No more Ar-Chu. 
No more Hello-Hip.
Broken sidewalks are no longer a problem.
Similarly are houses with stairs.
And any other non-accessible location. 
No more water honey-bears with a straw.
No more "Mayim" (water). 
No more special utensils.
The special school bus will never stop by the house again, open the ramp, hold traffic, and let Liam down and....."I'm hungry".

I already miss her.


Where did Liam disappear?

Many people spoke during and after the funeral about the legacy that Liam left behind, about her aurora, about the lessons she taught us how to cope with a million hardships and keep on moving forward with a smile on her face; how she loved unconditionally; how to enjoy the moment - not dwelling about the past, not worrying about the future; how to live life to its fullest with a damaged brain and a poorly functional body, but with a healthy, strong soul; and we could go on and on and on....
Liam taught all of us, no exceptions.  Whoever got it, gt it.  Whoever missed the lesson, oh well.  There will be no tutoring sessions, no recorded broadcast.  Our teacher finished her lecture, packed her briefcase, and left the classroom for the last time.


Anatomy of grief
Each one of us grieve differently.  I'm writing here only about myself.
While I appreciate all the people who showed up to condole us, I personally don't feel any need to be condoled, to be hugged, for people to say how sorry they are.  They don't do anything t me.  Maybe I'm an insensitive SOB, but that's how I feel.  Comes to think of it, I'm not really sure I'm even sad.  Nah, that's not right and it came out bad.  Of course I'm sad, but I'm also happy:  I'm happy Liam was part of my life, happy about everything I was able to learn from her, happy of how much I was able to give her, happy she's not suffering any more, happy I have many pictures, happy, happy, happy.  At the bottom line there are a lot more "happy" than a momentary sadness.  I'm sure that I will experience many sad moments in the future, when I'll be thinking about Liam and tears overtake me.  But this will not be grief. 
I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings, but I really don't get this whole grief process.  Is it man-made or is it something built-into us?  (Similar to elephants, who grieve next to a dead member of their family; or baboons, who don't let go of their dead baby for a few days?)
It wasn't easy for us to see Liam's body taken from the house.  Only a few hours earlier her heart was still beating.  But in reality Liam wasn't with us for the past several weeks.  When I'm looking at her picture now, I'm in peace with the separation.  Liam tried her best to stick around; we did our best to keep her.  She left because it was time to go.  End of story.


Thus, perspective
About a year ago, during one of the early hospitalizations, Liam had an MRI done on her brain.  When the Dr came to talk to us about the image, she said something to the effect of:
There's no medical explanation to Liam's brain.  A girl with such brain "should not" be able to live that long, to drive a wheelchair, to go to school, to play on the computer, etc.  Many of the things Liam did was due to her strong character, despite her damaged brain.  To me, this just emphasize more how happy I am about the time I was able to spend with her and further minimizes any attempts sadness throws at me.