Dear Meredith:

I went to your funeral this weekend.  It is hard to believe after all these years I’ve known you, that you are really gone.  Since 9th grade you have been a part of my life– whether in the same town or far away.  We have lost touch recently, but I have kept you on my heart. Yours was a tortuous journey.

Meredith, you taught me something this weekend.  I have spent the last 5 1/2 years bitter and feeling spiritually abandonned.  I have felt cheated and angry.  I’ve walked around with this chip on my shoulder because of what happened to Cameron.  I have forgotten to step back,  take a look at my life and realize  I have been blessed.  I am blessed.

You always struggled to find your way.  I don’t think you have been happy since the day I met you.  You felt like an alien in your own skin.  You looked for happiness and truth and acceptance in many places, but you never found it.  You had a hard life.  But now, this life is over and I believe you can finally find that peace you searched for all your days.  You can truly rest.  You are finally safe.

Cameron never suffered from a lack of joy.  She had confidence and she felt loved.  She was able to connect and relate to people in a special, almost angelic, way. She never had to fight the demons that you fought.  She never had to experience emotional pain, the kind that tears at your heart, right to the core of your being.  She never went through Hell on Earth.  And for that I am now thankful.

The two of you have found the same place in the end.  It is the place we will all go when our time has come.  Your circumstances were so different.  You needed to be healed in a way that this earth could not provide.  Cameron was an innocent child who hadn’t yet had the opportunity to make choices to her own detriment.   Yet you are now both His.  Maybe– as I’m often told– you always were.  The fact that I am even thinking this, let alone writing it, is a huge leap for me.  For that I thank you, Meredith.

You must be speaking to me now, and telling me what you couldn’t when you were here.  What you are saying IS important, and I am listening to you, friend.  I hope that you will truly rest in peace.  You don’t have to hurt anymore. 

I am sending love to your family.  They are in the dawn of your passing, and there are dark days ahead.  They will mourn you.  They will have emotions of anger, guilt, relief, denial…  They will hurt and ache for the loss of you.  You are their flesh and blood.  They will need something to get them through this.  I pray for them what helped me survive— hope.  I wish for them to lean of that mustard seed of faith when it all seems just too unfathomable.  My faith was shaken in a massive way.  It was like a fragile flower standing alone on an open field.  The wind blew harder than ever and when it had passed by the flower was wilted and hung its head.  But time, and sunshine, and rain, and other flowers have encouraged it to stand again.  And it is moving up, finally able to open its petals toward the sun.  Thank you for helping me to get a step closer.  I’m getting there.  I can almost see the light!  Shine on, Meredith.  Love and Peace be yours!

Love, Su

Dear Cameron– I miss you today and everyday. Most people say that I am so strong to have survived your death. I say, it is unfair and unreasonable to ask a mother– any mother, to survive without her child. It is not right to have to witness your child being injured and taking her last breath. But no one asked me. It just happened. I have survived, but not by choice.
You are missed for so many reasons, baby girl. I miss your smile. I miss your hugs and kisses. I miss the way you looked at me as if you knew my heart. I miss getting to watch you grow up, see the changes that happen to you and because of you. I miss your life.
We all miss you. Me, Daddy, Kennedy, Brooklynn, GrAnn-ma and Grand-pa. What amazes me more than anything, though, is that Carington misses you. She truly loves you. She understands how special you were and even seems to know you. It’s so mature and just even spiritual in the way she talks of you and expresses love for you. At church she sometimes hears a sad or touching song and says, “this song makes me think about Cameron. I miss her.”
I am so proud of your family, Sweetheart. I hope that you can look down and see us. Your daddy has really become this phenomenal Dad. He is so involved in your sisters’ lives. He helps with homework, volunteers at the school, coaches all their sports. He is the best father I could ask for and you are the one that made him a dad. I thank you for being his first born child and creating this amazing parent for my children.
Kennedy is such a beautiful girl. She is empathetic and so good at making friends. She is athletic and smart. She is so much like you. She wants to make you proud. You were the big sister she looked up to and wanted to emulate. And she has, baby, in so many ways. I am so proud of the young lady she is becoming.
Brooklynn is my little free-spirited girl! She always seems to have a theme song playing in her head. She is constantly moving and “thinking”. She is so imaginative. She is sweet and cute and loving. She gives me great hugs. She is well liked by others. Remeber how you always made her laugh as a baby? Even when no one else could. And she looks a lot like you.
My little Carington Hope—she is truly my survival. She is one who pulled me out of my deepest, darkest place. She came along and I held her and held her. I poured my heart into loving her. Now she is filled with love and compassion and energy. She smiles and hugs everyone and they feel happy to know her. Her spirit seems like it comes from someplace otherworldly– and I know where that place is. I know that you are with her. She has a piece of you. And that keeps me going. Thank you for that.
I am so blessed to have a chance to be involved with families and children. I help them on their journey as families and I try to do the best I can for them. It is my honor to help take care of them. The babies and children that I see bring joy to their parents just as you brought me so much joy in my life. I do what I do to honor you and it is because of you that I am able to play that role in their lives. I never knew what I was doing until you came along. Now I get it– I know what it is to be a mom. And that makes me a better pediatrician.
Cameron, your effect on my life is immeasurable. Your life brought me so much happiness and pride. Your death has brought me more pain than I ever thought I could bear. But I wouldn’t trade one minute of the time we had together. I love you my dear, sweet angel.

Love always and forever,

Mama

May is here. Wonder why it is called May? Is it because this month is filled with possibilities? MAY-be?! May 13 would have been Cameron’s 10th birthday. This is the last year she will have been here longer than she will be gone. She was 5 when she left us. It feels shorter and longer all at the same time. It is weird to think that I have actually survived this much time without Cameron. Before she died, if you had asked me– I would have said I could not survive the loss of Cameron (or any of my children). But no one asked, and it happened. It hurts to remember, but it hurts more to forget!
I am thrilled that my friends in McAlester are ready to host another celebration for Cameron’s birthday. You guys are soooooo great. I am forever grateful for the love and continued support our family receives from the McA bunch!

So it is May. It may be a good month. It may be a bad month. My hunch is there will be some good days, some bad days, and some in-between days. But this month is swimming with possibilities and filled with Hope. That is exciting. And I reach out my hand to Cameron in anticipation that maybe she will reach back. Maybe I will feel her presence in all that I do. Maybe she will guide me in the right direction. Maybe I will get the chance to be a better person with my guardian angel at my side.
I love you, Cam!

Sometimes I am crying before I know why. I tell you, Sundays are the hardest. You know how hard and crazy it is just getting everyone dressed, out the door, and to church on time? And then it starts– the music. I choose the contemporary service– and that praise and worship music makes me cry everytime.
When Cameron died I would go to the contemporary service at my dad’s church. I feel bad for him because I would sit in the front row and cry. After some time passed, I couldn’t cry– this started about a year following her death. Now I cry again, but this time the tears are different. Before I cried because I was mad at God. I felt betrayed and none of what we sang felt real. I wept for my losses– my daughter, my security, my faith.
Now my tears sting a little less. They are mixed tears– happy/sad. I am still in pain and my heart still aches. But I feel the presence of God when those songs are sung. I feel it before I think it. It just hits me. And I am so glad to have that back.
I am crying right now. At times I cry buckets of tears. Some are sad, some are happy. But they are all proof of the existence of feelings. And that is good. I feel, therefore I am. I cry, therefore I live. I am able to rest in the knowlegde and belief that my God is with me. Emanuel. And that is good enough for me right now!

Today is the day– Heaven day. It is the very day four years ago that Cameron was taken from me. It is hard to believe. It has only been four years, it seems like a life time. Only four years since I stood in that little street and looked down at my broken baby. Only four years since I felt my heart break/ my world crashing down on me. Only four years since I had to face the grimmest of realities, a life without my precious child.
How long ago and yet so recent. That event so cruel that stole my innocence and security. I never spent a moment not worrying and protecting my children and yet I still lost. I still ended up a mom who couldn’t keep her baby safe. I still can’t believe it.
It’s cruel, it’s ironic, its unfathomable. I can’t be grateful. Its not okay. I felt angry and abandonned and alone. I felt betrayed by the very reality I thought I knew. I wasn’t pure enough or faithful enough to accept it without a fight. And yet I wasn’t given a choice. I was not asked if I could handle this. I was just slammed in the face with horror.
It isn’t pretty and there is no way to sugar coat it. I can grow and evolve and be brave. But I can’t understand and I can’t explain it away. I can’t put it all into simple terms that make sense. I can’t find the silver lining. I can’t find answers to questions I didn’t choose to ask.
But that is not the end. I am still here. I am still a mother, a doctor, a sister, a daughter, a wife. I still exist. I have choices to make.
One thing that helps is that I have amazing friends and family. I am surrounded by loved ones who lift me up and support me. I am amazed by the positive effect that you all have on my life. You have raised my head in the lowest of times. You have encouraged and prayed for me.
So for now all I know to do is to honor Cameron. I fight so that she will be remembered. I push to celebrate her life in any way I can. Derrick and I continue to promote Cameron’s Amazing Book Club. We share books with children and promote a legacy of reading. And we raise funds for the Cameron Bobbitt Memorial Fund so we can help children and families. Our wonderful  friends and family continue to contribute both books and funds to help children in Cameron’s name.
“God is great, but sometimes life ain’t good. When I pray, it doesn’t always turn out like I think it should… But I do it anyway.”

Thanksgiving is a time for all of us to count our blessings. Two years ago, at Thanksgiving my mother shared a message she wrote with our family. It was about how the first Thanksgiving was put together in a time of extreme duress. But even though the pilgrims were tattered and torn, they still gave thanks to God for what they did have. She went on to compare that to our tragedy– the recent loss of Cameron. She reminded us to give thanks even though we were so blinded by our loss that we couldn’t even perceive our blessings.
Looking back two years into the past, I realize how far we have all come. At that time I didn’t know if I would survive. I felt certain at any time I could have a nervous breakdown and be done with! I wasn’t sure if I had faith, if I could even count on the miracle of Jesus. I was completely lost. Now, I know that I have blessings. I know that I have so much good in my life that I can go forward. And with my faith restored, I know that I can and will see Cameron again one day!
I am first and foremost thankful for my family. I have three living and beautiful girls who love me so dearly. Whenever I come home from anything– 10 hours at work or 5 minutes to the gas station– I am greeted with hugs and shouts of “Mama’s home!” They are smart and loving and affectionate and empathetic. They fill my heart with love! My husband is truly the best father I could hope for with my girls. He is silly, yet stern. He is able to make them laugh or cry. He chases them until they are all exhausted. He reads to them, serves thems, and holds them. My parents are a true joy. I love spending time with them. They are a perfect example of a life-long happily married couple. Inspirational! Derrick and I both have great brothers and sisters who make us laugh and stand up for us when we need them!
I am also truly grateful to be living the dream of having a solo practice. It has been amazing to be able to put my touch on a clinic, to practice the way I feel in my heart is the right way for me. My patients love it. My staff loves it. And I love it. I am so blessed to have these little childen walk through that door and into my heart!
I am thankful for the opportunity to good in Cameron’s name. This month we made three distributions from CAB Memorial Fund. One of the donations was $500 to EOA Children’s House in Fayetteville. Derrick and I took the check personally, met the director and toured the facility. This is an organization that is changing the lives of abused and neglected children. They desperately need a new building, and our contribution is going to help them build it. Our donation will allow Cameron to have a brick with her name on it in this new facility.
I sobbed as we drove away from that place. Not only did I sob for those adorable little children– who looked just like regular kids, but had been through horrible domestic situations. But I sobbed because Cameron gets to help them have a better life. Derrick reminded me that when we lost Cameron he asked why this couldn’t have happened to a child who didn’t have such a great life. Why God would take Cameron from her happy home, but leave a child who is being beaten and neglected on earth to suffer. But we saw these kids as real people, children who have hope for a better life. All children deserve that. I am truly thankful for the gift of Hope. Hope is so important. There are times when we all feel we have lost our way. But as long as we have hope, we can find our way back to the light that is God. We can find our blessings both here on earth and in the life that is to come.
Happy thanksgiving!

I haven’t been blogging much lately, and I have to soul search as to why. As you can probably imagine, I still grieve everyday. I always have the loss of Cameron with me. It is like a scar. But just like any scar fades over time, so does the overt daily appearance of grieving. It is not obvious that I hurt, and those who meet me might not even suspect that I carry around this torch.
Grief is weird. I control it, yet it controls me. I feel responsible to grieve. I feel that one of my purposes is to keep alive the awareness that Cameron didn’t get to live out her life. I have a job to do. Not only do I have to survive this, but I have to make it matter.
I did not- and would never- volunteer for this. I would much prefer to be a normal mom, with her perfect family, complaining about spats and homework and braces and attitudes. I would love to think that it is just so hard raising kids these days (naively believing that somehow those worries compare to anything like not having that child here to complain about). If I had a choice to be quiet and safe and insignificant, I would. But instead I am in a group of people that no mother would ever sign up for. I have to keep my little girl here in the hearts of others. It gets old. It can be exhausting.
I think that is why I sometimes fail to come to Cameron’s blog and write. My scar is always there, but I don’t have to look in the mirror. I know its there, but sometimes it is easier to just keep moving and just keep pushing and not stop to explore the damage. It is not really pretending it is not there, it is just a way of avoiding something that I know is everpresent.

I want to share a quote with you that I thought was really excellent at putting into words how it feels to lose a child. Grief occurs whether the lost loved one is a friend, parent, grandparent, or child. But there is a difference when it is someone young, robbed of the life she was meant to live. This quote is by Gloria Steinem.

“When the past dies, there is mourning- but when the future dies our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.”

That is my experience. I am compelled to keep Cameron alive within, and carry on the existence that was taken from her. I have to spend more time inside my own mind, because she is not here to show me who she is. And no matter how much I experience or accomplish in life– this will be a part of who I am forever.

Somedays I cry in the shower– like a silent scream. Then it quickly subsides, and I go on. Somedays, I let my mind wander to what could’ve been, then I stop myself. Somedays, I wish that I could stay in bed, but I get up anyway. Somedays I look at my girls and miss her more than I ever thought I could, but then they hug me.
Today, I helped some children. A couple of them had been injured. It hurts to see an injured child, especially one where the injuries are inflicted by an adult. I wish I could do something about it. I wish I could make the pain stop. Poor babies.
I love children. I love mamas and daddies. I love happy families, and I will never understand why the cruelty of this world in which we lives threatens that happiness. I wish we could all live forever in safety and love.
I guess that’s just a dream for now. I know there is no way to stay safe and secure at all times. Our kids grow up, we have experiences that stick with us– changing us forever, melting our innocence before our eyes. There is only one place where we are held in the truly safe and loving arms of our creator. That is the prize for surviving this life, no matter what it throws our way. We must build on our character, and find a way to prosper and give back despite the pain.
And you know, there are days when I don’t cry. I don’t hurt and I don’t mind jumping out of bed. There are times when I look at my girls and I just smile– no strings attached. There are bad days, there are so-so days, and there are good days. Wow, who know a bereaved mom could say that and be okay with it. I may actually have stopped punishing myself just a little. Baby steps…

I am so thankful for the loving friends and family God has given me. I am surrounded with support and people keep reminding me that I am loved. It helps, it really does.

I want to say a special thanks to JAB. You are always there for me and I can talk to you so easily. You have become like a real sister to me, and I have come to count on you. Know that I love you and appreciate you.
Also, Mom– you are awesome. I have the best mother ever and I love you so much. Thanks for all you have ever done and continue to do for me, for us. Cameron knew she had the best gr-Ann ma!!!!

I want to share my faith with you. I have really struggled over the past 2 1/2 years in trying to figure out my faith. I have since realized that faith is not something in my head, but in my heart. Therefore I don’t have to understand it. I just have to feel it. When Cameron died, I felt abandoned by God. I couldn’t believe that He would do that to me. I had tried so hard to be good, to have the right type of relationship with God/ my family/ my community. And yet the unthinkable had happened– to me! The only emotion I could really muster toward God was anger.

Do you know the song, “I Can Only Imagine”? It is a praise song about making it to Heaven and how great it will be to see God. It asks the question “Will I dance for you Jesus? Or in awe of you be still? Will I stand in your presence? Or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing Hallelujah? Will I be able to speak at all?” It is an awesome song. I would hear it and just be mad. All I wanted to do was question God. And I didn’t want to think that the moment I died, my anger would be gone and I was just be in awe of God. I owned my anger. How could I be expected to give it up?

I went to church regularly. I cried, feeling as if I was in a separate place from the other worshipers there. Our associate pastor would say “God is Good.” The congregation would reply “All the time.” Jaimie would say “All the time…” and the response was “God is Good.” I’ll be honest, I couldn’t say if for the longest time. If God is good, how could He do this to me? What an emotional and spiritual struggle I was experiencing!

But I never gave up hope, the hope that one day I would be reunited. Reunited with Cameron. Reunited with my faith. Reunited with the person I once was– the Christian believer who knew without a shadow of a doubt that God is good. All the time.” God surrounded me with Christian friends and family. I know this to be true. Everywhere I went, there were loving and faithful followers around me. And they believed in me. They understood my questioning because they forced themselves to consider my predicament. And they couldn’t blame me for feeling the way I did. They were loved ones, parents themselves. Thankful for their own children’s safety. Praying for God to protect their families. And for God to heal my heart.

And gradually, without any fanfare, the presence God began to come back to me. I regained my sense of salvation, God being back in my heart. My feet were planted back on the ground. And I realized, as the poem Footsteps relates, that God hadn’t abandoned me. He had, in fact, carried me. Even when I didn’t feel Him with me, He was there supporting me more than ever.

The fact that I am witnessing right now is no less than a small miracle. I say this because I am still here. I am still here on this earth, living this Christian life, making a small difference in the lives of others every day. I did this before, but now I do it despite my loss and my pain. It is so much harder to believe in the grace and goodness of God when you have been through absolute devastation. I have, and I still do. I promise you, I loved my Cameron as much if not more that any mother has ever loved her child. I adored her in a way that is beyond explanation. I lost her. And I have survived anyway. That is my miracle. Thanks be to God.