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.”

Over the last few weeks, we have received numerous books. We want to thank you all for sharing. Our friends, Lance and Ulrika Belline, collected books at their Christmas party. It was very special to us and there were over 75 books collected!
We also want to thank Rod and Casey Roark and their precious baby twin boys! They contributed a great bunch of books for Christmas.
Thanks as well to Alison Brashears and her family for their continued support of our bookclub. The Brashears family contributes books throughout the year, with another great bundle at Christmas.  Our wonderful family including GrAnn-Ma and Grandpa, Aunt Louann and cousins– Ryan and Rachel, Uncle Chris and Aunt Catherine and cousins Graham and Caroline and Aunt Frances and Uncle Jimmy all included books for Cameron for Christmas!!! 

I would like to thank my cousin, Alicia and the Haley crew,  as well as my my good friend Cherry Frierson, for contributing books for Cameron’s Heaven Day.  And some other great friends from here in town, the Weller’s helped out with a HUGE box of great books just last week.

What a blessing to have these wonderful friends who help us continue to make a difference in our daughter’s name!

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.

We want to extend our sincere thanks to the Guajardo family from North Little Rock, AR.  It was such a blessing to receive the shipment of books from you guys.  I hope that you enjoyed picking out the books as a family and I assure you some children will be very blessed to read them.  Your gift to us has helped us to feel loved and special.  The sweet letter truly brought tears to my eyes.  Thanks again for thinking of us and helping others.  Love, Susan and the Bobbitt family

When we lived in Oklahoma, we had this big beautiful yard.  It was probably the most spectacular yard in the whole town of McAlester.  You turned down this dead end road off a neighborhood street and suddenly, you were in our driveway.  We were up on a lot above the city.  Our view looked across the highway at the country club on the other side.  We had cattle in the field just past our yard.  Our sunsets were breath taking.

Tonight, I am reminded of that yard and many precious nights we spent there with our girls.  In the summer it stayed light past nine o’clock.  We would blow bubbles, chase fire-flies and draw rainbows with side-walk chalk.  The wind blew through our hair and I heard whispers in the breeze.  I felt a connection with God there.  I was so happy, so fulfilled. 

It is hard to imagine how far away those feelings and memories are, and yet how near and dear they are to my heart.  I crave that sense of peace, of innocence.  I am in disbelief of that which I have lost.  I am so sad, so very sad.  And yet, I play in my beautiful yard here in Arkansas.  We shoot hoops, we sing, we have a million fire flies to chase.  I feel the breeze in my hair.  I watch the sunset– though it is less impressive here.  We listen to the sound of the train, the crickets chirping.  I still feel alive.

I still kiss my sweet babies and hold them tight.  I still feel amazed to be their mom and overwhelmed with love.  And sometimes, believe it or not, I still feel God’s presence. 

Life is so strange.  The same thing that makes me happy makes me cry.  My loneliness is trumped by the fact that I am surrounded by a wonderful family of amazing people.  Cameron was truly the inspiration that made me a mother.   She was perfect in everyway.  I can still not even fathom that she is gone and I know that I cannot survive the loss of her.  I know it in my heart.  But yet, here I am.  Life is definitely a rollercoaster.

I hope that one day I can think of Cameron and just smile, just be happy and proud and rest assured that she is safe and at peace.  I wish that I could see things from her perspective.  I am still seeing them from that of a broken-hearted mother.  Forgive me if I can’t give thanks that she is gone– has moved on to a “better place.”  It doesn’t hurt any less.  I am the mother who watched her go.  That seems so unreal.

I am rambling.  I can’t reconcile this.  I can’t even say what it is that I feel right now.  I just know that the tears are flowing.  All the while there are pitter patters of little feet on the floor.  There are tattle tells and spats.  There are giggles and hugs and the T.V. blares with Disney shows.  My tears must try so I can solve this battle of the barbie, diaper my baby and rock her to sleep, get one  child in the shower and give another one her inhaler, have everyone brush their teeth and go to bed.  I’m still here, I guess.  Still going.  Good night.

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…

Today I took Kennedy for a bike ride.  It was the first time she really rode without training wheels.  I have been a little embarrassed that my 7 1/2 year old can’t ride a bike.  But, truthfully, I am just happy she can cross the street.  When we first moved here, she was scared to ride the barbie car in our cul-de-sac.  She and I both had this fear of streets, of cars coming around the corner, of the worst happening.  It has been such an adjustment for both of us to realize that the car might stop.  Whenever any of them get near the street, my heart just stops.  It’s like, they step in the street and its all over.  But usually the car stops.  Usually the driver is paying attention, aware of his surroundings.  Nobody wants to run over a child in the street.  So more than likely, we will be okay. 

So I praised my daughter today for riding that bike on the sidewalk.  And then we went for a walk around the block.  And she let go of my hand, and looked both ways, and crossed the street.  And she made it across.  I know one day I will have to let go, and let my kids grow up.  They will go places without me, and I may not always know exactly where they are.  And, more than likely, they will be okay.

And that’s just some of the simple things we do to keep moving forward.  It isn’t easy, but we are all surviving.  We can’t changed what happened to Cameron, and we know its not our fault.  But we will not let it paralyze us.  We are brave enough to look both ways, then cross the street.