Time.

There comes a point in time that we all move forward. No matter where we've been, or where our destination might be. Our lives are always a forward motion. And this forward motion is the same for mommy's who have lost little ones near and dear to their soul. One year ago tomorrow marks the day, I sat down to tell Savannah's story. That I put everything we had witness, that we had watched, into perspective. Little did I know her little life would go on to touch many. And I knew the year ahead of me would be like one I would never had experienced before. It wasn't. There were good days and bad days. There were nights where her presence was all around, and days where her memory wasn't in the front of my mind. I dedicated a year to my grief. To try and describe my journey through infant loss. Through heartache. Most days, when I sat to write I didn't actually believe that someone out there was reading. But there are those of you who did. And who have commented. And who have left deep footprints in my heart.

The year came and passed, quicker than Savannah's short visit into our lives. I have a hard time believing it has really been that long. That four seasons have changed since we last saw her pretty face. But though it seems like yesterday, our days are not as centered around the missing piece to our family puzzle, and I know that Fraser life has continued in its very own, forward motion.

For almost a month now, all three of the kids have been working their little brains learning; growing; thriving. As I've mentioned before, we are homeschooling this year. There was a lot of talking, discussing, and praying that went into this decision. But ultimately, Koady and I both felt it was right, and that we were called to do it. So far I would say, three weeks into it, I myself, am still trying to get into the swing of things. With adding "teacher" to my ever growing titles, I wonder to myself, where time to breathe might appear. As I see each of my friends drying teary eyes, and tucking lunches into character decorated backpacks, I can't help but question my sanity. Maybe it is because I yet to know personally, other mothers who have taken the full fledged dive into homeschooling. But despite those moments of "what ever was I thinking," I still feel that the decision to educate my children is best for our family.

I am hoping to start including our school time into my "life unfolding," but we will save that for a time where I am feeling a teensy weensy bit more organized. Which is not right now, considering the clock is ticking closer and closer to 10pm as we speak...

Which if you think I am one crazy brave lady to dedicate my time to homeschool, {and cleaning, raising, budgeting, errand running, cooking, and washing...} then don't forget this is all wrapped around my fifth pregnancy and weekly doctors appointments. Hmm... when am I finding time to breathe??

A Story Unfolding will be undergoing some changes in the near future... As we move forward.

Thank you all for continuing on this journey with us.

Constant.

"...These walls have seen my happy,

But most of all they've seen me torn....

They've had a front row seat to the breaking of my heart."

                                                   -Chris August:: 7x70

 Here it is. What's left of, what once was, Savannah's nursery. By what's left I'm referencing four walls, a closet, a window, a door... and an empty shelf. Once upon a time this room was vibrant and full of anticipated life. Now we have a constant reminder of unavoidable mortality.

Let's me try to portray life with a dead infant. It is a slow process. Healing I mean. Because after the funeral, when family and friends "heal" from the missing child, the parents have something family and friends don't. The family and friends who cry, and remember our baby periodically when something "reminds" them, don't have the constant.

The walls we call home. The home... the bedroom... the hallway of that child. Savannah never came home. But that doesn't mean home wasn't prepared for her. Each morning I walk past a quiet room. Each afternoon the same quiet, calm, hauntingly still feeling pulls at me as I go about my day. Every night, as the light leaves the sky, the same room fills with a deep darkness. No light shines there. An unused nursery. Death has taken over beige carpet and drywall. We reside in the same house that death has visited... Everyday.... Our reminders are never ending.

It's a constant.

Yes, these walls have had a front row seat

to the breaking of my heart.

We will party... like it's your birthday.

Sometimes I wonder if my readers wonder to themselves, "gee is she ever going to stop rambling about that baby? It's almost been seven months." All I can say is, though this was my "Fraser Family Blog" years before Savannah came into our lives, I stepped back and unofficially dedicated this blog to her life for one year. For her 1st birthday I plan on making these blog posts... the ones about her life... into a book. So anytime in the future that I feel like sitting down and "remembering" my journey through saying goodbye, I can. One years worth. So anytime it may seem like I am just recapping on a subject where the story never changes, please realize that I am doing this for me. For my husband. For my children. Because I imagine in ten years, the color visions we have in our minds of August 2010 may be less vivid. They might start to be fading to grey. And when those colors lessen, I know I will always be able to repaint this canvas. Savannah's story will be remembered when we are old... When our children grow up... They can share her story with their spouses, with my grandchildren. Savannah's stories will never be forgotten.

We are approaching the seven month mark. It is surreal. There are not words to describe, what it feels like to know you are over half way through a year without someone. I already find myself dreaming about her 1st birthday in heaven. To mommies who say goodbye to their babies, the first birthday is a big deal.

Yesterday I was talking about plans. I elaborated these plans to my husband. Such big dreams one can dream for the memory of their cherished babies. You could see the heartache in my husband, {the realist's,} eyes. He see's the mother of his deceased baby planning a party for our daughter. He knows in his heart not many would come. He asked me, "you don't really think a lot of people would come do you?"

Our cemetery is very gracious. For fourth of July we get front row seats, {right next to Savannah} for the fireworks. No hassle with parking. No hassle with traffic afterwards. We just pick up a ticket a week or two before hand and on the 4th, we can hand it to them at the gate and come in. Right before... or all afternoon. The lady who helped us pick Savannah's plot, said families bring their barbeque's and have picnics during the day. To some that may not seem desirable. A picnic in the graveyard. To me? There doesn't sound like any place more desirable than the cemetery to have a picnic. Where ALL of our family can be together. In a different way.

So I've been thinking, I'm sure they would let us have a barbeque for Savannah's birthday! If they didn't have a service taking place that day, I bet they would even let us use the canopy. There's invitations that could be sent, and balloons that could be released. But to my husband? All he see's are the family members with serious insecurities over Savannah's death. Her birthday to her mommy is far from awkward... far from uncomfortable. It is MONUMENTAL. It is s day to be celebrated. And it will be celebrated. With a party. Whether people want to (happily) attend, or not. Because I assure you. Tissues will be checked at the gate.

Purple balloons will be released with everyone writing their names, 

and a message (if they'd like) on the outside.

If you live away from us, but hold a piece of

Savannah's heart, when it gets closer to time

I will include all of her dear followers who would like.

In case I ever forget to tell you...

In the days of planning Savannah's funeral service, we had to answer a hard question. "Who was going to be our officiator?" Pastors ran through our mind, but no. No they wouldn't have the strong connection that someone else might have in regards to Savannah's life.

Growing up, Koady's family were so close with the Brulc family. The head of the household, Scott, used to minister in a church, and now just ministers through opportunities in his life, and uses his amazing spirit and wonderful outlook on life to do so. He knew Koady. On a far deeper level. He knew me from the beginning of our marriage. He knew Savannah. He prayed for her. He prayed for her on his own time, and openly with my mother-in-law through text messages. Spreading his faith to her. Scott had earned his place, as one of the most important people to spread Savannah's love on the day of her final goodbye.

The morning of the funeral, Koady and I met him for breakfast. Scott met us at the front of the restaurant, and embraced both of us in a hug. A true, deep, never let you go kind of hug. We knew in that moment Scott would never let us go. Not once, did we reach the uncomfortable silence that we have met with so many. While we waited for breakfast, Scott praised God for so much. It was as though, God really did send him to be our voice that day. We smiled as Scott talked about how great our Father really is. Not a moment in the cool rainy morning slipped by that we weren't embracing Savannah's life. Savannah's stories. Savannah's death. As we drove home to get ready, I held back tears knowing we couldn't have picked anyone better to be Savannah's voice as well.

Scott did more in his eulogy than we could have ever hoped for. Though this may sound strange, {why would anyone want to relive a day like that?} I wish Savannah's funeral could have been video taped. So I could sit and take myself back to that day.... as many times as I would like. So I could share in our final goodbye with all of my children on a day when they are older. When they would understand a little better. Scott helped that day be so magical for me. I would relive it again, if I was able.

We had a closed casket for Savannah. I was still so protective of her, though her soul had left her fragile little body eight days before. There were only a few people that saw Savannah finally at peace. That saw her beautiful vessel that brought her into the world, and gave her the path to heaven. Koady and I ofcourse. My dad. My mom. Koady's mom. My grandma, aunt, and cousin. And Scott.

I learned later that he told many people, that she was beautiful. Thank you Scott, for she really was. And thank you for your prayers for this new little gift from the Lord....

In case I ever forget to tell you...

We love you.

{Take notice of his purple shirt and tie.}
{We did not plan this.}
{Savannah told him what to wear!}

Were you ever really.

There is no more. No more "Savannah's room." Yesterday afternoon, like a infected wound from a stabbing with a butterknife, I took every last outfit off of the tiny pink hangers. I took down every last blanket, towel, washcloth, shampoo, and lotion. I removed butterflies from the walls, and giraffes from the shelf. There is no longer quotes on the walls, or teddy bear nightlights to brighten the darkness. Every screw on her crib was wound tighter than I ever remembered them being. It was as if the grip each bolt had wasn't ready to let go of her yet either. But it was time. And now, there is a quiet emptiness. Far quieter than before. Because now, though her presence there never was, it never will be either. It is so sad that a life, so small yet so important, can be contained into plastic rubbermaid tubs. I wonder if the warehouse workers ever stop to think about the things that those tubs might one day hold. Unused baby outfits? Probably not.

I went to the Social Security office yesterday as well. Unfortuate for me, after having filled out the paperwork at the hospital for Savannah's social security number, when we resubmitted the birth certificate, it was after she had passed, so they denied the application for needing one. Little did I know, until a few days ago. Tax season is upon us. For the mere eight days Savannah was "ours" we can claim her as a dependant. {For those woman out there who may not be aware of this, yes how ever short their life was, you can claim them on your taxes. And yours and their medical bills are also tax deducatable! Just for the record!}

I walked up to the counter when my number was called. "I need to apply for a social security number for my daughter," was all I could say. After all how do you spit that mouth full out in one sentence? I handed my paperwork through the slit in the window. The lady looked as though I was trying to pull a fast one on her. "Deceased?" I tried to explain the situation. She excused herself from her desk for quite some time. I sat there corraling my three kids from wiping sticking fingerprints on the window and coloring on the counter. When she finally returned {literally fifteen minutes later} I think she really didn't know what to say to me. All she could muster was "what do you need this for?" Trying to refrain from coming back with many sarcastic comments that flashed through my mind in that brief second {to get some great interest rates on a credit card, to steal her identity, file for social security} I answered honestly. "I need to file our taxes." She looked at me with that heartbroken look I've become all to familiar with receiving. 

"I'm going to be frank with you... You can get a "TIN" number for her from the IRS if filing taxes is all you needed a social security number for. You will NEVER EVER need a social security number for her after this tax season. For ANYTHING. I'm so sorry, we never have these things come across our desk" she said. She passed Savannah's birth certificate and social security application back through the window. This is Redding. It may be a "city," but it is still very much a small town. As I got my things together, and got up from the chair many people in the small waiting area sitting behind me were staring. For a split second I wished I wasn't standing in the Social Security Administration office alone, while everyone stared at me gather my remaining children up hand in hand and walk to my car from being denied a Social Security number for my Savannah. 

She will NEVER need one. For ANYTHING...

Just like the nursery that once was. 

I went back into her bedroom one last time last night. I picked up her famous pink polka dot blanket. I smelled it as hard as I possibly could. But there was still nothing. Ofcourse I didn't think I would smell her again, but I hoped one last lingering scent might be left in the fabric particles. One more? But I was denied her beautiful smell, just as I was her social security number.

Got Milk?

I've always been a Similac mom. Back when Sarah was born I started with Nestle Good Start. Which that was so long ago it is now called "Gerber Good Start." Sarah's tummy couldn't handle the lactose in the milk so she had to be put on a special {expensive} formula. Similac Alimentum. It had a putrid smell. Almost like Ants. And it smelled even worse the second time around, running down your shirt sleeve. But it worked, and kept her tummy happy and her growth healthy. So I officially became the Similac supporter. Michael used the regular, as did Brody when I was finished breastfeeding with each of them.

This year Enfamil came out with a new stage of formula. A stage for newborn. A stage for infant. And lastly a stage for toddler. It makes sense. We all can relate that each of those stages are extremely different and require their own sensitive nutrients. I read about it in advertisements in my pregnancy magazines while awaiting Savannah. I knew she would be a breastfed baby in the beginning, so I didn't give it much thought. We are all creatures of habit. Once a Similac mom, always a Simliac mom right? That is until the end of August when Similac recalled 5million cans of their product due to Beetle remains. I thought back to the new Enfamil line available on the market... But Savannah got the good stuff up until the day she passed. 

 About two weeks ago, I received a package in the mail. Things still arrive in the mail congratulating us on our "new baby" every once and awhile. I've gotten used to it now... 

Email's announcing Savannah's weekly milestones. 

Coupons for diapers... formula... baby goodness.

And now...

An actual can of formula.

"Enfamil Newborn"

I've always loved the smell of baby formula. {With the exception of Alimentum.} And here was a small container of a formula I would never get the pleasure of introducing to precious butterfly Playtex bottles. I contemplated that evening what I would do with an unneeded can of milk... 

Should I save it for the next baby? 

I checked the expiration date. 

Yep, it would still be good. 

Should I donate it to someone who needs it? 

After all there are families with babies who are struggling, 

and formula is expensive.

 Should I open it and do what I know

in my heart I want to do?

Yes.

I opened the can and took a deep

long smell of the familiar,

but very distant smell.

The can sat in my kitchen since the evening I received it. I knew when it was time I would know what to do with it. Last night, one scoop at a time, I held the formula in my hand as I rinsed it down the drain. The smell of fresh baby bottle filled my kitchen, and in an instant it was gone. I smelled my hand after enjoying the faint remainder of the baby bottle that would never be. I tucked the empty can into Savannah's treasure box. 

"Savannah's first bottle" I told myself.

"Savannah's first bottle."

"Deceased."

I anticipated the arrival of Savannah's birth certificate. It was a big deal to me. Finally receiving a little piece of paper that legally stated to the world, "Savannah was here, and Savannah was ours."

Weeks went by, which turned into months... no birth certificate. I anxiously checked the mail EVERY single day. Hoping that her legal connection to me would be waiting to fill my hands. To fill my heart. I began feeling the weight of never receiving a piece of paper, that weighs less that a pound. I cried to my husband. "Why haven't I received it? What if they mailed it to the wrong address, and someone else holds her existence in their hands?" 

My Aunt Linda, is the Chief Deputy Registrar of Shasta County. She signed my birth certificate. She signed my brothers birth certificate. She signed my cousins birth certificate, and both of my nephews.She even signed Koady's birth certificate. Savannah was my FIRST baby to be born in Shasta County. She has waited many, many years to put her mark on one of my babies certificate of birth.

I don't think she ever thought she would find herself signing what came across her desk for me though. 

For this birth certificate, she knew it had to be perfect. I called and talked to Mercy Hospital Birth Clerk while I was Koady and I were still at Davis with Savannah. She asked my permission to sign it, since I wasn't sure when I would make it back to do so. I told her she could. My Aunt was quick to find out about the decision I had made. She told the birth clerk NOT to sign Savannah's birth certificate. That Koady and I needed to sign it. {I think in her heart, just like mine, she knew...} The birth clerk signed it anyways. It came to my Aunt's desk September first. The day after Savannah had passed. My Aunt called and asked if Koady and I wanted to sign the birth certificate. I told her since it was already done, it would be okay. She DENIED the birth certificate. Which meant more to me than she will ever know. What that means, is they have to reprint it. The parents and doctor have to resign the document. And we did. My husband and I officially signed our Savannah's birth certificate. 

As I will still awaiting the arrival, I finally asked my sister-in-law, "how long did it take for you to get the boy's birth certificates?" She told me about three weeks to a month. A knot formed in my stomach. "That's it," I told myself, "it was mailed to the wrong address."

Curious, my brother and sister-in-law, whom visit my grandmother often, asked my Aunt as she popped in one evening about Savannah's birth certificate. She had a confused look on her face. She printed it off and had given it to my grandmother and my other Aunt the day it had come back across her desk. The thing is though, I haven't been down to see them since shortly after Savannah passed. I believe my presence is too much for them to handle...

They held onto it.

They didn't bring it to me. They didn't mail it.
They didn't call. 

I lived in agony for months wondering where Savannah's life documentation was. And all along, my family had it. My brother and sister-in-law delivered it to me that same night, personally.

It seemed late when the door bell rang. Although it was only around 7:00pm, there was no more light breaking through the darkness. It was rainy and cold. I opened the door to only be surprised and excited from the guests standing on my doorstep. I greeted everyone excitedly. My nephew's smiling faces were the first thing I was graced with. My brother and sister-in-law didn't have the same smiling glow. They had a face of sadness. I asked them what was wrong. My brother outstretched his arm and handed me an envelope. My mom happened to be spending the night doing some Christmas shopping. I was confused. "What's this?" I asked hesitantly. The face of the envelope shared with me what was possibly and finally waiting on the inside. 

CONFIDENTIAL 

RE: SAVANNAH VICTORIA FRASER

DOB: 08/23/2010

I opened it, but was alarmed at the difference between this piece of paper and the rest of them that I have received once before. Stamped across all of Savannah's information:

D E C E A S E D

I had never held something like this in my hands before. Again, I was confused. Everyone watched me as I stared at a piece of paper staring back at me with the obvious words written across what should be, such a beautiful piece of vital record. 

Vital: "Critical;" "Urgently Needed;" "Absolutely Necessary;"

"A Critical Element of the Plan..."

Instead;

Deceased: "Dead person;" "Someone who is no longer alive..." 

Nothing about "Deceased," matches the definition of "Vital." 

"Is this the death certificate? How did you get this?" I asked. "That is Savannah's birth certificate," they replied solemnly. I was okay with that. "Oh. Thank you." And I went back to staring at it. My VITAL piece of paper. My critical, urgently needed, absolutely necessary, critical element of the plan. On the inside I was letting out a huge sigh of relief.  The State of California acknowledges that Savannah's life was real. Her brief time with us was real.

I love that. 

My mother held my brother as he stood in the doorway and cried. Thank you for delivering her to me Nathaniel and Desirae...

Last night, I stood in the kitchen looking at her life once more. I studied every part of that piece of paper. Lastly, my eyes followed the outline of the bold letters written across the page, "Deceased..."

D:

Divine.

E:

Extraordinary.

C:

Cherished always.  

 E:

Embraced.

A:

Angel.

S:

Savannah Victoria.

E:

Envied.

D:
Desired.

A word of honor. I thought of Brody's birth certificate because his birthday is upon us in 10days. No "deceased" declared for the world to see. 

Savannah was DEFIANTLY extraordinary.

I'm so glad to be celebrating your 

birth day Brody.

My Aunt plans on retiring now having finally gotten to sign one of my children's birth certificates. 

Hold on just a little bit longer Aunt Linda... 

you've got one more to do...

The final arrival. {Part Two}

We went to see our beautiful Savannah today.

We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived.

We were greeted by this....

{Since a picture is worth a thousand words.}

{Grandma & Grandpa visited Savannah}

{Savannah's Final Headstone}

{Please respect my pictures. If you want to use them please ask.}

{Thank you, it is only out of respect to me on behalf of Savannah.}

Johnson & Johnson.

Night before last in our usual routine, I took my little ones up the stairs to begin bathtime. As I began filling the tub with warm water it came to my attention that I was completely out of shampoo. I looked under the cabinet for shampoo, because usually there are extras on hand. Ofcourse that night there wasn't. But...


Sitting quietly up in Savannah's closet sat one of her many bottles of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. The chaos of children around me was silenced as I stood in her closet doorway staring at the bottle of golden soap. It stared heavily back at me. I felt my body begin shaking as I slowly reached for the full unopened bottle.


I saved her shampoos, her body washes, and her lotions. I saved her desitin, her baby q-tips, her baby powders, and the bottles of hand sanitizers. All in hopes and knowledge that they would come to use someday. That they would be used someday. I just didn't expect the need to arise so soon.


I lowered my body into the glider that sits in the corner of her nursery, cradling the bottle close to my chest. The door was closed. A crack of light shown through at me. I hadn't sat in her chair in awhile. It was our favorite place to rock together while I was pregnant. It eased my back pain, and soothed her to sleep when she found herself doing gymnastics in my tummy. I would sing her lullabyes and would stare into the words written upon the wall next to the rocker.

"Some people dream of angels... I hold one in my arms."

I looked to those words as a reminder that I would hold her in that chair so very soon. I wish she could have seen her little room. But tonight... tonight, I was rocking a bottle of her shampoo that I dreamed of caressing into her beautiful brown hair. I opened it, and closed my eyes. I smelled it again and again picturing Savannah. And I finally, slowly got up. I walked back to her closet. I ran my fingers across all of her precious little outfits, and shut the closet door yet again. 

As I poured the shampoo into my hands and rubbed it into Sarah's pretty brown hair, I held back tears. Here she was... Savannah was humming right in front of me... and I was washing her beautiful brown hair. My tears then dripped off of my cheeks into the bathwater. But it was a good thing.

I think I will save that bottle when the last drop finally leaves me down the drain...   

Savannah's Headstone. {Part one.}

I've been blessed with great phone calls for the past two days.

Today, Savannah's headstone had come in.

I've been anxiously awaiting this for so long now, that I couldn't wait to see it.

Jim Allen told me I could come pick it up tomorrow, or anytime this week.

I said, today. {*Politely ofcourse*}

So at four o'clock we picked it up.

Again, it was more than we ever hoped for.

:::Perfect:::

We brought it home for the night, and are taking it to the cemetary tomorrow.

I made my husband LUG it inside.

It probably weighs about 150lbs.

{He was so happy.}

But it isn't finished yet...

...there is one more final touch to be added.

It is going to be laid in another peice of granite,

to make sure it will NEVER break.

Black sparkle granite will come out an additional 

two inches on every side.

For now, you can't see it in her special spot....

...Not yet.

{One of the last few things we will recieve for her...}



Two week tinge.

Yesterday officially marked two weeks since Savannah left us. Everything, and everyone has pretty much moved forward and moved on. But I wake with the thought every morning. Things throughout the day remind me of her, constantly. And everynight I fall asleep cuddled with the pink polkadot blanket she had with her during her entire stay at UC Davis. I still have funeral momento's and medical bills scattered all over my house.


But, yesterday things reminded me of her just a "little bit" more. First thing in the morning we recieved a call from Jim Allen, the funeral home director. It was finally time to sit down and draw up plans to send off for her permanant headstone. Being that I have never picked a headstone before, there were many things that I didn't know you could do. I didn't know you could draw things and have them etched on. Since Koady is quite the artist, we chose to have him draw a picture for Savannah. It is a sweet little picture of the stuffed giraffe that Grandma and Grandpa brought her all the way from their trip to New York City. {Giraffes were the animal we picked for her while I was still pregnant, to decorate her nursery. You know, since giraffes live on the "Savannah."} The cartoon giraffe will sit on the corner of a cloud with stars in the "blue pearl" colored rock. Everything I hoped to fit on her tombstone, as I anticipated, may not fit. I want her full name; first/middle/and last. I want her date of birth and date of death. And finally on top of everything else. I want the scripture that we picked just for her.


"I thank my God upon every remembrance of you."
Philippians 1:3


Since I am sure most of you {or so I pray} have never had to pick out an infants headstone, you are probably unfamiliar with how tiny they like them to be. Jim has been so gracious to us through the entire process, and assured me he would try his best to make sure everything I asked for fit. He and his wife had lost four children before they went on to have five more healthy babies!!


I am anxious to see how beautiful her finished product will be... especially with her daddies picture! They said it can take up to three weeks... maybe longer in our case...


My hardest moments are usually when I am face to face with reality. And what I mean by that, because obviously reality has slapped me in the face, is when I am standing next to women and their healthy beautiful babies. I am sure I have given many mothers the heebee jeebee's by the way I end up staring at their babies. I can't help the trans I get lost into. I drift into another world when eyes lock with a small persons... I DO dream about pushing her through a store while she sleeps in her carseat. I DO think about what her cry might of sounded like, or what her feminine little voice would have said as her first word. I DO wonder what she would be looking like now that we are approaching the "one month old" mark... First birthday... first smile... first tooth... first boo boo. All of these play through my mind every encounter I make.  
Or pregnant women. I can't help everytime I see a glowing pregnant mommy to be, but say a prayer that her baby be healthy as can be... but it makes me miss her. I miss her kicks, and hiccups. I miss the time when Savannah was still "healthy" as can be. I miss bumping into the shower curtain when I would turn to the side in the shower. I miss being hot and uncomfortable, because I just miss her...


It will get easier with time. Sometimes I wonder on my daily trips to her grave site if the people who work there think to themselves, "she's back again." I wonder if my daily trips will ever become less frequent. I know they will. I am sure these feelings of counting down the days, and everyday trips to her cemetary will fade and become less frequent, but until then, I will just assume these feelings are normal. 


My cousin took pictures of the funeral that I made into a slideshow in addition to the slideshow I made for her funeral of her days with us... feel free to click on the attatched links and take a look at the beauty that God gave us! 

Savannah's Story

Savannah's Farewell

Until next time...