My heart and soul

A few days before Ella's passing, I was gifted with one of the most precious memento: a ceramic double heart - the inside heart was to become Ella's and the outer, mine. 

It was a gift from spiritual care at BCCH for parents losing a child. I knew first hand how important that gift was to become so, after Ella's passing, I became the funder of bereament hearts for the perinatal unit. Afterall, Ella had been laid to rest wearing hers, and I wore mine every day. 

Until Rare Disease Day 2013, that is, when my ceramic heart tragically got caught in my mom's wedding ring which had been on my finger since right before mom died. The heart crashed in pieces on the floor of the hotel bathroom where I was about to step into the shower. I was devastated, but had to let go - there was no time to lose it. Thee conference I received a grant to attend was about to begin. I found a box, put all the pieces in it, and proceeded about my day. 

With hindsight, I can honestly say that had the heart been broken in any other fashion, I would have lost it. But this scenario was as though my late mom and Ella had it all planned. I had to let go and there was no way i could be angry, because it got caught in mom's ring... my late's mom's ring...

I did spend the better part of the following month touching my neck each time I needed strength - the almost same gesture I did since Ella's death as I clutched for the ceremic heart around my neck when I needed strength. When I was sad. When I was happy. When I missed Ella. 

And then, the reflex happened less often and I realized I did not need the pendant to find stength. It was already in me. So I started wearing other pieces of jewelry again - all pink, this time of course, the colour I wear to honour Ella daily.  One of the pieces I wores most often was offered to me by my sister: a multilayered string necklace of pink and coral pieces.

Earlier this year, BCCH found a supplier of different hearts that don't break. Although they are much more expensive than the ceramic hearts, they are so worth it!!! The hospital asked me if I would still consider funding the hearts, despite the increased cost. There was no hesitation on saying yes.

While I was on a business last week, one of the strings broke. And that's when I knew my girl was sending me another message....

In mid-September, as a thank you for continuing to fund the hearts, I got a new double heart as a gift. It is just beautiful as the original. And now, it has become the one piece closest to my heart. 

Ella's and mine, together again. ‪#‎feelingblessed‬

A Parent's Perspective - Remembrance Speech - Sept. 19, 2014

This is the speech I gave on Sept. 19, 2014 at the Remembrance celebrations at BC Children's Hospital. I was to address the parent's perspective.  I started speaking, shaking like a leaf, thinking my knees would buckle. And then out of no where, a tea light from the 'row of light' just jumped out almost in front of me, and landed on the floor. It was just a few seconds before I spoke of signs Ella sends and tricks she plays on me. Needless to say, my girl is a trickster. :) 

row of light

Tea light dropped down

Hello everyone, 

My name is Yolaine Dupont.  My daughter Ella passed away in March 2009 right here at Children’s Hospital.

First, let me say I am so deeply sorry for your loss.

When Linda first asked me to speak today, I was actually speechless. What could I have to say to bring hope and comfort to you?

As a bereaved mom almost 6 years in the making, I can tell you it has been a tough journey. It has been a long journey. But it also has been a rewarding journey. It has been my journey, and my family’s journey to live.

I can also assure you that while grief is now a part of us and always will be, it will mold and shape itself in many different ways as each of us learns to live it with it.  The operative word here for me is and always will be, as I hope it will be for you too: LIVE.

There is a quote that I have used early on to explain to others my views on my grief:

“Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.” 

Dr. Seuss always spoke the truth. This quote has become my personal motto and my way of living.

Yes, Ella is gone. True, I cannot share with her a great meal. A first day of school. The joy of her first love or wrap her in my arms after her first heartbreak. But I can live life with her in my heart and live life for and with her through my eyes.

Ella was. And Ella still is. I am her mother and forever will be.  

You too are a parent. And forever will be.

Yes, I cried. Every day. Multiple times a day. For days on end.  

Yes, I was in a fog, as though my body had shut down to protect it. And that lasted well over a year. 

And I felt guilty. Guilty of moving forward. Guilty for laughing. Guilty for living. Because if I lived I would forget her is what I thought. But in living I keep her very much alive

.

There is not a second of every day when I don’t wish for a different outcome. But in the end, Ella’s short life has changed me for the better. In helping others afflicted by her rare disease. In supporting bereaved families likes yours too.

In living my life without regrets.

Yes, I still cry. Out of the blue.

On occasions.

But I live too. And I laugh.  

I actually laugh a lot.

And, most importantly, I live.

I’ve chosen that path for myself. Although everyone will walk their path in a different way, for me, living came as a conscious decision to honour Ella every day in everything that I do. From the day she passed, I started wearing pink – the colour she wore so well and which I had once sworn she’d never be dressed in. You may not always see it, but it is always there. Every single day.

There are other traditions that came out of losing Ella. And those like grief, have evolved at their own pace.

And best of all, I’ve opened myself to signs: ladybugs that show up where they have np business, songs from Ella Fitzgerald – her namesake – that play unexpectedly where ever I am and funny tricks only a little girl with a sense a humour could play on her mom.

I remember shortly after she passed coming across photos taken on the day she died. There on the most difficult day of my life, I was captured bursting into laughter, my mom by my side.

“Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.”  

And I have no doubt that you will too.