6 Years Strong

It’s 4:30 am and I’m awake, feeling anxiety in my chest. Is it morbid that I am looking forward to today? In 5 hours, it will have been 6 years ago that your Nonna tried to wake you up and ran you downstairs to me. 6 long, agonizing years without you. It’s an emptiness no one can ever fill, nor would I want them to. I look forward to today because I love to honour your life. It’s not that I need an excuse but when I feel good and don’t focus on what is missing, it makes me feel human to mourn you all over again.

I was a mess last year. We lost your Nonna Bis, then a few days before the anniversary of the day you got your wings, her house was sold. This devastated me all over again. Nonna’s house was a part of her that I was able to hold on to, until I no longer could. Grief is funny like that; sometimes we tie objects to our deceased loved ones and when we lose those objects, or they get damaged, it can re-trigger intense grief.

We also can’t forget the opening of your memorial Splash Pad just a few days before the 5 year mark of losing you. I expected it to be a difficult day but I was not prepared to relive your funeral. That’s what it felt like to me. In a sense, I guess it was a second celebration of life for you as we unleashed this beautiful little water park for all the kids in our community to enjoy. As wonderful as this was, it left me wounded. You would have loved to play at this splash pad, my little water baby. Whenever I visit, I always see a rainbow in the water!

So one year ago, I was an absolute mess on your Angelversary. But I got through it. And in the process, my deepest fears revealed themselves. From the moment I lost you, I have been terrified of forgetting you. I have been trying to hang on to every memory I have of you, but it’s humanly impossible to store all those memories forever. They have been trickling out ever so slowly over the last 6 years, left to rely on photos and home movies. I know I could never forget you– you can’t forget your child. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. Yet, with every year that passes, I feel you become more distant from me as the time that separates me from the last time I held you grows. This is painful. It’s what tears me apart the most at this stage on my journey through grief.

It’s hard to imagine what you would be like if you were still here with us. With every year that passes, it becomes even more challenging to imagine it. You would be 7 years old now, and I’m certain you would be just as independent as ever. I see you in your baby sister and often think you would be just like her at “this” age, no matter how old she is. I SEE you in her, I FEEL you in her. You surround her, I KNOW this! Thank you remaining close this way.

For a year, I have been grieving the 5 year mark of losing you. Grief continually changes and keeps changing me along the long twisted path. I lost myself last year on this day and I am finally starting to feel like myself again; a new self is emerging once more. A grieving parent is like a Phoenix– we die and come back as new versions of ourselves. Like an ever growing onion, there is always another layer to peel off and you become different each time you shed a layer. You gain experience of loss each time, insight into yourself, and possibly even wisdom you can share with others on similar paths. At least, that is what the experience has been like for me. That is why I feel compelled to share my experiences, hoping another grieving parent can take something away from my journey to help them in their own. It is my hope to eventually make helping grieving parents my focus, which I call my “soul work.” In this way, I will ensure that your life and loss will serve a purpose and we can do our part to help others navigating the most devastating of losses. This is my mission!

I never plan your Angelversary day. I always take each moment as it comes and give myself permission to do what I need to. Often, the days leading up to difficult days like this are harder as I am sensitive and fragile. I become deeply upset about minor things which seems irrational to those around me, but these little releases help make the hardest days a little more bearable. It’s like shaking a bottle of soda and allowing some of the pressure to release before opening the bottle– it still bubbles over but leaves less of a mess. The amount of pressure created is the same, but by releasing it a little at a time, the explosion is more manageable.

It’s time to sleep now until I’m ready to start this day. Please be with me today. I love you baby girl, forever and always.



7th Birthday in Heaven

Child loss is devastating. It is undoubtably the most pain I have ever, and will ever, experience in my life. It’s something I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. It breaks you. Changes you. Over time, it molds you as you grieve to become someone your old self doesn’t recognize. It’s a continuous cycle of gathering up the pieces of your shattered soul only to have a storm come through and tear the pieces from your arms. Over. And over. And over again.

This is the reality of child loss, although there is hope in the darkness. The space between the storms begins to grow and, for the most part, they weaken in strength. The mess the storm leaves becomes easier to clean up. Your soul remains shattered, but all a grieving parent can do is make an effort to focus on the beauty that is born from the brokenness.

The beauty in grief are the love and the lessons. Looking for positive elements is one of the most helpful factors to healing. My grief has taught me many lessons and I hold on to the these valuable gifts.

This month we celebrated what would have been Bella’s 7th Birthday. Just because she is no longer in a physical body does not mean she is not here. Her presence was felt strongly as we celebrated her essence and I trust she appreciated the cake and all the love sent her way. This year, I spent Bella’s Birthday reflecting on all she has taught me.

My daughter’s death has taught me how to be grateful for the difficult times I endured with her, such as when she had colic and I was struggling to cope. 9+ hours of screaming every day was horrendous, but I am now grateful for those many endless days she spent in my arms. This is also where she slept for the first 15 months of her life. It wasn’t always easy, but it was where she felt safe and I am comforted knowing I was able to provide her this security.

My daughter has taught me the value of a moment and the treasure of a memory. She has shown me that nothing is permanent, and that there is something to be happy about every day! We would look for the happy moments in every day, and on darker days when those moments were less obvious, we would be happy on purpose to create a moment to  be captured in a photograph. I have hundreds of these mementos, all of which are priceless treasures.

Then there are the hard lessons, which I will continue to learn as they resurface from time to time. I have had to learn to accept what happened to my daughter, to forgive myself for being a less than perfect parent, and to let go of what will never be. I’m not certain I will ever fully recover from this, and I am learning to accept this.

I was given the opportunity to create such an incredible life and nurture her every day she lived in her physical body. Every moment I had with her is one I will cherish until the end of time.

Grief changes you. It’s inevitable, but you get to decide HOW it changes you. You do this by choosing where you focus your energy and what you give your attention to.

7 years ago, I gave birth to a little girl who I held in my arms for 19 months and will continue to hold in my heart for the rest of my life. This magnificent soul changed every aspect of me. I continue to learn how to be her mother, just as Hudson and Aria continue to learn how to be her sister. Even if that means blowing out her Birthday candles for her.

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Happy Birthday Bella. We love you more than life. XO

Code Blue: The Trauma of Watching My Husband Die (Part 2)

Note: To read Part 1 of this post, please click HERE.

It was a quick ride from the airport to the hospital. I shook my head to rid the thought that this was my 4th ambulance ride. It’s no wonder sirens always take my breath away. Tom was stable, and that was the only thing that mattered.

We arrived at the hospital and I waited alone in a small room while they settled Tom and ran some tests. About an hour later, they brought me to his new room.

I felt cold all over and couldn’t stop shaking; my anxiety was extreme. Tom was still his happy-go-lucky self and his positive attitude helped prevent more anxiety build. That false sense of hope I had earlier reminded me that anything can happen at any time and just because he seemed okay in that moment didn’t mean a thing.

The nurse informed us that the cardiologist would be doing an angiogram that morning, but we weren’t given a time. I sat beside Tom and we waited in silence listening to the beating of his heart through the monitor.

I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband who looked like a human pin cushion. He was hooked up to 6 IVs and was still having a heart attack. I paid careful attention to his heart monitor and he would often hear an extra beat. Every time his heart beat extra, mine would skip a few and I’d hold my breath. I’d ask him if he was okay and he would reassure me that he was fine. My stomach was in knots and I needed constant reassurance that he was okay.

Suddenly, his heart monitor sang; 2 cardiologists and 2 nurses rushed into his room with a defibrillator. They were very concerned, and I panicked once more. Tom’s heart had skipped a bunch of beats, but he was awake and the monitor settled. They decided to leave the defibrillator “just in case.”

It was his parents 50th Wedding Anniversary and they were out of town celebrating. Tom asked me to wait until after his angiogram, once we knew what was happening, before calling his parents. I agreed to call them once we knew something, and dreaded ruining their big day.

They finally wheeled Tom into surgery at 11:30 am. They told me they would be gone for an hour, but not to panic if they weren’t back in an hour as sometimes it takes longer. I kissed my husband goodbye and told him I’d be with him, and pointed to my heart. “I love you so much!!!”

The wait was agonizing and I watched every minute pass on the clock on the hospital room wall. I was still freezing and couldn’t stop shivering. I texted with my mom to try to distract and pass time. An hour passed and he still hadn’t returned. He finally returned 15 minutes later.

They found a blockage in the part of his heart that is responsible for the rhythm of the heart, which is why his heart was skipping beats and why he felt flutters in his chest before the heart attack. The blockage was between 90-100%; like a flap, it would block (Tom would be in pain) then the blockage would open allowing blood to rush through. We were told this intermittency may have saved his heart a lot of damage. They removed the blockage and put a stent in, but Tom wasn’t out of the woods just yet. He continued to have flutters in his chest.

I stayed by Tom’s side for the rest of the day and felt a strong need to touch him. I lay the opposite side of his bed and held his hand. I got him water and ice and anything else I could do for him. I just wanted to be helpful and make sure he knew how much I love him.

I was fearful of leaving his side. I didn’t even want to go downstairs for food, but eventually I had to force myself.

I left home with the clothes on my back, my wallet, phone and a charger. I needed food, my allergies were bad, and I was still battling severe anxiety. I tried to eat a sandwich but the food went right through me. My friend Claudia came that evening with some food, drinks, deodorant, toothbrush and a magazine. It was so nice to see a familiar face. She offered me a place to sleep but I wasn’t ready to leave Tom’s side.

The night nurse told us that overnight guests aren’t allowed but she brought in a chair that reclines so I would have a place to sleep. I wrapped myself in blankets and shivered all night. My allergies weren’t subsiding and I couldn’t sleep. I listened to Tom’s heart monitor as I lay awake, thoughts swirling in my head. He would snore a bit but would wake startled a few moments later. His heart would occasionally have a few extra beats. I would look over and make sure he was okay every single time.

I was so scared to lose him.

In the morning, he explained to me that he was afraid to close his eyes. He didn’t want to die again. The feeling he had before coding was wanting to fall asleep and he was at peace, but he wasn’t ready to stop living this life. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

They moved Tom to another room and I wasn’t able to stay the night. Claudia picked me up and I really struggled to leave Tom’s side. The separation anxiety was strong and I felt as though I was leaving a piece of myself behind. I held tears back and focused on my breath as we drove away from the hospital, away from my husband.

While we drove, I called home to check on my kids. When we got to Claudia’s apartment, I struggled to say a word. I felt like I was drowning in sorrow. I was finally in a place where I could feel these negative emotions as I didn’t have to hide them from Tom. I couldn’t hold it back anymore and sobbed.

“I almost lost my husband. We got married 3 weeks ago and my husband almost died. He DID die and he came back! I am so scared!!!!”

My friend tried to comfort me. “I don’t know what to say.” I told her: “Don’t say anything, just be here!”

I slept beside her on the couch that night, terrified to be alone. My anxiety as so strong that was shaking; I literally shook the couch.

The next morning, Claudia found some clothes for me to wear and drove me to the hospital.

Tom was able to leave the hospital floor so we sat outside to get some fresh air. The hospital was blocking the solar eclipse that was occurring on the other side. The warm air nourished our battered souls.

We were hopeful to be heading home but due to the flutters and how severe the heart attack was, the cardiologist wanted to keep him again for observation. Claudia picked me up and I stayed with her again. She washed my clothes for me so I’d have something clean to go home in. I slept in her bed alone that night.

Tom was discharged the next day. The cardiologist came to see us and explained that Tom’s heart was stunned and would be functioning at a 3 or 4, but expected his heart to be at an 8, 9 or 10 at his follow-up appointment in 6 weeks. He explained that this type of heart attack typically doesn’t have symptoms and happens in your sleep. Known as a “widow-maker,” it’s the kind of heart attack that you go to sleep and don’t wake up from. The blockage was located at the top of the heart, which cut off blood to the rest of the heart and typically causes irreversible damage. Tom was not showing signs of heart failure and he was hopeful that damage would be minimal. We wouldn’t know for sure until his follow-up in 6 weeks.

Tom read as much as he could about his condition, the type of heart attack he had, and cardiac arrest. I struggled to read or talk about it as it would upset my stomach. I was suffering from severe anxiety and remained off work for weeks as I adjusted to a new normal, once more. I would wake up frequently in a panic and would have to make sure Tom was breathing. The effects of stress were obvious; I was sleep deprived and was shedding pounds quickly.

Six weeks later, we attended his follow-up appointment. We were informed that there was no permanent damage to Tom’s heart. It was a miracle!

We struggled together and separately through the aftermath of what happened. We were both experiencing the after-affects of trauma, but from different perspectives. It was challenging for him to understand how deeply I was affected by his near-death, but I needed to process what happened and allow myself to experience the feelings that came along with it. I worked through this independently to protect my husband from unnecessary guilt. His health may have been the cause of suffering for us both, but we stood together in the aftermath and held each other up as we both healed.

Although it took us months to recover from this, I am thankful that we were able to come together in our experience and fears and are now stronger as a result. Love truly has the power to conquer all. I will never take this man for granted and am grateful for every day we have together.


Never Ready to Say Goodbye

She was 88 years old and still independent. final 26It’s the only way she knew how to be. She woke up that morning and drank her coffee like any other day. She washed her laundry as she did every Saturday, then had her shower and folded her laundry.

While she followed her daily routine, my mother, sister and I went to a celebration of life in honour of our dear friend’s father who suffered a massive heart attack while he was singing in church. We decided to make the most of the trip and stopped for supper. Shining across my plate was a delicate rainbow, a reflection from my water glass, a gentle reminder that our loved ones are always with us.

final 19Moments after we arrived home, a loud urgent knocking at the door startled my mother and sent her running to me in a panic. “Nonna collapsed in church and my car won’t start!” Before I could even think, I grabbed my phone, purse and car keys and we were gone.

Just like every Saturday night, Nonna went to church. It was more than her place of worship; it was her sanctuary. We were told she was out of breath when she walked in, sat in her regular seat, then gently closed her eyes. The priest intuitively knew something was amiss and when he asked a kind man to check on her, she was already gone.

Nonna was in the ambulance when we arrived and as I witnessed the paramedic performing CPR on her, I refused to believe what I knew in my heart to be true. Nonna joined Bella that night. We were told it was a massive heart attack. It felt like a replay of what happened to my friend’s father the week before.

final 23Nonna was more than a grandmother to me. She was an important part of my immediate family and was included in everything we did. She attended every celebration and gathering at our home. She loved coming to visit and was so grateful when we would surprise her with a visit too.

She and Bella had a very special bond which developed before Bella was born. I really wanted Nonna to be at Bella’s birth, and although she didn’t make it in time, she did accompany me to my last ultrasound. Nonna had never witnessed an obstetric ultrasound before and it was an honour to share that sacred moment with her.

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After Bella was born, Nonna was my saving grace. She would drive down to my home, park in the driveway and my kids would get excited as soon as they saw her walk up to the house. Nonna was Bella’s favourite person. She called her “Bis” and  would fetch Nonna’s slippers from the closet and greet her at the door ready to place them on her feet. Nonna would entertain the kids while I cleaned up after supper and washed dishes. We would visit and play, then she would rock Bella while I put Hudson to sleep. I would take over from Nonna once Hudson was settled and she would see herself out. This was our routine for many months, until the tragic day we lost Bella.

final 20I will never forget Nonna’s reaction that day, the shock and horror. I will never forget how she begged God to take her instead. The memory brings tears to my eyes and is something that terrified me as I was deathly afraid of losing someone else I loved. That fear is what forced me to be strong as I believed my family would get through the tragedy as long as they knew I would be okay. Except Nonna was never the same after that day. A piece of her died along with my daughter. She lost her spark, her love of life, and hope for the future.

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I have seen that spark return for brief moments, but her essence has never been the same. I know she is now where she’s wanted to be for the last 4.5 years.

My best friend, who is a medium, began communicating with Bella shortly after she passed. The following is from a letter she wrote to me where Bella described Nonna’s transition to heaven:


“She shows me Nonna Bis leaving this world but not in the immediate future. She shows me a man’s shadow calling Bella’s name and saying ‘okay it is time.’ Bella is playing and she is shadowed too. She grabs the man’s hand that I get is your Nonno’s presence. They walk toward a bright light. They are holding hands and they just wait. Then Nonna Bis slowly comes into sight in an illuminating white light and smiles. img_8621 2I see her approach the man and Bella and the first words she says are “What took you so long?” The man kind of chuckles giving of a sense of ‘well it’s not up to me when you get here’ so to speak. Nonna takes Bella’s other hand and they walk into the light.”

You will never be ready to say goodbye to someone you love, but this image brings great comfort.

Nonno was 88 years old when he passed, the same age as Nonna; they both passed on the 12th day of the month. I’m not sure what it means but I don’t believe in coincidences.

Now I grieve once more as I mourn the loss of my Grandmother, Nonna Bis.

Rest in Pease Nonna Bis. Please take care of my baby girl.

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Wisdom From The Past

The purpose of life is to experience. It is not our experiences that shape who we are but the choices we make from these experiences; what we choose to perceive, how we choose to react, and what we choose to take away from it all. We all go through good times and bad and the bad times allow us to appreciate the good. I’ve been through a lot recently and I may have scars, but I wear them with pride as I have learned a lot from them and I am a better person because of them. I choose strength and self-love, and choose to share this love with the world in hopes to inspire others and change lives. It is what you make of it so #StayStrong ❤️ – Angie Carter (June 21, 2014 – One week before Bella passed away)

Sometimes when we look back, we surprise ourselves. I often feel amazed when I look back at my written words. Did I write that? I don’t remember. Where did it come from? I’m in awe of how my own words helped me through the darkest days of my life. How could I have known what I would need to hear just one short week later? I had no way of knowing what was coming, but I have strong sense that something (a force?) was preparing me for what was to come. It was inevitable. When I look back at the last 6 months of Bella’s life, I was undergoing an enormous shift. I was waking up, accepting life as it was. I was finally adjusting to life as a single mom and made a point to celebrate life with my kids every single day. I was happy and felt fulfilled.

A few days after this inspiration hit me, I had the words “Stay Strong” tattooed on my arm. When I woke up in the Emergency Room the day after I lost my daughter, the doctor and nurses were in disbelief at the fresh tattoo on my arm. It’s as though I had the words I would need most permanently etched in the place where my eyes couldn’t miss seeing them. Reading these words helped remind me to live when I would forget to breathe.


June 25, 2014 – 3 days before saying goodbye.

In 7 days, it will be 3 years since I’ve held my baby girl. Today, I stand by these words that escaped my fingertips and am grateful they crossed my screen today. I am reminded of my life purpose. The next week will be an emotional ride, and once again I will visit the past. I will look at photos and remember the final days I had with Bella, relive the last memories we made together. Remembering her brings me so much joy, but memories bring deep pain as the two are intertwined. Grief is the price of love and memories are the prize. No one can ever take these priceless moments away from me.


June 21, 2014 – Blowing bubbles with her brother Hudson. She loved her puppy backpack.


June 22, 2014 – The day the power went out and we spent the whole day outside. It was the best day we ever had!


June 22, 2014 – Sleeping peacefully in the same outfit she’s still wearing today…


June 25, 2014 – The day I got my tattoo and Zia Lori picked Bella up from daycare, but forgot her diaper bag. HA!


June 26 – Bella’s new favourite snack. I still have this bag of edamame in our freezer.


June 27, 2014 – The last photo I have of Bella… also the last day I would ever know what “normal” feels like.

My hears hurts tonight, but once again I must choose how I react to this pain. She’s still here with me, holding me, guiding me. What matters is what I choose to do with this pain and instead of letting it eat away inside me, I am choosing to share it with the world. Letting it out can be painful, but every tear that falls helps my soul heal a little bit more. Instead of keeping these beautiful memories inside, I am sharing them with the world because this is now the only way to keep Bella alive. It is what you make of it so #StayStrong ❤️




August 6, 2014

It’s amazing how much impact one book can have. When I spoke with Brian (the medium) he mentioned that I would be receiving a book as a gift and it would give me insight into heaven that would help me heal. I assumed the book I had received in the mail the day before was that book, but one of my best friends called me after listening to the recording of my session with Brian and said “Oh my God! I have the book!” And so I’m now 2/3 of the way through that book, and yes, dear friend, you were right. Thank you for this book! (I high recommend it and you can order it on amazon for a great price!)

We are a very spiritual family. We believe in God, heaven, fate, and that there is so much more to life than we can begin to imagine. We have been talking a lot about these things because it’s helping us cope with losing Bella, but we tend to talk about these things on a regular basis. Like I’ve said previously, I’ve been given these beliefs for a reason and they are helping me cope with the greatest loss anyone can ever experience.

We recently discussed miscarriage, stillbirth and abortion, and what happens to these souls. I never thought about a miscarriage being a death until a friend told me about her experience after her miscarriage that confirmed for me beyond any doubt that her fetus had a soul. I have never had an opinion on abortion other than knowing I would never have one under any circumstances, but it only makes sense that there is a soul occupying those tiny bodies too. (I am not saying any of this to offend anyone who has had an abortion and rest assured that those souls are well and have likely entered new bodies – you cannot harm a soul, and it may have very well been their life purpose for you to experience such a thing.)

As for religion, I was raises a catholic but rarely go to church. I have a difficult time listening about “sin” and how we are punished for doing anything against God’s will. I do believe religion has an important purpose, but it becomes a world-wide issue when humans kill because they believe their religion is the “right” one. “One God – many faiths” is a more accurate way to see it, and I hope one day the world can accept this.

This book has also helped me decide how I want to celebrate Bella’s birthday this year. Humanity is losing communal values which is creating barriers. I want to remind people that our souls are all connected in this world in hopes of breaking down some of these barriers. Small acts of kindness can make a huge impact in this world and don’t have to cost a cent. 5 or 10 minutes of your time can turn around someone’s entire day. So this year on November 14 I will be asking people to help me break down these barriers by doing something nice for someone else. I’ll be asking that people do this to honour Princess Isabella. Together, we can change the world.

Click HERE to purchase Theresa Caputo’s book.

#TheresaCaputo #LongIslandMedium #RandomActsOfKindness #StayStrong

July 25, 2014

I lay here as I contemplate… Does it really matter what took my daughter from me? Knowing what happened won’t bring her back. I’m starting to think I would rather not know. How can all signs point towards this being her fate?

I saw a psychic who told me she never tells anyone this but it was Bella’s fate, she was meant to die. Brian (the medium) said that Bella already had a close call and she could have left us then. Bella was almost in a car accident and there is no way she would have survived. I thought she escaped death that day.

Brian also said this was Bella’s fate and had this incident that took her not have happened, there would have been another in a month or two. I also had another medium contact me with a message from Bella telling me that her contract on this earth was short and she chose me to be her mother because I’m an evolved soul and could handle her departure.

Then there was the voice I heard as I was on the floor performing CPR on my baby girl, the voice that told me that “it’s ok, it’s meant to be this way.” But how can it be a toddler’s fate to leave this world so soon?

I know this much: there is more to life than humans are able to comprehend, there are reasons why we choose to live, and life doesn’t end once our physical body dies. Death of the body is not death of the soul because they are separate. We are made of energy and energy doesn’t die. So where do we go when our body dies? Bella is still here with me and hasn’t left my side. She’s in another dimension so I can’t see her, but I can feel her constantly.

Brian said she’s very affectionate and is constantly giving me hugs and kisses, and I honestly feel them. They feel warm and tingly, and make me feel complete happiness and bring me comfort. I am torn between having a deeper understanding of life and death and wanting to grieve the loss of my baby girl.

“Understand that your soul is not bound by three-dimentional earthly existence.” – Unknown