Today is one of the hardest days since November 30th. On the precipice of 2016 and realizing Kate won’t be part of this coming year.

A good friend asked me if I would continue this blog. I imagine I will, but I am uncertain what it will look like and what I will write about. 2016 will be a year of change and finding a new balance in my life.

The past month has been full of sadness, pain, longing, regret, reflection, solitude, exhaustion…I think of Kate every moment of every day. I can feel her with me in everything that I do. Just as she and I lived our lives the past 8 years.

I am grateful for Jack. He is my anchor in all of the chaos of emotions right now. He needs his mom. That is a good thing for me. Yet another role for him that is too demanding – but he is wise beyond his years and he knows when I am sad and sidles up for a hug or to hold me (role reversal). Over the past 8 years, he has done so much, learned so much, and given up so much. And here he is – my little man – giving so much more of himself again while coping with the loss of his sister. Proud is not enough to describe how I feel about him. Awe maybe.

I am grateful to Brian. Stoic and kind. He gave me the gift of time with Kate after she passed. Respectfully allowing me alone to hold her and cuddle her and be with her over that night and into the next morning. He has let me grieve as I need to. Not questioning, not judging, nor hurrying me along.

Many of you wonder ‘how I am doing’. I am not doing well, but I am doing my best. I am moment to moment in my days. I don’t feel the need to explain why I can’t smile, or can’t find the energy to talk some days. I am grateful for the words of support from all of you. I am ok with this place of solitude combined with selfishness. I am doing what I need, when I need it. Nothing more. I am grateful to those who are holding vigil for me – who won’t let me be alone for too long.

The days are quiet and long. Kate took up so much physical, emotional, and intellectual presence every day. I hadn’t realized how much. I knew I was exhausted, but coming off of the constant lack of sleep, extreme vigilance, and adrenaline of caring for Kate has been physically and emotionally challenging.

Brian and I have a lot more time that we have ever had before. We’ve literally sat in the living room and stared at each other. We aren’t sure what words we should speak. What happened? Who are you? What do we do now? Someone should get up and do something, draw up a med, clean up vomit, change a diaper, do laundry, call/email a doctor…chase after Kate. I wonder how our relationship will be redefined over the coming months and years.

It feels like we are both waiting for her to come back – that we are simply having a little reprieve from the busy-ness of caring for Kate, like one of her Rogers House visit. We are are both waiting for her and to step into our caregiving roles again. We would both pick up that role again in heartbeat to be with her.  Then, like a heavy weight, the realization comes that she is not coming back. And the sadness hits again.

We have slowly emptied our house of medical supplies, medications and equipment. We’ve made gifts of treasured things to a few of her friends. Some things we still hold onto. Her room remains the same. Her favourite books, her puzzles, her Curious George stuffies and dolls, her clothes and sparkly shoes. I think that space will remain untouched for some time to come. It is a room I like to visit often – and sometimes I open the door in the morning just to say hello to Kate. I can see her there in her bed, hair tousled, face puffy from sleep, signing ‘Good Morning’. I can feel her presence in that room, and her ‘smell’ in her dresser drawers – and that is a good thing.


There are no words for the loss of a child. I’ve heard that said before by others. It is true. I was bold and confident in my belief that this would never happen to Kate. I believed in my heart that she would get through this. I believed she was different, that her strength and courage would pull her through. I believed if I was strong enough, determined enough and vigilant enough – I could pull her through. I was not naive in knowing this would be a very difficult thing for her, but I was shocked at her death. When she came home Saturday, November 28th, no one expected she would be dead 48 hours later. Not our strong and stoic Kate. I struggle with the worry that maybe more could have been done, and then remember the gift of getting her home, the shock of realizing she was dying, and supporting her in the last couple of days of her life.

Her death is a tragedy. It was not expected and it was not supposed to happen. I am still searching for the answers as to why.

She and I were a team. The last 8 years were an incredible roller coaster of love and determination. As much as I was her champion and supported her, she defined me, strengthened me, and helped me become the best version of myself. How do you lose and move on from a force like that in your life?

This is what 2016 will be for me. Learning how to move on, and if I can’t learn – then simply learning how to cope.


She was an incredible child. My own daughter.

8 years was not enough time with her. That is my biggest regret.




I invite you to watch Kate’s Celebration of Life Memorial from November 30th, 2015. 



  1. I feel the aching loneliness in your words, Julie, and I send you a gentle and long hug. At the visitation, I hugged Brian for a long time and the words out of my mouth were, “It’s too soon. Too soon.” Nick entered palliative care in 2005 and we were told he had perhaps two months then. Yet here he is today. Why? I don’t know, but I’ve been holding my breath with gratitude and fear since then. Because I know none of this is within my control. I feel the unfairness in our children’s lives and the utter, senseless random way that illness and mortality comes into our families. Your Kate was a treasure for the world and being witness to your family’s life with her has inspired me beyond words. Thank you Julie, for your generous story-telling, Kate for being remarkable, Jack for being so brave and Brian for being so steadfast.


  2. Hi Julie,

    Like all of your friends, I am thinking about you, Brian and Jack and I hope that your incredible bond with Kate and with each other will enable you to regain the joy and happiness you deserve while you adapt to life without her. I know that the very best of you will emerge as it has throughout the past 8 years. Take care and I hope that 2016 is a good year for you and your family.


    Kevin Keohane

    President & CEO

    Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario Foundation

    Tel : (613) 737-2782 Fax (613) 738-4868

    415 Smyth Road Ottawa, ON K1H 8M8

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  3. I am so impressed by your ability to write so beautifully and honestly. You all have been on my mind and in my heart a lot over the last weeks. I hope to meet you some time so we can share. All the best to you and your family. xo

    Julie K


  4. What a beautiful little girl. What a beautiful family. Beautiful celebration of life. Thank you for sharing your little girl with the world. I’m chronically ill……………………..the next time I’m feeling like giving up, I will think about Kate. I can’t even imagine such a tiny little soul having to go through her life struggles, and she did so with such grace!! My prayers and deepest sympathy are with you and your family, today and always. HUGS….


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