I haven't been acting like the grown-up I am... a lot.  I know I'm still pretty stuck with my adolescent whinings, teenage angsts, and really juvenile issues.  I can't even manage to keep a normal relationship.  So, when I first heard from a friend that our friend's 10-month old baby, Sophia, died of viral encephalitis, the whole thing just felt a little surreal.  I felt like shouting, "Wait world!  We're still on the people-we-know-are-getting-married-and-pregnant stage, we are not ready for death."

Cliche as it may sound, children are not supposed to die before their parents.  10-month old babies are supposed to be playing, crawling, and learning how to cruise; not getting stuck in the ICU playing pin cushion for the catheter, nor being tried to be revived by doctors 14 times and failing at it.

It took Sophia 12 days from onset of fever until she flat-lined.  Two days of fever, then seizure, then coma.  It was that fast, and they don't know which virus to blame.

Given a hypothetical situation, ask me what I would like to do if a child was said to be GCS (Glascow Coma Scale) 3/15 for 6 days, (This means that the child is in coma, 3 is the lowest grade you can have.) and I'd tell you I'd rather end it quick.  But now I realize I'm talking this way because I'm not a mom.  She tried everything despite the lengthy doctor's lecture about the child's prognosis, and regardless of the cost.  She wants to tell herself that she did all she could.  No regrets.  I don't understand it, but I guess it's because I've never been in that situation, and hopefully will never be there.

Sophia likes coke.  I know, so young right?  At 10 months, given the choice between milk and coke, she'd pick coke anytime.  The dad said, she died because Papa Jesus brought her to the coke factory first.  She didn't want to leave anymore.

So Sophia, enjoy! I'm sure you're happy wherever you are.