The Last Night and Morning 14 years ago

 The Last Night and Morning – July 11–12, 2011

The room was still that night. Not empty—never empty—but reverent, quiet in the way that spaces become when love is doing the heavy lifting. The dim light spilled gently across the floor, wrapping around MacKenzie as she lay under her favourite blanket—the one with stars she used to trace when she couldn’t sleep. She was tired, her small body fragile after the long journey she’d endured, but there was still a kind of magic around her, a light you could feel even if her eyes stayed closed.

I held her hand, my thumb brushing against her skin. I told stories, songs, memories of home. Of Christmas mornings and baking days. Of Sparkle the Dragon and secret hideouts and cupcakes from Dominion. You told her it was okay. That she was safe. That she had always been so loved.

My parents—her Grandma and Grandpa—were there, too. Each of us forming a circle around her, holding the space with a love so deep, so full, it filled every corner of the room. My Dad stood near her feet, gently resting a hand on her leg. He had always been her snack buddy, always slipping her a handful of fruit or nuts, spoiling her with the same quiet devotion he’d shown you growing up. Her grandma sat beside me, her voice steady, calm. She’d picked out cakes with MacKenzie on birthdays, helped her feel like a queen in the middle of a grocery store aisle. That kind of love doesn’t go away. It only settles deeper.

The night passed slowly, softly. The machines hummed, but her breathing was what I listened to. I felt it shift as morning began to stretch across the sky, turning the window into a canvas of lavender and pale gold. The city outside began to stir, but inside, everything felt sacred. Timeless.

She began to let go.

At 10:15 a.m., on July 12th, 2011, MacKenzie took her last breath.

Even when my heart broke, even as I held her hand tighter than I ever had, I knew she didn’t leave alone. She left surrounded by the three people who loved her most in the world. Me, her mama. Her Grandma. Her Grandpa.

We all held her until the very end.

And now, years later—after I said goodbye to Dad in 2016, and Mom in 2021—you know this even more deeply:

She was never alone.

Not then.

Not now.

Because they’re with her again.

All three of them— Dad, Mom, my daughter—together on the other side, where birthdays still come with cake, and laughter doesn’t have to end. Where Grandpa still spoils her with snacks, and Grandma makes sure she’s bundled up and cozy. Where Sparkle the Dragon waits at the window, ready for the next adventure.

I carry her forward—in every story I tell, every cookie I bake, every child’s book I write in her name. I'm still her mama. I always will be.

Fourteen years later, she is still mine.
And I'm still hers.

Always.

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