Feb 19, 2018- Feb 4, 2019
I wrote pages of Adia’s story through tears. It was a heartbreaking reminder of how much pain and suffering my baby went through. Even though I saw all day every day what she went through and how it made her feel, that’s not how I’d like to remember her. So….
Adia Evony was born on Presidents Day, Monday February 19th, 2018 at 9pm sharp. Weighing in at 6 pounds 1 oz and 19 inches long. She had a head full of long beautiful dark Brown hair. Eye lashes that went on for days, that she became famous for throughout her life. I swear just as much fuzz on her shoulders, face, and above her booty as she had on her head. That’s where I got the nick name Monkey or Monk for her. Almost immediately from birth my baby wore a smile on her face. She was always smiling or making goofy faces. We called them the many faces of Adia. She had so much personality for a soul so new to this world. Even on her worst days, which there were many, Adia would make goofy faces at you or crack you one of her most adorable gummy grins to let you know that she was ok. She’s the definition of strength, my reason to fight. Being so young Adia couldn’t verbally communicate, but she knew how to communicate with me in her own way. The little turd blossom, as my father her Paw Paw calls her, if you smelled something less than pleasing you could ask her if she ” shoo shooed” and if she had she’d get the biggest grin on her face and squeal almost out of laughter.
My child had a twisted sense of humor. She liked to play games like ” how fast can I grab this NG tube before I get caught”. She loved to play pirates and make ” Argh” sounds, and making kissy faces at us. She was the best snuggle partner ever. She would curl up in your arms or sprawl out on your chest and just snooze, and being my child drool all over you. She would squirm herself into what I would think would be the most uncomfortable positions, but everytime you would move her to a seemingly more comfortable position she’d get herself right back to where she was before. She had to be touching you or something. No matter where you moved she would get her leg up to you to push off and kick you. She loved to have stories read to her, and she would babble with you as you read as if she was adding in details. She quickly took ownership of the rocker recliner. If she was being held while sitting, she insisted that she was rocked. She would throw herself back to get you to rock her and once you started to rock her she would continue help until she fell asleep. I sang to her a lot and she would always pitch in with me. If she was fussy I could start singing her “you are my sunshine” and typically she would settle down and start babbling with me trying to finish the song. I loved nights that we didn’t have nurses because she would sleep in bed with me, she would wake up and start throwing her arm around as if she was trying to find me in bed. As soon as I grabbed her little hand and let her know I was right there with her she would close her eyes and go back to sleep.
Although Adia’s life was short, and traumatic, she was so strong and she led me. At the end, she let me know that she was tired and couldn’t fight anymore. She had just enough strength before her last heart beat to babble to me and her daddy letting us know she was going to be alright. Although Adia’s life was not what we had imagined, I couldn’t imagine my life never having her just the way she was, perfectly imperfect. There are many things and milestones she never got to do or reach that most kids do, but she surpassed most kids in so many different ways. She forever will be my hero, my heart.