Randi Lee Hambrick was born on April 15, 1976 here in Virginia and lived on this earth for seventeen (17) years. She was my third child (and last) who had older brother, Robert Joseph, and one older sister, Kathy Lynne. She had a normal childhood like most children, with the same childhood diseases that most children share like chicken pox, colds, flu, and various other sickness. She had one serious bout of pneumonia when she was six months old but recovered and I never thought any more about it. She went to school and played when she came home. Her father and I divorced when she was four years old and I married Randi's stepfather when she was ten. Between the ages of four and ten, Randi, her sister, Kathy, and I were the three musketeers. We did everything together. Randi's brother lived with her father so she did not see very much of him as she grew up. School was not easy for Randi but she tried hard. Randi started playing the trumpet when she was in junior high school and continued on until she passed away. It was the one thing she took pride in and one of the things she was really good at doing. She did not practice at home much but had a real talent for playing. She played with the band at every football game as well as competitions for which her school won quite a few awards.

She had turned seventeen years old in April of 1993. She had lots of friends and attended our local Baptist Church most of her life where she was an active member of the youth group. She accepted Jesus as her Savior in October, 1987 and was baptized on November 1, 1987. She had been dating a little over a year and her life was that of a typical teenager (aggravating to me but was the way she wanted it to be for her).

She was a pain sometimes, rebellious sometimes, and a real joy sometimes. I admired her because she was all the things I am not. She was a person who spoke her mind and if she thought she was right would defend her actions to the limit. She had the courage of her beliefs, was tenderhearted, and was one who loved her family deeply. She was trying to find herself as most seventeen year olds do. She did babysitting sometimes, mostly for other family members. She had been visiting with her father for part of that summer and was looking for a job.

I had talked with Randi on July 18, 1993 and she seemed to be just fine. She gave no clue that she felt bad or that she was sick in any way. She talked about going to band camp in a few weeks and how she was really looking forward to going. She went out to a job interview on July 19 to one of our local Walmart stores and when she got back to her father's house, she complained that she was having trouble breathing. Her father's wife is a nurse and she looked her over and listened to her lungs but could hear nothing wrong. Randi had no other symptoms like fever, cough, chills, or anything else. That afternoon her father took her to our family doctor who took x-rays and found that she had double pneumonia.

Her father took her to one of our local hospitals and she was placed in the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU). Her father's wife came to my house to let me know what was going on and to take me to the hospital after she was admitted. They figured it would be better if someone told me in person rather than on the phone. I was afraid because she was in the hospital but I was not overly concerned at this point because like I said Randi had pneumonia when she was 6 months old and she recovered just fine.

When we got to the hospital it was about 8:00 p.m. and I went in to see Randi. She was in bed and had several IV's hooked up to her and they had her on a oxygen mask. She had to keep taking it off in order to talk. She told everyone to leave the room so that she could talk to me alone. After everyone left the room, she told me that she loved me and how scared she was at being in the hospital sick. I told her it would be alright and related to her about her bout with pneumonia at 6 months of age and that in this day and age with all the modern technology they have, that people (especially young people) did not die from pneumonia any more. I could not have been more wrong. (The doctor told me that about every three or four years a young person about Randi's age comes in with what she had and some made it and some didn't. Randi didn't.) She told me that she felt better after talking with me. I told her goodnight and that I would be back in the morning. I went home thinking it was all going to be alright.

The next morning, July 20, 1993, I went back to the hospital at 10:00 a.m. (which was one of the visiting times for MICU). Randi was sitting up in the bed but she still had the oxygen mask on her face. She look really pale and now she had a bad cough. The doctors took her father and I aside and told us that they were going to have to put her on a respirator or she would not make it to nightfall. I had no idea what that entailed but was soon to find out. I felt like someone had slapped me in the face because I could not believe that it was this bad. By this time I was getting scared myself at what I was being told of her condition. We agreed to the procedure. I went in to tell Randi what was going on and she told me how scared she was again. I again told her that it would be alright and that I loved her. Like a typical parent, I told her that I would be there for her and would not let anything happen to her. I had no clue that in less than six week, she would be gone. She seemed satisfied and as I was walking out the door from her room, she told me goodbye and that she loved me. Little did either one of us know that this would be the last thing she would ever say to me.

After the rest of the family went in to visit with her, the doctors sedated her and put her on the respirator. The next time I saw Randi she had a tube in her mouth and I just stood there and cried. They had to keep her sedated to keep her from taking the tube out. They kept her sedated for the next 5 1/2 weeks until she died. She never was conscious again. From then on, I learned more about lung disease than I ever wanted to know. I learned how to read the monitor above her bed that told of her heart beat, respiration, temperature and so forth. I learned about all the drugs that they were pumping into her body to keep her alive. I had no sooner gotten home from the hospital when I had to go back because she had taken a turn for the worse. One of her lungs had developed a hole in it and they had to put in a chest tube. I finally called the rest of my family and told them what was going on. They all came to the hospital and stayed with me until after midnight. Before she died, she had a total of six chest tubes in her body.

The hospital would only let us visit her three times a day (10:00 am, 2:00pm, and 6:00pm) and for only 15 minutes each time. I was limited in how much time I could spend with her because there were others who wanted to see her (her father, brother, sister and the boy friend she had at the time). I was there every day for the entire 5 1/2 weeks at every visiting hour. I would pray all day long for her healing. We had quite a number of churches in our area praying for her healing but it was not to be. I would not let myself consider the fact that she might die. I just could not believe that in this day and age with all the modern technology that someone as young and in good health as Randi was could die from pneumonia. I just knew that God would heal her. I thought that the God that I served would not let my child die if I prayed hard enough and believed the right things and had enough of other people praying for her too. But that was not to be either. I had a lot of support from our church and especially my Sunday School class. They kept us fed and emotionally supported throughout the entire time. One in particular came to the hospital every day at the 2:00 visiting hour just to sit with me when others went in to see Randi. She went in to see her several times but mostly just sat with me.

For the next few weeks, she just kept getting worse. For the next 5 1/2 weeks, we watched as Randi slowly deteriorated. I also learned more about medicine than I ever wanted to know. I learned new drug names, I learned how to read patient monitors, I learned how to read Randi's chart, I learned about chest tubes when she would get holes in her lungs, I learned about tracheotomy, and oxygen levels and all kinds of other things too numerous to go into here. She would have one crises after another and kept me scared all along the way. Her heart would stop and they would have to get it going again. She would have an allergic reaction to some of the medicine they would be giving her and they would have to give her something to counteract it. She would develop more holes in her lungs and they would keep putting in more chest tubes. She would swell up and develop a rash and they would have to give her medicine to combat that. About three weeks into her hospital stay, they put in a trak and took the tubes from her mouth. I just kept going through all this with Randi and tried to maintain my sanity at the same time. I just kept on praying and believing that she would be alright in the end. That was not to be. For five and a half weeks, she battled for her life. But in the end, she lost the battle. And so did I, because I lost the battle of my faith.

One of the things that I remember most about spending time with Randi while she was in the hospital was that at the 10:00 visiting time, I was almost always the only one to be there to see her because everyone else had to work and could not be there at that time. Because of that, I got to spend the entire fifteen minutes with her alone. The first thing I would do when I went into her room was to sing to her. I would sing her two chorus that she and I had learned in church and they were "Jesus Never Fails" and "Oh How He Loves You and Me". I would hold her hand and pretend that she was singing with me and we would be connected together for a while. This time was so special for me and I hope for her too. Then I would pray for her and then for me. I would tell her that I loved her and relate to her what was going on with her and the rest of the family. I just kept on believing that God would heal her. Well He did heal her, just not in the way I thought He should have and thus the losing battle of my faith. Because of my way of thinking at the time, I left myself wide open for my faith to be devastated when she died. If you want to know more about my struggle with my faith (or lack thereof) and trusting God, email me and I will be glad to tell you about it. I don't have all the answers but I can try to tell you how I coped.

She finally was diagnosed with Acute Respitory Distress Syndrome which is most commonly called ARDS and is a complication of lung disease. Mostly it just means that the lungs become hard and cannot exchange air any more. The doctors kept telling us that she still could recover and that they had had patients that were worse off than Randi recover. A lady even came to the hospital to see me that had recovered from the very thing Randi was dying from. She told us that it took her three months before she started to recover. So we held on to that hope. My life revolved around the hospital visiting hours. When I was not at the hospital, I was at home praying for her and just trying to keep a clear head because she might need me. I am thankful that I did not have to go to work because I could not have done that. My mind was in Randi's hospital room even when I was not there physically. I don't remember much about anything else that was going on at the time. My sister-in-law told me at the beginning that I should keep a journal of all that happened during the time Randi was sick and I did. I am so grateful that I did that because I would not remember much about what happened if I did not have this to refer to. Every night when I would go home to try to get some sleep, I would write in my journal what had happened during that day.

During this time, our family became even closer than it was before. We saw a great deal of each other. Randi's older sister, Kathy, who was married before Randi got sick, and her husband were at the hospital when they got off from work. Randi's older brother, Robert, came when he got off from work also and brought Randi's niece, Alyssa, with him sometimes. Various other members of Randi's family came every day along with her boyfriend who also came every day to see her.

There were other family members there to see Randi during the 5 1/2 weeks and I had my friends who came by at least once a day at the hospital to keep a check on me. I don't know what I would have done if not for the rest of my family and my friends. I ask the doctor one day about a week before Randi died if I could spend the entire day in her room with her. It was a feeling I had inside urging me to do that and I would have done it whether the doctors agreed to it or not, after all I was paying the bills. I am glad I was able to spend the day with her. I read to her and just talked to her but mostly just held her hand to let her know that she was not alone. It was during this day that I realized that severe illness and death is not just a physical event but it was spiritual in nature also. I felt that as I spent the day with Randi and the feeling continued for a long time after she died.

I received a phone call from Randi's father at 3:30 a.m. on August 27, 1993 telling me that Randi had passed away a few minutes earlier. I just went numb. I just could not believe that after all we went through, she died anyway. I got dressed somehow and went to the hospital. My husband, the assistant pastor of our church, my sister-in-law (whose is a nurse) and I were the only ones there. I went in to see Randi one last time. They had removed her trach and all the tubes and she was just laying there in the bed. There was a peaceful air about her and I went over to her and hugged her and kissed her cheek. I told her goodbye and told her that I love her. I also told her that one day we would be together again. I went back out to the waiting room one last time and just sat and cried until there were no tears left. Then I went home without Randi and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life.

We went through the usual funeral arrangements and notified the church that I wanted her funeral held at the church and not at the funeral home. For some reason this shocked everyone from the funeral home to my own church. The pastor and the funeral director both told me it was because most people do not hold funeral services in their church because then they could not face going back there because they would see the casket all the time. But I did not feel that way and I figured that Randi had a right for her funeral to be held at the church she grew up in. And yes I see her casket at the alter every Sunday. But it is not a painful memory but a good one because I know that one day we will be together again.

At her funeral I sang to her for the last time the two songs I sang every day to her in the hospital. I knew it was the right thing to do and I felt like I needed to do that just one more time. It had become a part of my life for 5 1/2 weeks that I just had to do it once more. The rest of the funeral is a blur to me. I am thankful that someone at our church had the presence of thought to make me a cassette recording of the funeral service itself. I have not listened to it yet but one day I will .

Randi knew that I liked thunderstorms with lightning so from August 27, the day she passed away, to August 30, the day we buried her, it thundered each day with some lightning too. Most of the time it just thundered with no rain and sometimes not even a cloud in the sky. At the graveside service as we were walking to the grave it started to thunder. It thundered the whole time we were there. (In fact we had thunderstorms for most of September and October of that year.) Odd, huh. The high school band she played with when she was alive played taps for her as we were leaving the cemetery. For the next six months to a year shock took over every aspect of my life. I don't remember too much about it. I remember I could not pray for myself or anyone else during this time . All I could do was get up and take each day as it came.

The following April 15, which was her birthday. I had a birthday party for Randi and invited her family and relatives to pay her honor. One of the things that was odd at the party was that two separate people, who had not talked to one another, each brought balloons. One person bought ten balloons and one person bought eight balloons. Randi was eighteen years old that birthday. Odd wasn't it. We celebrated her life as best we could that day.

There have been other things that happened to me during that first year after Randi died. The first time I had to go back over to the hospital where she died and had to pass the MICU, I thought I was going to have a panic attack before we could get to the car outside. But as we stepped outside the hospital doors, I saw a rainbow in the sky. It was not raining, and the sun was shining bright. I knew it was Randi's way of telling me it was alright. Sometimes I would see a butterfly at her grave when I would go there. Just little things to let me know she was near.

Now, on her birthday and the anniversary of her death date, her sister, Kathy, and I go and do what we know Randi always liked to do. First we go to the cemetery and put flowers on her grave and release balloons with messages to her from us. Then we go shopping and to a movie, the two things Randi liked to do the most. We just spend the day together remembering Randi and her life with us. It is our way of honoring her memory together.

Needless to say, when Randi died, my life was turned upside down. Parents don't expect the outlive their children. Losing a child is like losing your future. It is definitely like losing a part of yourself. There is a saying that goes like this: When you lose your spouse you are called a widow, when you lose your parents you are called an orphan, but when you lose a child the loss is so great that there is not a word to call it. Randi's death has left a big gap in my life. People used to tell me after a year or so that I needed to get on with my life and get over this, but I tell them that yes I will get on with my life but I will never get over this loss. It will stay with me until I see Randi again. I don't want to give up the pain of grief because I have given up so much already I don't want to let anything else go. The grief is my constant reminder of Randi. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of her. Some days I think of her more than others. But always she is on my mind. People tell you that they don't want to mention her name or ask you how you are doing because they are afraid they will remind you about it. Duh? As if you are not already thinking about it anyway. She is never far from my mind.

Randi's death made me question everything I believed it. I still ask the question "WHY" but I know that no answer would be good enough. Randi is gone from this place and there is no good reason why it had to be that way. I had to question my perception of God and who He is. I had to question the reason for praying because a lot of people were praying for Randi but she still died, so I had to ask what is the point of prayer. I don't know why God did not intervene in Randi's case. I have talked to another person who had the same thing Randi had but she lived. She was older than Randi and was in poorer health than Randi but she lived and Randi did not. Go figure. It makes no sense to me. A lot of things now make no sense to me. After Randi died, my whole perspective on life changed. The death of a child changes you as a person. Nothing is ever the same again no matter how hard you try to make it so. Things that use to bother me now don't. I have very little compassion for people who think little things are important. I just tell them that in the big scheme of things the little things don't matter and very few of the big things matter either. The only thing that matters is God, love, and family. All else is just surface stuff.

I can look back now over the past 4 years since Randi died and I can see that God was with me the whole time even when I did not feel like He was. He held me up because I could not have held myself up. He gave me strength to do what I had to do. He guided me where I needed to be. And He heard my heart when my mouth could not speak to Him in prayer. He was a light unto my path guiding my feet to the next step I would have to take. He never got angry when I screamed at Him for letting Randi die, He never chastised me for blaming Him, He never left me, and in the middle of my most heart wrenching day, He was there. I believe that God held me in the palm of His hand so that I could survive the loss of my child. I lived under the wings of God for a long time after she died. He was even strong enough to listen to my questioning of Him and still never left me. He gave me friends that were in place long before Randi died so that when I needed them they were already there to help. And help they did. They supported me, they let me talk about Randi, they talked about Randi, and they never told me to quit crying or mentioning her name. To this day, I can still mention Randi with these friends and they all stop and listen. I thank God every day for these people every day.

I still have a hard time with my trust in God even after all that He did for me because I have not fully understood who He really is in my life. But I could not stay angry with the very person who has my Randi and who is entrusted with her care. So I just keep plodding along, searching for answers and knowing that one day it will all not matter any longer when Randi and I are reunited again. I look forward to that day.

Thank you Merry for this honor.
It makes my heart sing to know others care.