My Sleeping Girls

Looking back at my photos from July 18th, I can tell it was a good day. There are pictures of Kate dressed up in princess clothes, Ruby taking cat naps, and sisters watching cartoons together.

I appreciated those days to the fullest. I felt SO lucky to be home. I felt so lucky to care for Ruby at home. I felt so thankful to be with Kate full time. I was soaking in my life.

I remember that night very clearly. I was exhausted from that day. Caring for Rubes at home was a lot of work for me. Being home meant I had all the medical things to worry about, on top of being a mommy to Kate and Ruby. And a wife to my Matt. And keeping the house clean, and dinner made. It was a lot.  I remember walking down the hall to check on the girls before I fell into bed that night. I checked on Kate first.

  I took this photo:

 

And then I slipped into Ruby's room and took this photo:

 

I will never forget the feeling of complete contentment I felt as I walked back down the hall into my room. I know I must have had a smile on my face. I just felt so lucky. And so proud to be a mother to my daughters. It was such a moment of intense feelings, that I knew I would never forget it.

It was one of the last nights that Ruby spent in our home.

 Each night after I check on Kate, I still go into Ruby's room. I usually look into her crib, and imagine her laying there, like she was not too long ago. As I walk down the hall to my room, I remember the night I felt so content. I have a gaping hole in my heart where I know contentment should reside. But, what hasn't changed is how proud and lucky I am to have been chosen as a mother to my two beautiful daughters.

Ruby Jane Taylor

We have been very exited to share this short film with everyone. 

We miss our Ruby girl every minute of every day. We are so thankful for all the love we have been given over the passed year. We are grateful for the overwhelming support for Ruby, our family, and the Foundation, as we continue to fight for cause of organ donation in Ruby's honor. Everyone that has learned about Ruby, been inspired, made a change, and shared her story, has helped carry on her mighty legacy. We hope you will continue to tell her story, by sharing this video.

Background on the video:

In the fall, a motion photography production company called Nels-Ole, contacted us about filming a short video about Ruby. In January, they flew here from Minnesota, and we filmed "Ruby's Story". These amazingly talented people donated all of their time and talent in making this video. We are so excited to have her story recorded in a way that we can easily share it with many people. We hope that you will learn more about Ruby, and our family, and share her story!

Inspired by Ruby

On Janurary 7th, 2012, more than 1,000 people gathered in Rancho Santa Margarita, CA to honor Ruby. The first annual, Run for Ruby was held just two days after Ruby would have turned 1 year old. 

People were asked how Ruby has inspired them, and this was their response.

Filmed and Edited by: Nels-Ole Creative, a Motion Photography Production Company

My Kate

Ruby passed away just after midnight on a Friday. We arrived home, empty handed, sometime around 4 or 5am. We cried ourselves to sleep. Sleep was something I thought would never come, but 7 months of physical and emotional exhaustion forced our bodies to rest, if only for a couple of hours. Waking up that morning was the worst morning of my life. I was first confused to be waking up in my own bed. After I realized why I was at home, and not at the hospital, I could not breath. "My baby died...today."

I remember hearing Matt downstairs throwing things away...all of her medical supplies. I remember my sister holding me as I sobbed and wailed in my bed. I am not sure how I was able to get up, but I somehow did. 

And then I remembered I was still a parent. I still had a child here. I needed my Kate more than anything in that moment. I needed to feel her warm skin, and feel her breath against my cheek. My brothers brought her home that morning. Matt and I took her in our room, and told her about her sweet sister. I am not sure if she will remember that moment when she is grown, but it is something I will never forget, telling my daughter that her baby sister has gone to heaven...

The first few weeks were really hard with Kate. She had lost all of her trust in me. She was use to me packing her things at a moments notice, and dropping her off to my parents, as we quickly made our way to the hospital. We would go days, and one time, I think even a week without seeing her. Matt and I would trade off at the hospital, but when I was home with Kate, it was hard to enjoy my time, because I was so worried about Ruby. Kate was pushed to my back burner, and I  paid for it. 

All I wanted was to be needed by her. I needed to feel purpose as a mother. I felt beaten, broken, and striped of my role as a mother. When Kate would fall and cry, she did not want me. She would run straight passed me, into the arms of my mom, or sister, or a cousin. I didn't blame her. She had built her own little walls to protect herself from her unpredictable life.

I spent a lot of time reassuring her. I spent a lot of time praying that she would trust me again. But I was also spending a lot of time grieving. Grieving left me little energy to play dolls. It left me little motivation to make favorite meals, or even to speak while we ate dinner. I kept thinking about a post I wrote about "perspective". I was feeling guilt for not enjoying my daughter with a new found love and appreciation, and throwing everything aside to be the best mother. I just couldn't do it while grieving so deeply. 

Today things are a little easier, but my role as Ruby's mother is so emotionally draining, I have to fight to be there for Kate. I thought the feeling of being torn between my two girls would be over when we returned home. I was wrong.

 Every night I pass Ruby's room and go into Kate's room to adjust her sheets, and pull her covers up. Sometimes I lay down and hold her as she sleeps, thankful to have a healthy daughter, still here. My motivation to teach her the gospel, and about eternal families is a major priority. If my testimony has anchored me through this storm, I must give her the same knowledge to form her own testimony of our Heavenly Father's will. A lot is required of a mother, and I am slowly making my way toward being the mother I want to be.

Kate is a strong little girl. She, in a lot of ways, has saved me. I needed her, more than she needed me I think. She pulls me out of bed every morning, gives me the motivation I need to start my day, and reminds me that I am still a mother. She reminds me all day long, that I am not only a mother to her, but to Ruby as well.  She gives me joy.

I am thankful to my Father in Heaven, for placing Kate so perfectly into our family.

 He knew we would need her. And I think she needs us too. ;)

Ruby Girl, asleep in her Daddy's arms. Light pink favorite jammies on.

Looking back is hard. But, back is the only way I can look to remember her. Everyday I think about what we were doing a year ago. Where we in the hospital? At home? Was it a good day? Did I enjoy her? Did I enjoy Kate? Was I a good mom to my little girls that day?

 I am thankful that most days were good days for us. Even the ones in the hospital. Somewhere deep inside, I must have know. I must have known I needed to enjoy every moment of her...of my life for those months. I am thankful that the prompting I had, that we were going to lose her, was only the day before she left. I was always so hopeful, and it made our 7 months together enjoyable. I honestly did not imagine the worst. Of course, there were moments of overwhelming grief for our situation, and deep sadness for all that Ruby would have to endure, but I didn't fear for her life more than a few times.

Where were we a year ago today? We were home as a family. We worked in our tiny yard together.  Ruby hung out with Matt in the sling. Kate ran in and out of the house. I probably bathed her, and held her and nursed her. I probably played with Kate. Kate must have snuggled with Ruby on the couch. Matt held Ruby, and Kate was snuggled under his free arm. We were always so thrilled to be home, as a family. It was a rare perspective we had. We just longed to be in our home, together, just being a family.

It's hard NOT to look back, because it was a happy 7 months we had with Ruby in our family. But we are also looking forward. We are anxiously waiting to be with our Ruby again. We are anxious to have our little family all together again. We are moving forward, one step closer to Ruby everyday.

Family of Four

We had just pulled into the garage after a long busy day. The sun was just about to say "goodnight" as Kate would say. As Matt unbuckled Kate from her carseat, I made my way into the house, empty handed. Like a ton of bricks had just been dropped on my heart, I fell into pieces.

My mind quickly realized that I should be caring a sleepy Ruby into the house. I should be walking up the stairs, into her nursery and changing her into some cute jammies, and then putting her into her crib. It has been 9 months since I have done that, but it just seemed that night that she was so obviously missing from our family routine.

There have been times when I have felt her presence really strong. The temple is one of those places. It has happened a few times. My heart practically leaps with joy, and I want to just stay there forever. At the Run for Ruby, when Matt, Kate and I were just about to finish, I knew she was there with us. At my nephews baptism, I was practically looking around the room, I was so sure I would see her, because I felt her so strongly.

Last night we went to the park across the street at 9, way passed bedtime, because Kate wanted to play with Daddy. She has just been gifted a fancy light-up bouncy ball, and wanted try it out in the dark. Even with bare-feet on the cold wet grass, she giggled as she chased and threw her ball in her jammies. I jumped on Matt's back, and he took off running with me. We were all laughing, the stars were out, and I thought, this is pretty close to perfect....if we just had Ruby here. And then the thought quickly came to me, "Of course she is here, she wouldn't want to miss out on this fun family memory."And I was ok. I felt like I was ok to have fun, and not feel guilty of sad that she was not there. Because she was, I just knew it.

I think a lot of the times we are missing her the most, she is probably near us. I find a lot of comfort in thinking that she is a very active participant in our family still. I wish I could feel her more often. I wish I was more sensitive to feeling when she was close. I am learning that even though I might not feel her close, she is here.

Mine Forever

Photo taken by Ruby's Daddy

If days could be weighted, Ruby's days in our arms would outweigh her days in heaven. The scale would be tipping toward us. But, just for today. Tomorrow it will be 7 months and 1 week since we said goodbye to our sweet daughter. The 7 months and 1 week we spend with her seemed like a lifetime. It is hard to believe we have almost spent as much time away from her, as we got to spend with her.

I have been anxious about this day approaching for awhile now. I have just felt like I needed to be able to say, "she was mine longer than she has been gone." Tomorrow that changes.

I remember feeling something similar about a month or two before she passed away. We had just been admitted for maybe the 6th time to UCLA, and I was still only hopefully and very confident that she would get a transplant. At that point I was more worried about getting the call, and how scary transplant would be. Running out of time, was just never something that really worried me. I vividly remember holding her and feeling like my heart was gong go burst with love, and having an overwhelming feelings to write my feelings for her while I could still use the present tense. The thought seemed strange to me, but I followed my instinct, and wrote about her that day. I am glad I did.

In my situation, I grasp onto anything I can that is related or significant in ANY way to her. I gained 50 pounds when I was pregnant with Kate, and was very motivated and anxious to lose that weight after she was born. I still have about 20ish pounds of weight from Ruby's pregnancy I need to loose, and I have zero motivation to lose it! I know I need to, and I want to, but I have taken no action to actually do it. Am I bring sentimental about baby weight?! It is more than baby weight. It's making any changes really. It's moving on that is scary. Her bath towels are still hanging haphazardly behind the bathroom door and I dread ever moving them. There are still little smudges of some medicine on her changing table, and I can't bare to clean it. I want those little physical reminders of her there.

I guess really what I am saying is that I am possessive. Since so much was taken away, I cling for dear life to anything that is still within grasp. Even if it is an obscure about of time, baby weight, or dirty smudges.

I am forced, for a time, to settle for these little things...

So for tonight, I will say, "She was mine longer than she has been gone."

Even as I write that I realize just how funny it really sounds, because of my clear and strong belief and knowledge that she was mine longer before I ever held her, and that she will be mine for longer than I can even imagine.

I would be lost without my knowledge of His great and perfect plan for me.

Of course He would create a way for us to be together forever.

The Sheet Drawer

I go into Ruby's room everyday. I open her blinds in the morning, and close them, and turn on a light at night. I don't always spent a lot of time in there, and in the past couple of months, hardly any time at all.
Today I rocked in her chair. I went through her clothes, and headbands, and stuffed animals. I hugged her blankets, and sobbed into her burp cloths. I was needing to feel a physical connection to my baby, so I touched and smelled, and looked at her things.
I opened her bottom dresser drawer, which I had not done yet. That was the extra sheets and blanket drawer. Looking at her extra sheets brought back memories that I had forgotten about. I remember going into Pottery Barn with her, and picking out some extra sheets, because she was constantly spitting up her orange vitamins on them, or throwing up.
It reminded of so many long and hard nights that Matt, Ruby and I went through together. Ruby would cry, and we would both shoot about of bed, and immediately, almost like a robot, begin to work. It was really hard having a sick baby, but at the time, we didn't realize that. We just knew what needed to be done, and we would do it.
If she had thrown up, it was probably about an hour process before we could get her back into her bed again. One of us would pick her up, and the other would grab her TPN pump then we would start sterilizing her line. Matt would be handing me alcohol swabs, and then get the saline flush all ready. I would grab the saline and flush her line, as he would remind me to close the clamp. A perfect team. Then as I would take off her yucky jammies, and clean her up, take her temp, Matt would strip the bed, stain-treat the sheets before he would put them into the washer. Then we would usually need to give her a little milk which needed to be warmed, and then have oil added, and a few meds mixed in. Matt would return upstairs with milk, more medical supplies, and we would begin to get her hooked back up. Sterilizing her line, connecting her PICC to the tubing, and then resetting the pump. We would put the tubing inside her shirt sleeve and down her bottoms, securing the line in the velcory part of her diaper, and out the bottom of her pants. This way she would not be able to grab it, and it would stay away from her neck. As Matt would feed her the bottle, I would remake her crib. As he laid her down, I held the pump, and we would get her all situated and comfy, kiss her and tell her we loved her, and turn off the light. We would then need to write down the meds she took, how much milk she drank, how much fluid she threw up, and if she had a wet/poopy diaper.
Sometimes, this would happen 2 or 3 times a night. It wasn't just a quick diaper change by the light of the night light. All the lights would be on, upstairs and down. The washer would be running, Matt going up and down the stairs, the microwave beeping, and us yelling back and forth between upstairs and down. I never remember us complaining to each other though. It was just want we had to do, so we did it. In a way, I think doing all of that stuff made us feel good about our roles as her parents. There was not much we could do to make her better, so we took care of her in the best way we knew how, and I think we took pride in that.
Opening that drawer today, did not bring back painful memories, but sweet memories of me and my sweet husband serving our daughter. We were such a good team, and we worked so hard and so long trying to make those 7 months, and one week, the most comfortably for Ruby, and also for Kate. It was all we were; parents. Our girls were our only care, our only focus. They were all that mattered. Were they happy? Where they comfortable? Do they feel loved? One of us, alone, could have never parented our girls in that time, with out the other.
Those sheets remind me about what parenthood is. Teamwork, service, and love.

This life, that life.

I am constantly counting the days to some sort of anniversary. Last year, today was the last day that I lived my normal life. I had a crazy two year old, and a newborn. I was just getting into the swing of things with my two kiddos at home. I don't know if I talked about this before on here, but I remember very clearly sitting on the couch with Ruby in my arms, and saying to Matt something along the lines of, "We are so blessed, that sometimes it scares me. I am always wondering when our trial is going to hit." It was anything but comical when only a few days later my greatest fear came true.3.1.11

We took Ruby to her 2 month check up and I had a list of a few things I was worried about. I remember thinking that I never did that with Kate, and wondered if I was becoming more paranoid with each child, instead of the other way around. After discussing her jaundice, her doctor wanted us to take her to the lab for a blood test. It was around nap time, and I remember asking him, "We can just do that tomorrow right?" I was so confident that everything was fine, that I went home and put my two girls down for a nap. That day I was worried about napping, and a behavior plan for Kate.
3.2.11

The next morning, I dressed all three of us (a real accomplishment!) and headed to the lab. Since she was so tiny, they pricked her heel, and had to squeeze the blood out. She was crying so hard, and I was holding her down with both hands, I let her suck on my chin. I was desperate to do anything to make her stop crying, and to give her some comfort. After several different pricks and a lot of squeezing to fill up the tubes, we were on our way. I remember laughing when I got into the elevator, because I had two giant hickeys on my chin!
3.3.11

We stopped at Cafe Rio on the way home. I had always stopped there after my OB appointments, and it was fun to actually have Ruby with us this time. I think we got Cafe Rio to go, and I am assuming I came home and put the girls down and enjoyed my lunch, and my alone time.
Around 5 or so that night, our doctor called. He said that there was some elevated numbers, and that it indicated there was some type of problem with her liver. He had already made calls, and we were going to be admitted the next morning for further testing. I remember asking him, "Is this serious?" I assumed he would say no, we just want to be safe. That wasn't the answer I got. And is the moment that my world began to shift.
We packed a bag for 2 days. We had no idea what to bring, or what we were doing, or what was ahead of us. I remember them bringing us up to our hospital room, and handing me a blue hospital gown for her with little blue clouds on it. That was enough to make me want to run the other direction. Whoever escorted us up to the room, said that a doctor would be by at sometime, we can't feed Ruby and then left.3.4.11 (me, before)

There was only one chair, so we took turns standing, and then finally realized the chair pulled out into a "bed". We kept looking at each other and saying, "What are we doing here?" The minutes turned into hours, and we still had not seen anyone. "Let's just get out of here! Everything is fine." We felt so silly. We had no idea what we were doing. She was hungry and wanted to nurse. The only thing to calm her down was to let her suck on our fingers. The first trick we learned, and little did we know it was something we would have to do to sooth our baby time and time again.

After while, I couldn't stand to see Ruby in that silly gown, so I changed her back into a cute outfit, and that was pretty much the last time she ever put one on again!

The days and weeks to follow were in one word, horrible. I think that I went through much of my grieving for her sickness in those first two weeks. We did not leave the hospital. We slept on the one pull out chair together. I don't remember ever going to the cafeteria there. It was the boot camp that was preparing me for the long months ahead. Now I was worried about one thing, and one thing only; my daughter's life.
(Me, after)

One year ago today...I had no idea. I had no idea the amount of love I could have for my children and husband. I had no idea what a "hard day" really meant. I had no idea how strong we can be, when needed.
Looking at myself 365 days ago I can say my love is deeper. My testimony is richer. My faith is strong. My hope is my salvation. Ruby is to thank for these things. She changed me for the better, and continues to do so every single day.

rambling thoughts...

If there is anything I have learned about grief, it is that it is constantly changing. Everyday is something different.

The last two months we have taken a lot of necessary time to just "be". It has been really good for me. I wouldn't say it has been healing...but it has been good for me to process my thoughts and feelings, and just take time to think without distractions that we had been using the previous months. Healing is a funny word when talking about grief. Healing to me, has always meant something damaged returning to normal function. That is something that I believe will never happen for me. Nor, do I want it to. Really, how could my life ever return to what it was before. I believe we are slowly creating a new normal for our life, and for our family, but it will never (at least in this life), be the type of normal that most people have, and that I once had.

I envy the mother with my old problems. I envy the blissful mother at the park. I see pictures of myself, even from 7 months ago, when we were in the thick of it, and I envy that girl with the two beautiful daughter by her side. Her eyes were different, and joy-filled.

I have changed. My heart has changed. My testimony has changed. My perspective has changed. I have changed physically. A friend that I have made, that never knew Ruby, saw a video of us from the summer, and made the comment that I that I was a different person then. I was driving when I listened to the message, and I had to pull over, because what she said hit me so hard, because it was so true.

As I write this, I am realizing a lot about what I have been going through these past couple of months. Not only has my life been turned upside down, but my whole self as well. I am trying to figure myself out. I am not sure where I fit in. I am not sure how I will react to certain situations. My friends have taken on different roles. Some people have slowly shied away from us, and the unexpected have stepped up and become like family.

A year ago I was a totally different person than I am today. And that is a lot to process and figure out in such a short amount of time.

I know that the pain will lessen. But, Ruby will always be physically missing in our family, and nothing will ever take her place, nor should it. I have faith that our new normal will be created eventually, and we will find our new way though this life. It just takes time, so time is what we are taking.

"In our song"

Kate talks about her Ruby everyday. I love it. She has such a sweet relationship with her sister, even still.
As we walked out the door yesterday to go to "Ruby's Place", Kate said she wanted to make a card for her sister.

She worked very hard the whole way there, and then when we got there, she dictated to Matt what she wanted the card to say. It was such a sweet memory, that I hope I will never forget.
Kate loves her little sister so much, and nothing will change that.



"Dear Ruby,
I love you once a time. We love you because you are just a Ruby girl! We love your because we are family. We love you Ruby, because we are an eternal family. We love your because you are in our song.
Love,
Kate"

Pieced Together

We spent a good part of June at home with our little family. We loved to be outside, and spent a lot of our free time gardening our little backyard. I remember a particular day, we had all gone to Lowe's, and picked out a bunch of plants and flowers as a family of 4. We then spent the afternoon making our yard look beautiful. Kate was going in and out of the house, and Ruby sat contently in her bouncy seat with the sun warming her little body. Each time we passed a certain tree, a hummingbird would frantically fly out, almost piercing us on its away to freedom. After about 6 or 7 times, I suspected there was a nest, and found one on the lowest branch. From then on, we tried to never go under the branch, as to not scare her. She worked right above us, as we each labored in the sun that day, nesting in our own ways.

The following days, as I bathed Ruby in the sick in the morning, and vacuumed, and changed diapers, and went about my busy mommy life, I watched out the window for busy little bird mama bringing bits and pieces back to her nest to prepare it for her babies. I couldn't help but think we were similar. Each consumed by our motherly instincts, and working hard, all the day long.

We had to go the hospital for a couple of weeks, and when we were able to bring Ruby home, the first thing we did was check to see if there were eggs. There were two teeny tiny white eggs. And a very protective mama!


Again, a hospital visit, and then we returned home to find two tiny little hummingbirds. It was so amazing to watch this whole process happen before our eyes. I had never seen anything like it.

We noticed after the days went on, the mama was gradually getting pushed out of the nest, as her babies grew. And one day, she was completely out of the nest, but only a few inches away from them. And soon enough, the mama was just watching her babies from a nearby branch Giving them room to grow, and a chance to fly. The bigger of the two hummingbirds was strong, and brave, and spent most that day on the branch, out of the nest. And then it was gone.


Later that afternoon, I had Ruby in her sling on me, and I noticed the littlest baby was no longer in the nest, but far up the branch. I grabbed my camera, and we rushed outside to say goodbye to our last little hummingbird.

We watched and watched, as the baby looked all around. It was almost as if it was trying to talk itself into taking flight. We watched for about 5 minutes, until the hummingbird flew right off the branch, out of the tree, and out into the world.


I couldn't help but get emotional watching this happen.

When it was just the three of us that returned to our dusty home in August, I spent a lot of time outside, on our swing. The nest was still there. Perfectly intact. So much had changed. So much had been taken away, but the nest, and the memories of our summer, and our own little baby were still there. Built so strongly, and pieced together, bit by loving bit.

5 months too long

Time.
It is all I ever think about these days. I think about how old she was, how old she would have been. I think about how many days, weeks, months it has been. How many more days until it will be 6 months since she has been gone. How much longer I will have to wait to hold her again.... It is just so hard to grasp.

The very wise man, Neal Maxwell said,

"...time is clearly not our natural dimension. Thus it is that we are never really at home in time. Alternately, we find ourselves impatiently wishing to hasten the passage of time or to hold back the dawn. We can do neither, of course. Whereas the bird is at home in the air, we are clearly not at home in time—because we belong to eternity! Time, as much as any one thing, whispers to us that we are strangers here. If time were natural to us, why is it that we have so many clocks and wear wristwatches?"

Those crazy waves of grief that I talked about before...sometimes consume and take me over. The feeling of panic and despair are almost too much to handle. I think that death is so hard to understand because of the separation, and it hard to fathom that it is only temporary.
It is in those moments that the Lord whispers to me to remember. Remember the plan. Remember we are an eternal family. Remember, she is mine, and she will always be mine. Remember, that even though I cannot see her with my eyes, she is here with us.

I try to grasp eternity. I try to imagine, a limitless amount of time that I get with my family. I think about what a small amount of time, this life here must be in comparison with the life we have ahead of us. It makes this trial seem do-able.

As much as I wish to hasten the time, I cannot.

But, I have an eternity to look forward to.

First Birthday

Today is my little Ruby Jane's first birthday.
I had been planning little details of this day for a year now. I always imagined she would be there, and she was. It wasn't in the way that always thought, but I know she was close.
We started off the day at the Temple, spent some time at her "place" and ended the day with a very special night with family and a few friends, and a beautiful live concert, just for Ruby. The gaping hole that is usually taking me over, was filled with lots of love and peace today. What I thought was going to be a very sad and depressing day was only a few sad and depressing moments. It was a very beautiful day, just for my sweet little girl.
365 days ago, she changed me. And she has changed me for a lifetime.
Happy Birthday to my sweet Rubers.
XO

This morning, I am feeling robbed. I went to sleep thinking of how to make Ruby's little birthday celebration special on Thursday, and dreamed about it all night. But I woke up thinking about how it will never be what I want it to be, because she is not there. It's all I want. It is all I want for FOREVER.
I look at picture of myself from January-August 12 and I feel sick to my stomach. I look so happy. So content. Even with a very sick child, I am content to have her. To have both my girls in my arms. I wonder, will I ever feel complete joy again? Will I ever be content again? It is like a life sentence, this grief. It is just something I will carry for my whole life, and that is that. But truthfully, if I can't have her, I need to grieve her.
Kate talks about Ruby all day. I am so happy she thinks about her, and wants to talk about her like we do. She often prays, "Please bless us that Ruby can stay." It use to make me so sad to hear those words, and think that Kate didn't understand. But, I really think she does understand, and I like to think she is talking about her spirit that we want to stay with us every minute.
I told Kate yesterday that it was Ruby's birthday next week, and she got so excited and ask, "Will there be cake? I love cake, mama."
I am thankful for my Kate. I am thankful for her innocent and pure little testimony of our forever family. I am thankful for Ruby, and that she has instilled into our hearts everything that is important.