Welcome to our New Jersey Chapter.
Our New Jersey leader is Laura Cooper and here is a little about Laura and her Angel Ali Lynn.
Ali Lynn Cooper
1/22/2007-3/24/2007
On January 22,2007 at 12:30 p.m., my angel was born. Ali Lynn weighed 5 lbs. 15 oz. and was 19 inches long. From the moment she was placed in my arms, I knew there was something exquisite and different about her. She had an angelic presence from the moment she was born. She was completely healthy at birth minus a small case of jaundice and a heart murmur which the doctor’s said she would most likely outgrow. After three days in the hospital, we were discharged.
People say nothing and no one is perfect but Ali excludes what people say. Staring into her big beautiful eyes calmed me in such a state of euphoria. I could spend hours upon hours just feeling her heart pressed against mine. NOTHING in this world will ever compare to those inseparable moments I shared with her. My baby loved to be swaddled and she slept with a pacifier. She had her daddy’s clear blue eyes, long fingers, head, and big feet on her tiny frame. She had her mama’s hair color and her grandma’s lines in her forehead. She was absolute perfection, the definition of beauty, more than I could ever ask for.
On the afternoon of March 22, 2007, my friend Leanne took Ali overnight. I was recovering from sinus surgery and was still not feeling 100%. Leanne brought her back the afternoon of March 23rd. She told me Ali was calm, peaceful, and slept most of the time while she had her, except when she gave her a bath. Ali always hated baths so that was not a surprise. The night of March 23rd , Ali was very alert and awake, more than any other time that I can remember. I remember playing with her and as I was eating tapioca pudding, I put some on my pinky and let her try it. She screamed when it was all gone so I gave her a little more. This will always be a cherished memory of mine. Around 10 p.m., I laid her down in bed with me, as I always have. She was cradled in my arm and I remember feeling her breathing on my neck and feeling a sense of calmness rush through me. Within minutes, we were both fast asleep. She woke up early the morning of March 24th, around 1 a.m. I got up and changed and fed her. I would have never even fathomed that this would be the last time I saw my child alive. We went back to sleep, the same way as always.
On Saturday, March 24th I woke up and reached over to get Ali, she was still in my arm. As I looked at her, I immediately knew something was wrong. She was face down on her belly and her face was in my arm, turned to me. I picked her up and she was lifeless. Her body was still warm, her face still pink. I screamed for my husband to wake up. I cried, “She’s not breathing!!” and he asked, “Who?” I angrily said, “The baby!” He instantly got up and grabbed her from me. After calling 911, my husband was screaming “Ali, Ali, Ali!” trying to get her to ‘wake up.’ He ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her feet. NOTHING. He laid her on her blanket on the floor, stripped off her sleeper and started to perform CPR. During all of this, I sat. I sat at the edge of the bed clinging and begging to God to wake me up from this agonizing nightmare. “This could not be reality.” Kiersten (my older daughter) woke up from all the commotion and hysterically started crying. And still, I sat, on the edge of the bed. It was as if time had frozen. I couldn’t move. The paramedics arrived and took over. They told me to get in the ambulance and I was completely silent. We sat in the parking lot for a good 15 minutes. I did not say anything. I didn’t ask how my baby was. I didn’t turn my head to look to see what they were doing to her. I sat and stared out the window. I heard the engine of the ambulance start. Before I knew it, we were at the hospital. My daughter was rushed into the same hospital and same room that my father had died in four months prior. My husband and I stood there as the doctor’s took over clinging on to some kind of hope that they would be able to bring her back. Thirty minutes passed. The doctor said ‘time’ and I knew what that meant. “I’m sorry; I think you know what happened.” I nodded and went to the bedside of my little girl. I picked her up and swaddled her in her blanket. I kissed her forehead which was now cold. I ran my fingers through her peach fuzz hair and smelled it. I looked at the tube that was shoved down her throat and wanted them to remove it so bad but the doctor’s said they couldn’t because of ‘hospital regulations.’ Flashbacks came over me. I wondered, “Why am I living this nightmare over again?!” I just sat in this same chair, in this same room, in this same hospital, saying goodbye to my dear father and vividly remember the tube down his throat as well. Denial. That’s all I thought of. My daughter was going to wake up any minute and be fine. Either that or this was just a horrific nightmare that I would soon be woken up from.
Soon, the detectives showed up. My daughter just died and they took what little time I had left with her away from me to go tell the ‘story.’ I had to relive in my mind the nightmare again, the nightmare that just happened moments ago. We told the ‘story’ three times. They said it’s mandatory for an investigation when a child dies at home. I understand that. I don’t understand why they stole that little bit of time away from me. As soon as they left, my husband and I went back into that room. That room that I now, so dreadfully despised. I hated that hospital. Just two months and two days earlier, we were welcoming our second little girl there. Now, we were saying goodbye. It wasn’t fair. Why my child? Why me? Why my husband? Why Kiersten? Why her aunts and uncles? Why her cousins? Why Ali’s grandmas? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!
I held her tight. Her body was getting colder now. I smelled a very disturbing smell. I knew it was coming from her diaper. The doctor informed that it was normal after a person passes that they go to the bathroom. I begged to change her diaper. They wouldn’t let me because she was having an autopsy done. Why they couldn’t just put the diaper in a bag, I do not know.
Our pastor came to the hospital. I couldn’t believe I was seeing him again because of another death. I thought after my dad passed, I wouldn’t have to experience another death for a very long time. I was wrong. The medical examiner showed up shortly after and took her from us. They placed her on a stretcher and put a green blanket over her body. Then, she was placed in the vehicle. All I kept thinking was what they were going to do to her. Would she look the same? They were going to cut her tiny PERFECT body up and ‘destroy’ it.
On Wednesday, March 28, 2007, my daughter was laid to rest. Many people showed up to her funeral, people I didn’t even know, people I didn’t expect to be there. While in the church, I looked around and there was an aura that filled the room. I was astonished at how many lives my little girl had touched. She inspired people who never even got the chance of meeting her.
Losing a child is the worst thing and in most people’s minds unimaginable but it DOES happen more than people think it does. I have my daughter in my heart but not on this earth. I can’t watch her grow and learn. I can’t take her to her first day of school, celebrate her birthdays with her, or tuck her in at night. She died in my arms while I was sleeping and I didn’t wake up. Do I blame myself? Of course. What mother wouldn’t? Will I always feel guilty? Absolutely. I accept that my life did not end when my child’s did. Although, some days it does feel that way, it didn’t. I have two precious children on this earth who need me and I will not lose them in the grieving process.
I will never understand why the Good Lord called my baby home but He did. I know we all have a purpose here. Some of our journeys are long while others are very short. I believe Ali was here for many purposes. There was not one soul that was not touched by my baby girl.
I have been blessed beyond measure by the many wonderful and amazing people in my life.I Not a day goes by that I do not think of her and want her here with me but this journey has been so much more gentle with having the support of others in my life.
All donations go to help a parent in your state
Ali Lynn Cooper
1/22/2007-3/24/2007
On January 22,2007 at 12:30 p.m., my angel was born. Ali Lynn weighed 5 lbs. 15 oz. and was 19 inches long. From the moment she was placed in my arms, I knew there was something exquisite and different about her. She had an angelic presence from the moment she was born. She was completely healthy at birth minus a small case of jaundice and a heart murmur which the doctor’s said she would most likely outgrow. After three days in the hospital, we were discharged.
People say nothing and no one is perfect but Ali excludes what people say. Staring into her big beautiful eyes calmed me in such a state of euphoria. I could spend hours upon hours just feeling her heart pressed against mine. NOTHING in this world will ever compare to those inseparable moments I shared with her. My baby loved to be swaddled and she slept with a pacifier. She had her daddy’s clear blue eyes, long fingers, head, and big feet on her tiny frame. She had her mama’s hair color and her grandma’s lines in her forehead. She was absolute perfection, the definition of beauty, more than I could ever ask for.
On the afternoon of March 22, 2007, my friend Leanne took Ali overnight. I was recovering from sinus surgery and was still not feeling 100%. Leanne brought her back the afternoon of March 23rd. She told me Ali was calm, peaceful, and slept most of the time while she had her, except when she gave her a bath. Ali always hated baths so that was not a surprise. The night of March 23rd , Ali was very alert and awake, more than any other time that I can remember. I remember playing with her and as I was eating tapioca pudding, I put some on my pinky and let her try it. She screamed when it was all gone so I gave her a little more. This will always be a cherished memory of mine. Around 10 p.m., I laid her down in bed with me, as I always have. She was cradled in my arm and I remember feeling her breathing on my neck and feeling a sense of calmness rush through me. Within minutes, we were both fast asleep. She woke up early the morning of March 24th, around 1 a.m. I got up and changed and fed her. I would have never even fathomed that this would be the last time I saw my child alive. We went back to sleep, the same way as always.
On Saturday, March 24th I woke up and reached over to get Ali, she was still in my arm. As I looked at her, I immediately knew something was wrong. She was face down on her belly and her face was in my arm, turned to me. I picked her up and she was lifeless. Her body was still warm, her face still pink. I screamed for my husband to wake up. I cried, “She’s not breathing!!” and he asked, “Who?” I angrily said, “The baby!” He instantly got up and grabbed her from me. After calling 911, my husband was screaming “Ali, Ali, Ali!” trying to get her to ‘wake up.’ He ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her feet. NOTHING. He laid her on her blanket on the floor, stripped off her sleeper and started to perform CPR. During all of this, I sat. I sat at the edge of the bed clinging and begging to God to wake me up from this agonizing nightmare. “This could not be reality.” Kiersten (my older daughter) woke up from all the commotion and hysterically started crying. And still, I sat, on the edge of the bed. It was as if time had frozen. I couldn’t move. The paramedics arrived and took over. They told me to get in the ambulance and I was completely silent. We sat in the parking lot for a good 15 minutes. I did not say anything. I didn’t ask how my baby was. I didn’t turn my head to look to see what they were doing to her. I sat and stared out the window. I heard the engine of the ambulance start. Before I knew it, we were at the hospital. My daughter was rushed into the same hospital and same room that my father had died in four months prior. My husband and I stood there as the doctor’s took over clinging on to some kind of hope that they would be able to bring her back. Thirty minutes passed. The doctor said ‘time’ and I knew what that meant. “I’m sorry; I think you know what happened.” I nodded and went to the bedside of my little girl. I picked her up and swaddled her in her blanket. I kissed her forehead which was now cold. I ran my fingers through her peach fuzz hair and smelled it. I looked at the tube that was shoved down her throat and wanted them to remove it so bad but the doctor’s said they couldn’t because of ‘hospital regulations.’ Flashbacks came over me. I wondered, “Why am I living this nightmare over again?!” I just sat in this same chair, in this same room, in this same hospital, saying goodbye to my dear father and vividly remember the tube down his throat as well. Denial. That’s all I thought of. My daughter was going to wake up any minute and be fine. Either that or this was just a horrific nightmare that I would soon be woken up from.
Soon, the detectives showed up. My daughter just died and they took what little time I had left with her away from me to go tell the ‘story.’ I had to relive in my mind the nightmare again, the nightmare that just happened moments ago. We told the ‘story’ three times. They said it’s mandatory for an investigation when a child dies at home. I understand that. I don’t understand why they stole that little bit of time away from me. As soon as they left, my husband and I went back into that room. That room that I now, so dreadfully despised. I hated that hospital. Just two months and two days earlier, we were welcoming our second little girl there. Now, we were saying goodbye. It wasn’t fair. Why my child? Why me? Why my husband? Why Kiersten? Why her aunts and uncles? Why her cousins? Why Ali’s grandmas? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!
I held her tight. Her body was getting colder now. I smelled a very disturbing smell. I knew it was coming from her diaper. The doctor informed that it was normal after a person passes that they go to the bathroom. I begged to change her diaper. They wouldn’t let me because she was having an autopsy done. Why they couldn’t just put the diaper in a bag, I do not know.
Our pastor came to the hospital. I couldn’t believe I was seeing him again because of another death. I thought after my dad passed, I wouldn’t have to experience another death for a very long time. I was wrong. The medical examiner showed up shortly after and took her from us. They placed her on a stretcher and put a green blanket over her body. Then, she was placed in the vehicle. All I kept thinking was what they were going to do to her. Would she look the same? They were going to cut her tiny PERFECT body up and ‘destroy’ it.
On Wednesday, March 28, 2007, my daughter was laid to rest. Many people showed up to her funeral, people I didn’t even know, people I didn’t expect to be there. While in the church, I looked around and there was an aura that filled the room. I was astonished at how many lives my little girl had touched. She inspired people who never even got the chance of meeting her.
Losing a child is the worst thing and in most people’s minds unimaginable but it DOES happen more than people think it does. I have my daughter in my heart but not on this earth. I can’t watch her grow and learn. I can’t take her to her first day of school, celebrate her birthdays with her, or tuck her in at night. She died in my arms while I was sleeping and I didn’t wake up. Do I blame myself? Of course. What mother wouldn’t? Will I always feel guilty? Absolutely. I accept that my life did not end when my child’s did. Although, some days it does feel that way, it didn’t. I have two precious children on this earth who need me and I will not lose them in the grieving process.
I will never understand why the Good Lord called my baby home but He did. I know we all have a purpose here. Some of our journeys are long while others are very short. I believe Ali was here for many purposes. There was not one soul that was not touched by my baby girl.
I have been blessed beyond measure by the many wonderful and amazing people in my life.I Not a day goes by that I do not think of her and want her here with me but this journey has been so much more gentle with having the support of others in my life.
All donations go to help a parent in your state