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That evening they informed us that Jenny was being transferred into Intensive Care. I felt privileged to stay at her side slipping ice chips between her swollen, chapped lips. It was surreal. I felt like I was in a bad horror movie. She was so weak she reminded me of a delicate floppy rag doll. She could not sit up without my assistance. Frank and I were asked to leave so they could do a new IV in her ankle. Thirty minutes later an ashen-faced, breathless doctor burst into the room blurting out that Jenny had gone into cardiac arrest after we left. They were at that moment still trying to revive her.

We both fell to our knees, stunned and dazed for the moment. We desperately prayed and prayed that she would be spared but told Heavenly Father that we would accept His will for our daughter. Twenty minutes later a team of five doctors filed into the room. They were sweaty and red-faced as if they had just run a marathon. A doctor informed us they had not been able to revive Jennifer. She was gone. They quietly filed out. We were alone with our thoughts.

A call to the bishop brought him and his counselors to the hospital soon. Bishop Krogue and his counselors gave us both blessings of strength, comfort and support. I felt so alone, like someone had infiltrated my body, reached into my heart and ripped it out of my body. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb. Almost simultaneously I felt an overwhelming feeling that I was being wrapped securely in a warm blanket. My heart was ripped to pieces but I could feel God’s love for me so powerfully. It is so difficult to describe in words.

We were given the opportunity to go back to Intensive Care. Her little battered body was so still, so small, so weak, so peaceful, so calm. I held her in my arms for some time marveling at what an incredible child had been in my home for four short years.