In Remembrance of a New Angel

Just a few short days ago, I witnessed something at once devastating and miraculous that I pray I never ever have to witness again. Once my husband and the children leave for their respective destinations each morning, I log into my social networking sites to see what has been happening to my “friends” overnight in the cyber world. I know a lot of people have disdain for sites like Facebook but for me, isolated as I am from most of my family and friends, I embrace it.

On Wednesday morning, I read something that ripped my very soul apart; it read like this, “With heaviest of heart – the passing of Eilish.” Those few words told me that somewhere in the world, some mom was living my worst nightmare. Reading on, I learned that a cyber friend and CWD (childrenwithdiabetes) support group mom lost her Type 1 daughter to “Dead in Bed Syndrome,” where a person’s blood sugar falls while sleeping to a fatal level.

Eilish was a 13 year old New Zealand girl. It was obvious that she was loved mightily by her parents, her family, her little sister, and everyone who met her.

The previous night, I imagine, Eilish went to bed just as she always did. It’s a routine among parents of CWDs that one of the very last things we do before we go to sleep is check our child's blood sugar. I am 100% positive that was done – Eilish’s parents were vigilant with her care, and they were no stranger to diabetes care either as Eilish was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the tender age of 3.

I can just imagine after the blood sugar check… Eilish kissing her parents goodnight, teasing her little sister a bit, saying her prayers, nodding off to dreamland.

No one ever could have foreseen that Eilish wouldn’t wake up.

Facebook and the CWD website were ablaze with posts of disbelief, horror and sorrow. One by one, Facebook avatars were replaced with a lit candle, a symbol of hope and more; these words were shared by a CWD dad in memory of Eilish.

We light these candles - in your memory, to honour your life.

We light these candles - to provide solace your family in their time of loss.

We light these candles - as a sign that our thoughts and prayers are with you.

We light these candles - to give ourselves courage, and to lighten our sorrow.

We light these candles - to send you our love, and to light your way onward.


It’s not easy to convey emotion with the written word, but when you’re feeling it inside you as strongly as it was, the pain punches right through.

I was thankful that I had the house to myself, that I could cry and wail and grieve in private. As much as it kept the ache fresh, like a wave – always breaking, always breaking – I couldn’t look away from the outpouring of love and support my cyber friends were offering Eilish’s family.

While we look to share our grief as a means of enduring it, there was no way I could show my pain in front of Alexandra, so before her expected arrival I shut down not just my computer, but my emotions, and put my brave face on. When she arrived, I listened to her inane chatter (yes, I love her but she’s 9 and it is often times, inane) as best I could. But in the back of my mind, I could not help but dwell on Eilish, a sweet young girl that I never had the good fortune to meet. Neither can I ever forget her parents and the pain and sorrow that the people who loved her most are currently enduring – because I am that parent – we, the CWD parents – are all that parent, and we share their pain.

So, if you’ve followed along this far, I hope you’ll follow my example. Hold your children a little tighter tonight, say a prayer for a new angel named Eilish, pray that her family finds peace and comfort in the knowledge that she was their amazing gift, even if only for a little while. And pray harder still that a cure for this damned disease is found before another angel joins sweet Eilish.