8:30 a.m.

I was woken this morning by my aunt, leaning into my room to tell me that Copeland was looking blue. I had no idea what time it was - my mother, mother-in-law, aunt and grandmother had all taken shifts watching her through the night - and as I headed upstairs, all I could think was, "This is the day. We've had her for over a week now. This must be the day." Indeed, as I went to Copeland and picked her up, her color, while not as drastically blue as before, had faded. Most frighteningly, her breathing had stopped. Completely. On occasion she would let out gasps for air, sweet little cries, but on the whole, things looked dire. She hadn't eaten in about 12 hours. Conor's mom has been gracious to use a stethoscope lately and do what I don't think he or I could (whether due to lack of skill or heart): listen to her heartrate and help us gauge where things are in this whole journey. Copeland's little heartbeat seems to be relatively strong - I say 'relatively' because we are certainly watching things slow down. As we sat in the same living room I wept in only yesteday morning, I found myself screaming at God, agonizing that this could not be the time, this wasn't the moment Conor and I have prayed for.

God seems to have heard our cries for now... she is still here. But her breathing is slower, shallower; her color is definitely weaker, and her heartbeat is fading. Had I the ability to predict whether or not this episode were a 'milestone' on the direct path to her death, I would tell you so. But I don't. We go back into a place where the steps in front of us are as obscure as they have ever been. We simply ask you to pray that we will be somehow, someway, prepared to let her go. Watching her struggle may be God's strange way of giving us the ability to hand her more willingly back to Him: we can hardly bear to see her fight for life anymore. I have whispered over her in the last few minutes, just as Conor has, "Sweet girl, just go. We love you... we're so proud of you. You've fought so hard. But you don't have to fight for us anymore. We want you to be free."

I believe the Lord gave me a vision this morning of His angels, standing guard over our family as we wept over her, ready to take her to the Father when He commands. I believe when they are sent to take her, the moment she enters His arms, she will be made perfect and complete: that were we given the spiritual eyes to see, we would know that while we hold a fragile, broken body, Jesus is taking unto Himself a child who is always breathing normally, whose cheeks and lips remain flushed with joy for life, whose heart is strong and vigorous, who has been given freedom from the incredible chains this fallen world has set upon her frail form.

We love you all and will continue to update you throughout the day...