Thread by @DrRooftopKY

I am heartbroken. I don't know what to do. My world is shattered. Broken. Unfixable. I can't breathe.

My beautiful Charlee is gone.

I'm supposed to be the strong one. Her protector. My baby died in my arms last night. I held her as she drew her last breath. I told her it was going to be okay. She could go if she wanted to. We felt her presence leave the room. She is at peace.

I'm not okay. My wife and other children aren't okay. Nothing can prepare you for this. No amount of pleading with God, begging him to let you trade places with your precious angel can fix it. There is a big empty hole right in the middle of me. Charlee was my whole world.

Everything we did revolved around her. We even named our little farm "Three Arrows" because it's the symbol for #Downsyndrome and we wanted to make it a place for her to have eventually, a sensory farm for kids with disabilities. Now I don't even want to go home.

The first thing I'll see when I walk in will be her little shoes by the door. Her highchair in the kitchen, her toys on the floor, the mirror I hung on the door so she could have fashion shows and dance, her room. I just can't...

The way she'd take junk mail off the counter, or one of her books and pretend to read them to us. I can't.

My wife and I just sit and stare into the abyss. We can't sleep, can't eat, can't breathe. But somehow we still have to notify family, make arrangements, be strong for our other kids. How do you even recover from this.

The hospital staff asked about arrangements. Funeral home, etc. What? We didn't plan for this! I have no freaking clue. I watched as the doctor filled out her death certificate. He then had me sign my part... My hand shook so bad that it's not even recognizable.

I have pictures of her last moments. Those are for me. I don't want her to be remembered that way. She was vibrant. Full of life. A warrior. Pure of heart. The most perfect and precious human being I've ever known.

She's fought through more adversity in her short 3-1/2 years than some do in a lifetime. She's my little miracle.

Her fight is done now. She's at peace.

Rest well sweet nugget. Daddy will take it from here.

Your mom and I miss you terribly, but we'll see you again soon.

I love you Nugget. It's okay. I'm so glad you shared your life with us. You blessed us more than you'll ever know. I'm a better person for having been given the privilege of being your "DaDa"

You showed me how to love deeper than I thought possible. I'm so grateful for you.

I'm sorry. I don't know what to do with this overwhelming grief. I know many of you follow me for her. She's touched so many people, some I may never know.

If you have kids. Hold them tight. I would give anything for another tomorrow with mine.

Firstly, let me say thank you Twitter friends, family and complete strangers for all of the beautiful words spoken over my sweet Charlee today. I've cried multiple times today over the love shared for her. I'm truly overwhelmed.

Secondly, I know she's still here. Little things like when the fire department chaplain (I've been retired 4 years) came by, he said something so innocuous but I know it was Charlee speaking through him. Talking about how little things kids say like "Tickle Tickle".

"Tickle Tickle" was Charlee's first real attempt at speaking and while not really words (video above), she was trying. I know she put that in his ear for us to know she's okay.

Secondly, although her light shined only briefly, it's shone bright and continues to ripple. I've been estranged from my oldest daughter for years. She showed up last night and today. Hugged me and said she was sorry. Charlee is healing our family even in death.

I'm grateful for this opportunity to restore our relationship, and I know that we both have to heal, but this is huge. That's the power of my little miracle girl.