Our 7-year-old son loves to brush my hair and play with it. Every day this week our 3-year-old has been on my bed playing LEGO pretend with me. I've had lots of good talks with each of our five sons these past few weeks, but only the older three have been warned about the upcoming surgery mommy is going to have on Abigail's birthday.
We are 33 weeks along in the pregnancy, and the C-section is scheduled for February 25th, 2020. This gives us one extra week from what we initially thought we'd have. She will be born at 37 weeks and be considered full term. All the plans we have made for the birth, commemoration, and graveside service are coming together, but it feels surreal.
Time should stand still in this moment.
Since time is not actually standing still, I find myself resenting its passage. It doesn't make sense that time should go by in the ordinary way, with breakfast and lunch and dinner, with children's waking and sleeping cycles, and with messes to clean up and obligations to keep.
One special thing that seemed to make time hold still for a moment was meeting my brand new nephew on the 18th of January, when he was about eight days old. To smell newborn baby and touch soft, tiny fingers and toes is to come near to heaven. He was still so sleepy and only opened his eyes for a short time during my brief visit, but it was wonderful to sense the special spirit he carries. I am grateful to my sister for sharing those precious moments with me.
I've been reading some beautiful stories about heaven from people who claim to remember it or to have visited it during a health crisis, attack, or accident. When they talk about the incredible variety of colors in fields of flowers, I cry. I know Abigail must love the flowers in heaven. I hope we can give her something like it here on Earth, in her garden and on her grave. I want to create spaces where her spirit will feel welcome to visit us. I don't know what form her post-earth missions will take, and what kind of work she will be doing, but I believe she will always joy in beautiful flowers.
As life goes on, we spend time each day thinking about Abigail and solidifying plans for her birth and death. Last week, Bill put a wood stain on her casket. I love that he has been able to spend time with this project, and put his energy into something for our first daughter.
Yesterday we confirmed the date of the c-section with the hospital and visited a funeral home to make arrangements. Each step we take toward the birth and death of Abigail Reileen feels like a step closer toward finality. Our relationship with her will forever change. Some people felt even closer to their babies after they passed, and I very much hope that will be the case with us.
We learned that in the same town as the funeral home is a floral store owned by a couple who lost a baby last year, and that to honor babies who pass away, they provide a free floral casket spray for the service. I am touched by all the ways people choose to remember their children and to pay it forward to others who are going through the same thing. At an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, local photographers offer to come take pictures of the family and the baby to commemorate the lives of these special souls who stay so briefly on earth. There are groups of nurses and grievance counselors who are also bereaved parents wanting to comfort those who stand in need of comfort and to mourn with those who mourn. The services they provide are tender and helpful beyond what they can possibly know. I hope we can find ways to use our own talents and gifts to share with those who are suffering through this and similar griefs.
Bill and I are grateful to everyone who has extended expressions of love and kindness toward us during this long goodbye. It is impossible to tally or rate how much these expressions mean to us now and how much they will continue to mean in the future as we look back on these long days and short weeks. Thank you for loving us, our boys, and Abigail Reileen. May God bless and keep you in his tender embrace always.
One special thing that seemed to make time hold still for a moment was meeting my brand new nephew on the 18th of January, when he was about eight days old. To smell newborn baby and touch soft, tiny fingers and toes is to come near to heaven. He was still so sleepy and only opened his eyes for a short time during my brief visit, but it was wonderful to sense the special spirit he carries. I am grateful to my sister for sharing those precious moments with me.
I've been reading some beautiful stories about heaven from people who claim to remember it or to have visited it during a health crisis, attack, or accident. When they talk about the incredible variety of colors in fields of flowers, I cry. I know Abigail must love the flowers in heaven. I hope we can give her something like it here on Earth, in her garden and on her grave. I want to create spaces where her spirit will feel welcome to visit us. I don't know what form her post-earth missions will take, and what kind of work she will be doing, but I believe she will always joy in beautiful flowers.
As life goes on, we spend time each day thinking about Abigail and solidifying plans for her birth and death. Last week, Bill put a wood stain on her casket. I love that he has been able to spend time with this project, and put his energy into something for our first daughter.
Yesterday we confirmed the date of the c-section with the hospital and visited a funeral home to make arrangements. Each step we take toward the birth and death of Abigail Reileen feels like a step closer toward finality. Our relationship with her will forever change. Some people felt even closer to their babies after they passed, and I very much hope that will be the case with us.
We learned that in the same town as the funeral home is a floral store owned by a couple who lost a baby last year, and that to honor babies who pass away, they provide a free floral casket spray for the service. I am touched by all the ways people choose to remember their children and to pay it forward to others who are going through the same thing. At an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, local photographers offer to come take pictures of the family and the baby to commemorate the lives of these special souls who stay so briefly on earth. There are groups of nurses and grievance counselors who are also bereaved parents wanting to comfort those who stand in need of comfort and to mourn with those who mourn. The services they provide are tender and helpful beyond what they can possibly know. I hope we can find ways to use our own talents and gifts to share with those who are suffering through this and similar griefs.
Bill and I are grateful to everyone who has extended expressions of love and kindness toward us during this long goodbye. It is impossible to tally or rate how much these expressions mean to us now and how much they will continue to mean in the future as we look back on these long days and short weeks. Thank you for loving us, our boys, and Abigail Reileen. May God bless and keep you in his tender embrace always.
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