Monday, April 30, 2012
She's lived in Heaven as many days as she did on Earth
Today marks the day that Julia has lived as many days in Heaven as she did on Earth... 82 days. I know she is happy. I am sad and missing her. I think that as more time has gone, the hole she left has only gotten bigger, not smaller. Many other women are having babies and life is moving on... but life for me has not. It is just a reminder of the life I once had and do not have anymore. I don't understand and I probably never will. However, I do know that I loved my little Julia and I will love her forever.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
His Life Was Marked by Love, a Father’s Eulogy for his Son
(Thank you, Kim, for forwarding this to me.)
His Life Was Marked by Love, a Father’s Eulogy for his Son
(This little boy was born with trisomy 18)
I stand before you today as a father who grieves the loss of my son – my Samuel. I’m able to stand and to speak because you’ve have been with us, sharing in our suffering. We are humbled, overwhelmed, and grateful for your love. I cannot offer sufficient thanks to you for the thousands of prayers offered on our behalf, the time spent crying with us and for us, the boundless supply of food and other practical resources you’ve provided, the gifts of love you’ve made in memory of Sam, and, most importantly, your presence with us. For all of these we are more than thankful.
Today, I want to say just a few words as a way of honoring Samuel and as an offering to God of our continued trust in His loving-kindness and faithfulness.
For months, I have tried to imagine this day – the inevitable day that we would be remembering our son. Having been diagnosed with a condition many call “incompatible with life,” I wasn’t sure what I could say, or what I would get to say, about Sam’s life.
In early November, when we did not know whether we would get to see him or to hold him alive, I wrote the following:
“How does one remember a life which ends before it begins? How can one offer a good word about a life whose every moment was coded for death? Is it all a waste? And when I consider Samuel – his life – is it a waste for him? As I think through these questions, I reflect on Sam’s experience. Our precious, vulnerable son is experiencing the fierce and undying love of a mother who cares for, nurtures, carries, and cries over him. He is hearing Micah’s joyful sounds of laughter as he refers to his brother affectionately as “Bonkey-Pants.” And Samuel is hearing me say “I love you” as I try to find a way to protect him. Would Samuel have been better off having not experienced his mom’s love? Is his brother’s love and laughter wasted? Are my words insignificant to his little life?”
Now, standing on this side of Sam’s four hour and fifty-eight minute life – and having held my son for almost that entire time – I think I’m in a better position to answer these questions.
For the short time Sam was alive and in our arms, he breathed, he studied our faces, he listened to our voices, and he responded with soft and sweet sounds. He was determined. He was courageous. He was beautiful.
In the midst of everything, I was surprised by the peacefulness and normalcy of the entire experience. I sat, cradling him in my arms, and talked with Fr. Rusty; we were two friends together sharing the grace and gift of this new life.
When Fr. Rusty stepped out for a moment, I took the opportunity to tell Sam about his amazing mom and brother. I told him about how his mother carried him selflessly without a thought to anything she would expect to receive from her love. I told him about how Micah helped us to give him his name and how much he loved being the big brother. I told him that I loved him and that I was blessed to be his dad. He heard me sing softly – a song I sang to Micah just moments after Micah had been born.
During these hours, Sam got to see Alisha’s face and hear her sweet voice as she held him in her arms. He was blessed and baptized by Fr. Rusty. Hope Mardre, his godmother, held him and spoke sweet words about our precious and beautiful boy. He got to meet our friends Lindsey and Braxton and Golson who welcomed him lovingly. Some of his extended family were able to hear his sweet voice on the phone. He was cared for by nurses and doctors who held him tenderly and who cried with us as he took his final breath. And there were many like Jeanne Dean, who had come to stay with Micah when we left for the hospital, awake and praying us through those sacred hours. Our little corner of that neonatal intensive care unit was a holy space; our time was peaceful, calm, significant, beautiful, perfect.
In short, our son, our sweet Samuel, experienced the embrace of a whole community who welcomed him lovingly into a broken and vulnerable world. Samuel’s life, however short, was a life born in love, surrounded in love, and completed in love. His life was marked by something greater than his defects, his disabilities, his injuries; his life was marked by love.
Not one moment of Sam’s life was a moment devoid of love. He was loved. He was loved fiercely. He was loved well.
Sam’s life was not a life that ended before it began. His life ended as it began: in the love of family and friends and in the love of a God who is faithful and abounding in mercy.
And Sam’s life was not a wasted life. He was a gift, a precious and beautiful gift, given to us to care for as best we could. The months that Alisha carried him and the hours we held him were some of the most profound and most significant of our lives.
Loving Samuel was our calling and I’m so glad that we got to be his parents. I’m so thankful we got to love him.
His Life Was Marked by Love, a Father’s Eulogy for his Son
(This little boy was born with trisomy 18)
I stand before you today as a father who grieves the loss of my son – my Samuel. I’m able to stand and to speak because you’ve have been with us, sharing in our suffering. We are humbled, overwhelmed, and grateful for your love. I cannot offer sufficient thanks to you for the thousands of prayers offered on our behalf, the time spent crying with us and for us, the boundless supply of food and other practical resources you’ve provided, the gifts of love you’ve made in memory of Sam, and, most importantly, your presence with us. For all of these we are more than thankful.
Today, I want to say just a few words as a way of honoring Samuel and as an offering to God of our continued trust in His loving-kindness and faithfulness.
For months, I have tried to imagine this day – the inevitable day that we would be remembering our son. Having been diagnosed with a condition many call “incompatible with life,” I wasn’t sure what I could say, or what I would get to say, about Sam’s life.
In early November, when we did not know whether we would get to see him or to hold him alive, I wrote the following:
“How does one remember a life which ends before it begins? How can one offer a good word about a life whose every moment was coded for death? Is it all a waste? And when I consider Samuel – his life – is it a waste for him? As I think through these questions, I reflect on Sam’s experience. Our precious, vulnerable son is experiencing the fierce and undying love of a mother who cares for, nurtures, carries, and cries over him. He is hearing Micah’s joyful sounds of laughter as he refers to his brother affectionately as “Bonkey-Pants.” And Samuel is hearing me say “I love you” as I try to find a way to protect him. Would Samuel have been better off having not experienced his mom’s love? Is his brother’s love and laughter wasted? Are my words insignificant to his little life?”
Now, standing on this side of Sam’s four hour and fifty-eight minute life – and having held my son for almost that entire time – I think I’m in a better position to answer these questions.
For the short time Sam was alive and in our arms, he breathed, he studied our faces, he listened to our voices, and he responded with soft and sweet sounds. He was determined. He was courageous. He was beautiful.
In the midst of everything, I was surprised by the peacefulness and normalcy of the entire experience. I sat, cradling him in my arms, and talked with Fr. Rusty; we were two friends together sharing the grace and gift of this new life.
When Fr. Rusty stepped out for a moment, I took the opportunity to tell Sam about his amazing mom and brother. I told him about how his mother carried him selflessly without a thought to anything she would expect to receive from her love. I told him about how Micah helped us to give him his name and how much he loved being the big brother. I told him that I loved him and that I was blessed to be his dad. He heard me sing softly – a song I sang to Micah just moments after Micah had been born.
During these hours, Sam got to see Alisha’s face and hear her sweet voice as she held him in her arms. He was blessed and baptized by Fr. Rusty. Hope Mardre, his godmother, held him and spoke sweet words about our precious and beautiful boy. He got to meet our friends Lindsey and Braxton and Golson who welcomed him lovingly. Some of his extended family were able to hear his sweet voice on the phone. He was cared for by nurses and doctors who held him tenderly and who cried with us as he took his final breath. And there were many like Jeanne Dean, who had come to stay with Micah when we left for the hospital, awake and praying us through those sacred hours. Our little corner of that neonatal intensive care unit was a holy space; our time was peaceful, calm, significant, beautiful, perfect.
In short, our son, our sweet Samuel, experienced the embrace of a whole community who welcomed him lovingly into a broken and vulnerable world. Samuel’s life, however short, was a life born in love, surrounded in love, and completed in love. His life was marked by something greater than his defects, his disabilities, his injuries; his life was marked by love.
Not one moment of Sam’s life was a moment devoid of love. He was loved. He was loved fiercely. He was loved well.
Sam’s life was not a life that ended before it began. His life ended as it began: in the love of family and friends and in the love of a God who is faithful and abounding in mercy.
And Sam’s life was not a wasted life. He was a gift, a precious and beautiful gift, given to us to care for as best we could. The months that Alisha carried him and the hours we held him were some of the most profound and most significant of our lives.
Loving Samuel was our calling and I’m so glad that we got to be his parents. I’m so thankful we got to love him.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Julia was born 5 months ago today
My dear Julia,
I have been thinking of you nonstop the last 24 hours. I've been replaying all the events leading up to your birth which was at noon today. I miss you now more than ever. Mattie and I were playing Mattie's version of Candyland today (Mattie rarely plays games the way they are supposed to be played.) There were 3 play pieces. Mattie put one of the game pieces at the end of the game with the Candy King. She said, "Julia is with the King." And then Mattie and I had to play the game to get to the King. I thought that was a perfect image... since you, my little one, indeed are Home with the King and Mattie and I are still trudging along our path of life with the goal to meet you (and the King) in Heaven one day. Our path to you seems so long. Mattie talks about you every day.
I love you, my child. I miss you.
Love,
Your mommy
I have been thinking of you nonstop the last 24 hours. I've been replaying all the events leading up to your birth which was at noon today. I miss you now more than ever. Mattie and I were playing Mattie's version of Candyland today (Mattie rarely plays games the way they are supposed to be played.) There were 3 play pieces. Mattie put one of the game pieces at the end of the game with the Candy King. She said, "Julia is with the King." And then Mattie and I had to play the game to get to the King. I thought that was a perfect image... since you, my little one, indeed are Home with the King and Mattie and I are still trudging along our path of life with the goal to meet you (and the King) in Heaven one day. Our path to you seems so long. Mattie talks about you every day.
I love you, my child. I miss you.
Love,
Your mommy
Sunday, April 15, 2012
A tree for Julia
My Aunt Terri and Uncle Ted sent us a magnolia tree to plant in Julia's honor. It will have beautiful pink flowers when it blooms. We took out a bush in the corner of our yard and planted it there. I think it will be a perfect spot for it.
It will one day look like this:
Also, here are a couple updated photos of the Julia rose bush. It is doing well and about to bloom!
It is wonderful having so many beautiful reminders of Julia around our yard.
It will one day look like this:
Also, here are a couple updated photos of the Julia rose bush. It is doing well and about to bloom!
It is wonderful having so many beautiful reminders of Julia around our yard.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Comments from Mattie and other young kids...
Last week Mattie's friend Josh came to play. When they pulled up, Josh saw me talking to my friend who was holding her one-year old. Josh said to his mom, Christa, "Mom, is that Val's baby?" Christa: "No, Val's baby is in Heaven." Josh: "Where's Heaven?" Christa: "I'm not sure." Josh: "Do you take an airplane to get there?" (Hehe) It's funny because Christa had not said anything to Josh about Julia's death up until that point. It randomly triggered his memory that I had a baby when he saw me talking to my friend holding her baby.
On Easter, Bob's mom took her granddaughters to church. The following is what Sally emailed me about their conversation in the car on the way home from church: On the way home they repeatedly asked me to tell them the story of Easter. They were very excited to hear about Jesus coming alive again. Sarah then said in a very relieved voice,
"Then Julia's really okay. She's alive again, even though we still can't see her!"
Yesterday, Mattie was at her friend Claire's house. Not long after we got there, Claire came into the kitchen where her mom, Karie, and I were talking. She told her mom that "Mattie's baby sister died." So Mattie must have said something to Claire about it. Karie didn't make a huge deal of it and Claire went on her way. Then a half hour later or so later Karie and I overheard Mattie and Claire talking while they were playing. Claire: Why did your baby die? Mattie: She had heart problems. Claire: My heart works just fine. Mattie: Mine, too! Claire: When I go faster, my heart goes faster. Mattie: Yah, when I jump up and down, my heart goes faster up and down, too.
Tonight when I was snuggling with Mattie she just said out of the blue, "I miss Julia." My eyes started welling up and I said that I missed her, too. I asked what made her think of that. She said, "I don't know. I just miss her." I said, "Yah, I really miss her, too. It makes me sad she isn't here with us." Mattie said, "But you still have me!" And I responded, "Yes I do and I am so thankful to God for that! I love you very very much."
On Easter, Bob's mom took her granddaughters to church. The following is what Sally emailed me about their conversation in the car on the way home from church: On the way home they repeatedly asked me to tell them the story of Easter. They were very excited to hear about Jesus coming alive again. Sarah then said in a very relieved voice,
"Then Julia's really okay. She's alive again, even though we still can't see her!"
Yesterday, Mattie was at her friend Claire's house. Not long after we got there, Claire came into the kitchen where her mom, Karie, and I were talking. She told her mom that "Mattie's baby sister died." So Mattie must have said something to Claire about it. Karie didn't make a huge deal of it and Claire went on her way. Then a half hour later or so later Karie and I overheard Mattie and Claire talking while they were playing. Claire: Why did your baby die? Mattie: She had heart problems. Claire: My heart works just fine. Mattie: Mine, too! Claire: When I go faster, my heart goes faster. Mattie: Yah, when I jump up and down, my heart goes faster up and down, too.
Tonight when I was snuggling with Mattie she just said out of the blue, "I miss Julia." My eyes started welling up and I said that I missed her, too. I asked what made her think of that. She said, "I don't know. I just miss her." I said, "Yah, I really miss her, too. It makes me sad she isn't here with us." Mattie said, "But you still have me!" And I responded, "Yes I do and I am so thankful to God for that! I love you very very much."
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Easter... 2 months since her death
Today was filled with many mixed emotions... two months ago today, Julia passed away in my arms on this couch where I am sitting. Today is also Easter, the day we celebrate Jesus' resurrection. It is typically a day of celebration. Jesus has overcome sin once and for all. Today, however, I had many mixed emotions. I found myself grateful that Jesus had overcome sin because that means that I will one day get to go to Heaven. My main reason of joy should be the fact that I get to be with God for eternity. However, today, I couldn't help but be grateful that one day I get to go to Heaven so that I can be reunited with my sweet baby. I will actually be reunited with all 3 of my babies who are there waiting for me, it's just that I haven't met 2 of them yet. It is Julia I miss. As pastor Brian talked about the weeping Mary Magdalen and her grief over Jesus' death, I related to her. I was weeping inside over the death of my baby. Brian said that possibly because of Mary's tears and outpouring of her heart, that God revealed Angels to her at the tomb where Jesus' body had been whereas John and Peter did not see Angels. In her grief, God blessed her.
A friend emailed me today remembering Julia's death and tying it to Easter. I liked what she said: "There were dark days, and then He rose. And I know you will too." Those words were very encouraging to me.
A friend emailed me today remembering Julia's death and tying it to Easter. I liked what she said: "There were dark days, and then He rose. And I know you will too." Those words were very encouraging to me.
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