Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Baby Girl.

I want to be real. Transparent. So that, perhaps, my pain and the sorrow I feel can somehow be used to help someone else.

Today is a special day. A meaningful day. A real day. Today is the 17th of December. It's a date that was burned into my mind, into my heart, almost 2.5 years ago. It is the day our precious child was predicted to make her grand entrance. She's not here.

She was not born after hours of contractions. I didn't push, working with my body to deliver her into this world. She did not cry. We did not see her, hold her, or touch her. There was no flurry of activity. No hushed whispers. No smiles. No tears. She left quietly. Quickly. Almost unnoticed. She was born directly into heaven. Her eyes never beheld this world. Her lungs never filled with air. Her heart never beat against my chest.

It is hard for me, today. It is hard to comprehend that I am walking daily without her. She is not here. To most of this world, she never existed. There are no pictures of her. We don't have hand prints or a lock of hair. I wonder how it is that I can so sharply, so acutely, feel her absence.

I so often wish I could have held her. Seen her. Known her. And yet... I am grateful. My little baby girl will never know the pain of abandonment. She will never be alone. She will never sin. She will never be sick or injured. She will never know sorrow or grief. For those reasons, I am thankful. As her mother, what more could I ask? What could be better than this?

It is not for her that I mourn. It is not for her that I grieve. It is for me. For the truth is, my arms are empty tonight. I don't have a soft body to cradle. There are no silken strands to caress, no tiny fingers to amaze me. There is just the memory. The memory of hope, of anticipation. The memory of tiny, almost indiscernible flutters deep inside. The memory of the joy her brief visit with us brought. It is for her father. His heart broke along with mine. It is for her grandparents. Her great grandparents. The couple we would have chosen to fill a very special role in her life as her "godparents." It is, in short, for those of us who are left here.

So today, my sweet Annaliah Claire, I remember. I am sad when I think that you'd have been two years old now. But I rejoice that you will never know age. You are not bound by the constrictions of time or distance. And the love your Savior has for you is stronger, more pure, more selfless, than even the love of your mother. And I remember you.

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