Emily's First Christmas

Dear Emily, Merry Christmas

Now the year comes to a close.

Your year. Or God's, I suppose.

Seven months have passed

Since you came and went,

A flash of light.

A small candle spent.

Eight days. 
Eleven hours.

And forty-six minutes.Every second...

God was in it.

I pulled out your blanket

on Christmas Day.

It's as close as I can get to holding you. 

It's ok. 
I'll take what I can get.

It would have been your first

But it was the first 
Without you.

There's always someone missing here.

And we're always missing there.

What was your first Christmas like?

Or is it Christmas and Easter everyday?

Did you get to be an angel in some divine Sunday School play?

One thing I can see, my little girl-

A baby who like your Jesus came-

Is your perfect heart with gratitude filled

The gift we give together on Christmas Day.

Rest my child, smile and coo.

It won't be long 'til we'll be joining you.

Love, your Daddy

(Written December 25, 2008)

Comfort-Able

I thank God Emily's life is not in vain.

 So many things I have learned from her! And yet her life was just a glimpse.

Emily has taught me that I previously suffered from a thing called "naivety". I do not live in a safe box. My world is not perfect, nor will it become perfect here on this earth. Nor can I hide everything in my heart.

Emily has taught me that it is far better to be vulnerable and open than it is to be silent and strong.

And because I have been more open, I find my heart 

healing. 

Thawing.

Overcoming. 

And comforting,

Not myself, 

but Others.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Would You Like To Meet Her? (Edited)

A Video of Emily...

We have two videos of Emily. This is the only one where it feels like I'm sitting there at the hospital again. Just watching her. Loving her. Praying for her. Wishing I could do more for her, yet loving every little glimpse of who she is.

Yes, it's a little long (over a minute) and not much happens.

But watch closely, there are treasures in here::

Did you see it? 

Did you see how Emily sucked on her tongue? Just like our Rachel.

Did you see the little smile she gave? 

Did you see how she snuggled up to her Daddy's loving hand?

Did you see how beautiful she is?

How serene, angelic, and wonderful she is?

Alive and,...well, not really

How do you tell a three year old and a one year old that the new baby is sick? So sick she might die? So sick that her heart and lungs don't work right?

How do you tell these two sweet children that their mommy and daddy have to go to the hospital, but they can't...
everyday? 

How do you explain open heart surgery?

How do you explain that their little sister can't breathe, eat, survive on her own, so that's why she has tubes, beeps, and wires?

How do you explain that she is dead? That she didn't make it? 

How do you explain the tears and sorrow, the cold gray body that used to be Emily?

How do you help children with their grief?

(Rachel, 18 mo; Joshua, 3.5 yrs old)

Ever since Emily left, Joshua has had tummy aches. Six months after Emily died, Rachel was diagnosed with Celiac Disease. 

I know my kids grieved. I know Joshua still misses Emily. 

Rachel is quiet, almost silent about Emily. Once in awhile she will ask a question, or talk about her in a time of play.

Madelynn is a little more care-free about having a sister in heaven. But I know it will sink in soon.

~

It's been four years since Emily passed on. On into paradise. 

I've finally gotten out Emily's memorabilia. 
It was so hard, I immediately teared up the moment I lifted the lid off the box and saw her stuff inside. It's amazing how everything can wash back over me in a split second. 
All the feelings, and thoughts, and memories, and fears, and people, and...everything.

But God.

He was there. Within me, holding my hand,

helping me take each item and lay it out upon the piano,

In the living room.

For everyone to see.

For Joel to see.

For the kids.

To see.

Finally.

That Emily existed.
Not just in conversation or memory, 

but she really did exist

and she is real.

Joshua and Rachel became moths to light,

helping me set things out,

Rachel asking questions,

questions I've never heard her ask before.

Joshua getting real quiet,

but very sweet and gentle,

remembering.
With me.

Grieving.

Accepting.

Healing.

Emily is no longer hidden within my heart, causing pain. 

Now I am sharing her, her life, with those around me.

It's still painful, but now,

those around me

can heal.

I am so Happy you Exist.

Today you were born.

Four years ago.

You cried and we were surprised.

They took you away after a quick kiss from me.

They wheeled me back to my room. 

I knew where they took you. 

They were trying to help you breathe.

I knew I'd see you soon.

You were a few hours old my sweetheart,

I finally saw you 

detailed and close,

nurses hovering,

lights, tubes, beeps

seemingly endless.

You shouldn't have to be here.

"Let's go home, my dear," I whisper 

in your sweet ear.

"Get well, I know you will, then we can go home.

Home."

You looked so strange. 

So sick.

You needed love and warmth

and milk.

I touched your soft head

and wished 

so many things.

Things so unattainable.

And yet I tried to be grateful,

to our God,

our God of mercy and love.

The God who holds you now. 

Happy Birth Day my sweet sweet Emily.

Happy Existance day, I'm so glad you were born,

I'm so glad I got to see your face,

I'm so glad I got to hold you, twice, and feel your warmth.

I'm so glad I got to kiss you,

touch you,

and smell you.

You are in the best place a parent could ever desire,

and I love you.