Many of you have already heard that on Friday, April 26th at 30 weeks and 1 day our Gracie-girl was born to us. She was born into our arms but her sweet spirit had already gone to be with the Lord. She was 15 inches long and 5 pounds and already had her Daddy’s dark hair.
She was beautiful. Perfect. And I have never loved so intensely in my entire life.
Every day I’ve wanted to write, to remember her, but I’m learning that Grief leaves no part of your being unscathed. Our first two days home I found that simply existing required all of my energy. And today, three days since we said hello and goodbye, I’m finding that I can’t let another day go by without writing about her. I have to remember her.
I used to think that when a person was grieving, they cried all day long. And perhaps for some, that’s true. For me, the grief hits in waves. And then it’s wave upon wave and I wonder how I will survive the next 30 seconds, much less the rest of my life without her.
Today Matt and I had to meet with the funeral director to discuss her services. Matt parked in front of the building and I suddenly began weeping, gulping breath after gulping breath.
I can’t do this! I want her back! She should be here with us, not in there! I want her back!
I want her back. I want her back!
That’s the constant refrain through my mind. All day long.
I want my baby girl back more than I want my next breath.
I continually remind myself that other people have survived this but when wave after crushing wave is crashing over me, I find it hard to believe. How do you plan your child’s funeral services? How do you actually sit across from someone and have a reasonable conversation about your child’s headstone and casket color? How do people do that?
And yet today we did it. We actually did those ridiculous things and yet here I sit. Not dead.
By God’s lavish and sustaining grace.
We will not forget our Gracie-girl. She impacted more people in her 30 weeks than most people do in their 80 years. And I will tell her story.