Sympathy

Neither Ben nor I realized how very hard it would be for us to go to church today. We got there, and I'm pretty sure we cried for a full half hour with all the hugs and sympathy from people. We are grateful for our church. We felt very loved, but it was incredibly difficult to be there. We stayed through the music. Wednesday I am certain we'll be a little more up to staying longer. Today it was just difficult. We know the people there love us and were excited for us to be getting married and have a little one. And we know they share our grief.

But grief is a somewhat selfish thing, and I think I have a tendency to want to cling to mine, to cradle it as I did my little girl just a few days ago. I don't mind sharing with Ben, holding him and having him hold me. Crying together, remembering together, just being together. But he and I are pretty much part of each other, so grieving together is natural.

It seems so ungrateful of us NOT to want to share our grieving with anyone else, I guess. Our situation generates sympathy from complete strangers. The shortness of a human life, the loss to new parents, her tiny perfection are all things that generate sadness. In some ways I feel like I need to provide comfort to those who are expressing sympathy to us.

Day 3

Yesterday, we said goodbye to our little angel when they sent us home from the hospital. I'm still so amazed at how perfectly formed she is, how tiny, how helpless.

It's good to be home, though hard not to have our beautiful little one with us. We're so grateful to our family and friends for all the support they've shown us. Last night, we had friends come love on us for a little while. Zipper was happy to see us. He knows something sad has happened and snuggles with all three of us, kisses all three of us, and tries to distract us with his playful behavior.

I keep thinking of how excited Ben was when we found out we were expecting. I am so blessed to have found such a good man. I've leaned on him a lot in the last couple of days, and he has held me up in so many ways. Ben has determined that I need my family and I think one of these days we'll be off on a spur of the moment road trip to go see them. I think he needs them as much as I do.

Meanwhile, we make preparations to celebrate the ever so brief life of our beautiful little girl.

To our little Donna Rose

Your mother and I love you very much. We miss you more than we could possibly say. You were only in our lives a short time and taught us so much. I won't say we aren't sad you're gone. We're devastated. But we're so happy you were with us the short time. You brought your mother and I closer together. We thank you for that. You brought us closer to God. We thank you for that too. We take consolation in the fact that you'll never know heartache , you'll never know pain. You're be happy and healthy for all eternity. You'll never know sickness. We'll never get to see you take your fist steps, but we'll never have to console you after getting your heart broken.

We honor your memory, We love you, and we'll celebrate your short life. We miss you already, so very much. And we love you, more than I could ever say.

Love,

DAD.

Day 2

Some how, the second day is harder than the first. I think that it's because yesterday I had the physical pain to deal with. Today I don't have the concrete. All I have are feelings. Yesterday, I had a life moving about inside me, kicking and bobbing. Today, that place is empty and my little girl is with Jesus. I know she is better off there, but that doesn't stop the ache in my heart to grow her and hold her and love her.

Ben and I are so blessed with the outpouring of support from friends and family. The hospital staff have been wonderful to us, seeing to every need and our friends have been kind enough to express their well wishes. They tell us they don't know what to say. I don't think there is anything that can be said. Right now, we need our grief. We need the opportunity to cry and mourn and hold each other.

Losing Her

She is a piece of me, a long dreamt dream so close to fruition. And she is perfect in every way. She has teeny tiny fingers and toes, perfectly formed and beautiful. But her lungs are not yet developed and the chances of her living are none. Oh how I love her. and how sad it makes me that I will not get to hold her longer, that I will not get to nurture her beyond a few more days. Her father is devastated. She a piece of him too.

As I sit here, feeling contractions that make it more and more evident that God has a different calling for our little angel, I can't help but feel that the physical pain is so much easier to bear than the heartbreak. God has made me strong, and I am grateful that he has given me the ability to get through this. But I so wish that his will would allow me to know my daughter, to love my daughter into adulthood.

The test I failed last week pales in comparison. The emotional pain I felt in the dissolution of what I had hoped were promising relationships can't even come close to the measure of the grief my Ben and I feel. We are stricken to the core.

But we both believe that God would not allow this for no reason. And our only grasp on sanity right now is a belief that he knows what is best and that his will is perfect. We do not know all the what ifs.