Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Out to Lunch
Well, not really, but I've been out to lunch lately with my blogging.
So, I'm back from "lunch" to share that I met a couple today that are in their "older" years, but in their first months of marriage. We were talking about their happy days and the little stories of how they met and it was lovely. With family talk you are bound to get the question, "do you have any children?" Most of you know, that I don't hesitate on this one, "Yes, I have a daughter, and she died." "I'm so sorry," they replied. And they asked me what happened. And asked me how long ago. And asked me how I was doing. And never offered the "better place," "God has a reason," "at least . . . ," or "soon it will be a memory." They just asked me questions about my daughter, and I offered to share her pictures. They were excited and looked at my three favorites that I've carried in my purse since she died. After a pause, I thanked them and told them how healing it is for others to see my daughter and ask questions about her, and not tell me that "soon I'll get over it." I was simply stunned, and I wanted them to know how appreciative I was.
Then I recognized the bereaved father sitting next to me. Those fresh tears that he cried when he and his first wife, now also gone, lost their first child. Those fresh tears that come so easily, so quickly, and so painfully fresh and raw as the first moment you hear the doctor say, "she's gone."
"I know how you never get over it," he spoke through his tears, "because we lost our daughter, too. She was born still and she was perfect. I saw her. The doctor handed her to me and there was nothing wrong with her."
"Did you name her?" I asked.
"Yes," he tells me proudly, "Rebecca."
"Were you able to hold her?" I question gently.
"Yes," we both held her. She was perfect."
"I'm so sorry."
I'm thinking about Caitlin and the babies gone too soon from their parents. I feel sometimes that each time I meet these children through their parents' tears that Caitlin meets them too. And I imagine that in heaven they come together too, and have a conversation.
"Did you name her?" Rebecca asks.
"Yes," Caitlin whispers, "Mama."
"Did she hold you?" Rebecca questions gently.
And Caitlin's answer comes in a melody, "Yes, and she holds me still, in her heart, in her mind, in her soul."
MISSING Caitlin and Rebecca and holding these precious daughters in our hearts.