To: Phoebe From: Your big brother

I miss you.  You were going to be so big.  I wish you could be here. 

The Chair

I had a unique experience, one that I never thought would be recreated.  My son's friend had a beautiful, quiet, strong mother who died of cancer.  She wasn't very old and left three small sons.  My heart ached as I watched the youngest one bury his head into his father's neck as he walked in the funeral procession into the chapel.  Tears instantly sprang into my eyes as I looked into what his future might behold. 

I had Savannah with me along with my son.  It was hard enough going to the funeral, but I had been to this place before.  I had my own bittersweet tears here.  I had come back for the first time to the place where I got to hold my precious baby again. 

Savannah was hungry and I knew I needed to find a place to feed her.  Did I dare go back to that sacred room where I held my sweet baby for the last time, with my arms now full with a warm, breathing baby? 

I took courage and went to the office determined not to cry (ahem, I know I was a little delusional).  Tears came anyway, as I explained my situation.  "May I please sit in the room where I once held my daughter.  Would you mind?" 

"Which room was it?" the man asked.

"I would recognize it by sight," was my reply. 

I walked down the hall, immediately recognizing the room.  All the furniture was the same.  All the details didn't seem any different, and yet there was something different.  A certain glow was missing from the room.  The anticipation of seeing my baby again wasn't there.  The feeling that I had just entered a sacred, heavenly place was no longer there.  It was just a room.

A weird mixture of emotion welled up inside as I struggled to keep Savannah happy enough just so I could breathe in the room again. 

And then I saw the chair.  The chair where I once held my baby, with a smile on my lips.  With a constant desire to want to warm up her frozen skin.  In that chair, I cradled, I whispered, I rocked, I cried. 

I then sat in the chair with my hungry, needy baby and I cradled, I whispered, I rocked, and I cried. 

Lessons

This past Sunday I showed the kids the video I made.  Bottom line.  Every single one misses their sister.  Each one take it differently. 

I watched my son's expression as he saw a picture of himself.  I saw the pain on his face.  I followed the tears down his face.  My gazed then went to our oldest.  Our stoic one.  One who likes to keep intense emotion to himself.  He too was crying very painful tears.  Our third was no different from his older brothers.  My poor little one.  His heart is still so tender for his sister he never got to hold. 

And then there are my younger two.  The innocence is still so strong for them.  The three-year-old asked why everyone was crying.  Then asked who was in the pictures.  "Savannah?" he asked.  When I mentioned Phoebe's name, he immediatly understood. 

After the slide show was over, my daughter was confused.  She asked, "Aren't we going to see Phoebe again?  Isn't she going to come back to life?"  Her confusion was there because she knows that when Christ comes back to this earth, we will once again be reunited.  Never to be separated.  She's happy, because she knows the good news.  The good news that if we live to the best of our ability in word and deed, we have been promised, forever. 

After the video of Phoebe, I showed them one I got of Savannah talking.  They were like proud parents.  I loved to see the smile and laugh through the tears they once had for their other sister.  They each gave me a hug and went on their way.

My children continue to teach me very valuable lessons.  It's okay to mourn.  And it's okay to be comforted.  It's okay to miss her, but we will see her again.  It's okay to need a hug every once in a while and then go off and play.  I love all of my children, Phoebe, you included. 

2nd Anniversary Slide Show

I know we are a little past her anniversary, but better late than never.  Please pause the music on the right.  Also, if you double click on the video, it will take you to YouTube.  For some reason, you cannot see the entire picture. 

Still Processing....

We had a beautiful afternoon. The skies parted for the brief time we were there. I will write about it when I have the strength. For now, here's a few pics....

Tonight

Tonight, I was folding loads and loads of laundry.

Tonight, you were so active in my tummy that you made it so your dad and I were very aware that you were there.

Tonight, I knew that I was in labor.

Tonight, I knew that I would see you the next day.

Tonight, I told your dad to kiss my tummy because you were so busy.

Tonight, he did just that.

Tonight, it was very hard to fall asleep.  I finally did.

Tonight was my last night with your soul with mine.

Sleep well, my sweet.

Not sure what to say (caution: might be hard to read)

I'm not sure what to say.  My heart is tender.  My heart aches.  My heart yearns.  There is nothing magical that comes to my mind on what I should write about, other than the fact that I miss my daughter.  I miss her companionship.

Sunday will be two years.  It seems like yesterday I was in labor with her with that excitement built up inside me with anticipation.  Then the news that she was gone. I still remember how cold she was to hold.  I still feel on my arm where here head rested.  I hated how cold she was.  It made me angry.  But now I am grateful.  It is almost like she has imprinted there, never to be forgotten.

Two years later, I am no longer the same person I was before she left.  I hope that it is change for the better, sometimes its hard to tell.  At first, I felt stripped of all happiness.  Any sense of security I felt was stripped from me.  I could no longer function as a mother, wife, sister, friend.  I was brought to the dust, but I knew I had to rise again for the sake of those I still had to care for.

It   was  so   hard.

Time has healed a lot.  I remember wanting to go from the point I was at, point A, and wanting to skip to point Z.  I wanted to say "no thank you" to all of the grief in between.  But I knew that wasn't possible so I kept putting one foot in front of the other.  I have made it this far, so I guess that's a good sign that I can continue.

For once I don't want to be the "strong one".  Why can't I be held and rocked and comforted?  I thought the trial of my life would be Phoebe's passing, but rains keep falling.  If I get too ahead of myself, I start to panic.  This mountain I am called to climb is too steep if I look all the way to the unseen summit.  So I will do like I have done before.

Trust.

Love.

Wait.

And Trust some more.

One step enough for me.

Reflection

Savannah on top, Phoebe below

I have always had a hard time seeing who my new little ones looked like.  Some would say that Savannah looks like my oldest, others would say Savannah has her own look.

I was looking at her one night when she was fast asleep wondering who she resembles.  And then it came to me.  I had been looking for an earthly resemblance forgetting, if possible, that she had another sibling.  As soon as I cleared my eyes, I saw her.  I saw Phoebe in Savannah's reflection.

It is a bittersweet thing to see Phoebe in her.  In a great way, it is a blessing because I can get a sneak peek of what Phoebe will look like when I get to raise her in the next life.  In another way, it makes my heart ache with the reminder that she isn't here.

I truly feel like Savannah, Phoebe, and Emily are all really good friends.  I love to see Savvy look at Emily with eyes that can see heavenly things with the expression of: I love you!  I missed you!  Phoebe sends her love.  I feel it.  I can see it.  And I ache to see the three together. 

We are coming up on two years.  Two years of many ups and downs since.  I find myself again, like last year, not really wanting to think about the upcoming anniversary.  I am grateful that my physical arms are not empty.  That I can nurture another little spirit.  I am grateful that I have been blessed with children.  I am grateful for the reflection I see in Savannah's face.  One of peace, love, contentment, and joy.  I am grateful I still get to see my Phoebe on a daily basis.  Even if it is by the means of a precious sister. 

Sisters

I remember holding Phoebe, willing her eyes to open just one time.  I want to hear just one cry.  I wanted to see her take just one breath.  I remember how it was painful to look down and see her body rise and fall with every breath that I made, thinking that maybe it was her lungs that were being filled with air, not mine.

 What would she be like if her spirit filled her earthly body?  If what I felt in that birthing room was any indication of who Rebecca Phoebe is, one word.  Majestic.  I knew then, as I know now, it was a privilege to give her her earthly body.

I also new that we were to have another baby.  The thought of going through this entire process again filled me dread.  Could I have enough faith to trust that I would be able to have another baby to have and hold in this life?  How would I feel about Phoebe if I did have another baby?  Was I trying to "fill the hole"? 

Savannah Carroll was born perfect.  Perfectly healthy.  I heard her cry.  I saw her eyes.  I saw her breathe.  I felt like my heart was going to burst again.  But this time, it was for joy.  I would look at her, and I knew Savannah had just had a heavenly goodbye from a sister that loves us all dearly.  The love in that room was tangible. 

I have three beautiful girls now.  The more I go through life, I realize what a blessing it is to have our own angel on the other side to watch, love, and protect her siblings as they go through this life. 

Welcome Savannah, and thank you Phoebe.