Don't cry for me down here

It's been 7 years today.  7 years.  At times it seems like just yesterday and other times it seems much longer than 7 years. 

I remember some of the strangest things about that time.  I remember laughing at a joke Jason made as I was climbing into bed....and then the phone ringing, telling us we need to get to the hospital right away.  I remember standing in front of the refrigerator because I needed something to drink.  I took a bottled water and never opened it.  I remember the music on the radio on our way to the hospital.  It was "When I get where I'm going" by Brad Paisley. 

There was a chaotic ballet going on at the NICU when we arrived.  I was too numb to think, there certainly wasn't clarity to my thought process.  I remember looking in the isolette at Sophia.  Such a beautiful girl.  So tiny, so perfectly made.  But as I looked into her eyes, I could tell what made her Sophia was already gone and it would be selfish of me to put her tiny body through the pain of life support.  The doctor explained to us our choices.  Life support, which at best would buy us a day or to take her off the vent.  At this point, she had many procedures to help her heart rate and breathing  and her prognosis was dismal.  Painfully prolong or death with dignity. 

I remember staring at Jason and willing him to choose and leave me out of it!  I wanted no part in such a decision.  In the end, we prayed over her and the nurses took Sophia out of the isolette and I held her, while her nurse stood behind me manually pumping air into her.  I remember looking up behind me at the nurse, Karen, who stood so stoically, rhythmically pumping air in and standing, silently crying.  Tears rolling down her face. 

Jason and I decided that we would take Sophia off her vent and let God decide the rest.  We wanted to hold her without the wires, the monitors, the trappings of the NICU, the same trappings that would, in the end, save the life of her twin, Ava.  The NICU staff set up  rocking chairs for us and put up a privacy screen.  And in the hum of the NICU, I held my baby as she took her last breaths.  I remember wanting to sit there forever and never having to leave.  Because leaving made it real. 

As time passes, the grief can be bearable and other days, it's like I am still there in all that chaos, with my heart beating rapidly and my mind in a tizzy, so foggy and confused.  So in denial of this happening to me.  I've learned that I will never be the same person I was before this day.  I'm a different me.  The me that has had to learn to live with the loss of her firstborn child.  The me that feels guilty that Ava's sister isn't here and that somehow their preterm birth could have been prevented by me.  The me that still struggles with why this would happen to me, to ANYONE.  Then, I realize, it's not about me.  And it's all about her.

How many lives to Sophia touch?  Her life had meaning and purpose.  All of our lives have meaning and purpose.  And when we fulfill God's purpose, he brings us home to heaven.  I may never know her life's purpose.  But I do know that her life will impact people for generations to come.

As I was contemplating what I would write today, I couldn't help but think of how biblically signifigant the number 7 is...

In the Hebrew, 7 is shevah. It is from the root savah, to be full or satisfied, have enough of. Hence the meaning of the word "seven" is dominated by this root, for on the seventh day God rested from the work of Creation. It was full and complete, and good and perfect. Nothing could be added to it or taken from it without marring it. Hence the word Shavath, to cease, desist, rest, and Shabbath, Sabbath, or day of rest.

This year I choose to view the time I had with Sophia as good and perfect.  Full and complete.  Nothing can be added to her life or taken away from it without marring it.  Her 15 days here, were perfect in the eyes of God.  And then she went home to rest.  I know she is looking down on us in anticipation of the day when we will all be together again.  Just as I look to the heavens and know I will see her again some day. 

God tells me in Psalm 30:5 that mourning may last for an evening, but joy comes in the morning.  There have been many nights when I thought morning would never come.  But it does.  God is faithful to his word.  And I know one day, when he has completed his work in me, I too, will rest in his presence.  And when that day comes, I want you to have a party for me.  Today, I will leave you with the words and a link to the Brad Paisley song that played on the radio the night we lost Sophia.  I believe it was a reminder from God that greater things are yet to come. 

When I get where I'm going,
On the far side of the sky,
The first thing I'm gonna do
Is spread my wing and fly.

I'm gonna land beside a lion,
And run my fingers through his mane.
Or I might find out what its like,
To ride a drop of rain

(Chorus)
Yeah when I get where I'm going,
There'll be only happy tears.
I will shed the sins and struggles
I have carried all these years.
And I'll leave my heart wide open,
I will love and have no fear.
Yeah when I get where I'm going,
Don't cry for me down here

I'm gonna walk with my grand daddy.
And he'll match me step for step.
And I'll tell him how I missed him
Every minute since he left,
Then I'll hug his neck.

(Repeat chorus)

So much pain and so much darkness,
In this world we stumble through.
All these questions I can't answer,
And so much work to do

But when I get where I'm going,
And I see my maker's face,
I'll stand forever in the light,
Of his amazing Grace.

Yeah when I get where I'm going,
There'll be only happy tears.
I will love and have no fear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYHT-TF4KO4