When Heaven Seemed Close Enough to Touch

In the 2, too short days that we had our Eirlyse with us on this earth, there were many moments that I felt like I was a breathe away from Heaven. One of my favorite quotes is from a book I read my freshman year at BYU (There was Light by Jaques Lusseyran)

I was carried by a hand, I was covered by a wing.

There were so many times in those short days that darkness threatened to take over, that I wanted to scream and even die, but somehow there were also times of intense peace and calm. I felt at times like I was in a dream and was not moving from place to place by my own power, but instead was being carried through it all. Without those tender mercies from heaven, darkness would have prevailed and I would have been unable to feel the sweet spirit that my angel brought with her. It permeated the space she was in. Everybody that had the opportunity to sit in that little room by her plastic bed felt it. Those that held her know even more that she was heaven sent.

The first time I saw Eirlyse I was overwhelmed (and very confused), yet I still felt a calm as I sat by her incubator. In fact, even though the weight of the situation would normally be more than a person could bear, most of the time I spent in the hospital with her I felt calm. Looking back now, I know that calm could have come from only one source--the love of Jesus Christ.

The first night I spent in the hospital was not a good one. The gravity of the situation was starting to set in and I had a terrible time sleeping. I still didn't understand what was going on with my baby and I felt so alone. I spent much of the night praying and crying. Morning finally came and the doctor that had delivered Eirlyse came to see me. She explained the situation to me. She told me she had been to the NICU that morning already and that things did not look good at all. She explained that we needed to start thinking about removing care. I was stunned. I had no idea we would be arriving at this, especially not so soon. She left me crying in my bed. Tyler came to hold me and we cried together, and then we prayed. It didn't take long for us to be fully aware that our angel's purpose on earth was already fulfilled and it was time for us to let her return to her Father in Heaven. We decided that we would spend the day with her in the NICU, and let family come meet her. We would then spend the night with just us holding her and soaking up every bit of that sweet spirit she had brought with her. The next morning would be the time to stop the medications and remove the ventilator. We would hold onto her as she passed peacefully. The decision was heartbreaking, but we felt an intense calm about it. We knew it was the right decision for our sweet baby. Heaven touched us, we knew it. It made the hardest decision that we would ever have to make so clear.

Another experience that seems almost strange to share is that through the entire time I was at the hospital, each time I would look in the mirror or see a picture of me, I felt like I was glowing. People talk about pregnancy glow, but with my first two pregnancies I never felt like I glowed, in fact I always felt puffy and ugly. This time was so different. I truly felt the glow through the whole pregnancy. I felt amazing and strong and beautiful in a way I never had before in my life. That glow seemed to stay with me throughout my time with Eirlyse. Even now I look at pictures and think, is that really me? I believe the spirit was so strong with me through the whole experience that it literally shown through me.

There were so many other experiences when I felt the light of heaven shining in on our little cubicle of the NICU, but for now I will share just one more. When my sweet little boys met their baby sister the atmosphere felt sacred. They knew she was their sister and they loved her so much. While normally tubes coming out of another person would make them uncomfortable and awkward, they fully embraced her, just the way she was. They wanted to be close to her. While I was pregnant, J was probably the most excited for our new arrival. He talked about her all the time and he loved her from the day he knew she was on her way. When he met her for the first time the feeling of love in the room was overwhelming. He loves his baby sister so deeply and so sincerly. Their bond is eternal and I know one day when they meet again it will be as if they were never apart! This picture makes my heart ache so deeply, but it also brings me so much joy to see the look of love in J's little eyes and to remember the feeling of knowing that Eirlyse felt exactly the same way, even if she had no way of expressing that with her tiny sick body.

Some Everyday Realities of Grief

I've been working for a few weeks on two posts about my experience of losing my baby girl. One is about gratitude and recognizing blessing from my Heavenly Father, the other is about times when I have felt incredible peace through all the pain. This is NOT one of those posts.

Today was not a day that I felt grateful or peaceful. Today was a challenge from the moment I got out of bed. I have these days, more of them than I can count. Yes, sometimes I have good days--days where I am blessed to feel grateful for the blessings that seem to be overflowing in my life, but today was not one of those days. This isn't to say that everything about today was bad. I started the day with a great work out and had fun walking Jack to school. Work was fine, and this evening I hung out with some great friends (that helped), but it's all the stuff in between that made today a day void of gratitude and peace. Like that moment it hit me, like it does sometimes like a ton of bricks, that my Eirlyse is gone. Or when we drove to the cemetery hoping that today would be the day there would be a marker on her tiny grave to show the world she was here, and it wasn't. Maybe it was when, after I was already feeling broken and vulnerable, I got a text or read a facebook post that pushed me right over the edge.

That's the honest truth. That's the truth you probably won't get when you ask me "how are you?"