Saturday night a new life came into the world. A precious little girl with 10 fingers and 10 toes and all of the sugar and spice that little girls are supposed to have. On the day – actually almost at the moment – that little girl was born, her mother died.
Her mother was my friend and I can’t believe that she’s gone. There’s a huge sense of disbelief … and sadness … and fear … and anger … and wonder. I simply can’t believe she’s gone.
Nobody dies in childbirth anymore. You plan for the wonderful day that you will finally meet that little being you’ve carried around. You don’t plan to NOT come home. Goodness, they tell you to plan for what you’ll do if, God forbid, something happens to the baby. But they never, I mean never, tell you to plan for the possibility that YOU won’t come home.
Don’t get me wrong. I know that she’s in a much better place than this world (even with those precious babies) could ever be. I know that. No doubt. Faith. I just can’t get past the very real understanding that a certain 2-year-old will very likely only remember her mommy through pictures and feelings … and that her sister will never know hers. I can’t get past a daddy who will now have to play the roles of his life to make sure that his girls are safe and happy and healthy.
I’ve gone to my fair share of funerals. I gave the eulogy at my grandmother’s funeral. This death … at this time … is different. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s more real. It’s scary. It’s humbling. It could have been so many of my friends who are starting families later in life. It could have been me.
It made me want to hold my family … literally … all day. It made me feel things that were scary and that I didn’t want to face. It made me feel guilty that I processed this through my eyes … that I made it about my feelings … before I once again realized that I can’t even imagine the pain and the fear and the sadness and the anger and the joy that this family is going through right now.
As I sit here trying to put this into words with tears streaming down my face, my family sleeps. I am blessed. In the end, all I can do is celebrate the life of a friend and the birth of her daughter. I can support and I can pray. And I will.