Lydia Grace left this world one year ago today.  She’s the daughter of my good friend, Amy, who I have known since high school.  Back then, all we had in common was our high school Spanish class, but now?  Our lives are intertwined with love and life, grief and sadness.   We could never have imagined (or wished for) a deeper bond.

When Amy was twenty weeks pregnant she went in for a routine ultrasound, she entered the room filled with excitement at the idea of finding out if her second child was going to be a boy or a girl, she left with the knowledge that her child had Anencephaly and would not survive.

She and her husband needed to decided whether to terminate the pregnancy or carry Lydia for as long as she possibly could.  After many tears and countless prayers, they decided to carry their beautiful miracle for as long as possible.

When Amy was close to thirty weeks pregnant, I was able to spend the day with her.  I am still in awe and will be forever, of her grace, her poise, her strength, her faith.

It has been one year today since Lydia Grace took her first…and last breath.  I asked Amy to guest post today about her beautiful daughter.  Grab a kleenex…and please, don’t hesitate to share your thoughts, your words of support, whatever you want with Amy in the comment section.

Thank you, Amy.

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Remembering You.

One Year Ago….

I was in a Labor and Delivery room awaiting your arrival. I was advised to get rest and tried to sleep, but my nerves were too great. I listened to songs like Amazing Grace and Somewhere Over the Rainbow and prayed for God to help me through the physical and emotional pain. I prayed for our time together, that it would be everything we needed it to be. I thought about Job who stayed loyal to God after losing everything he had—his wealth, his children and his health. He persevered through suffering and here I was trying to do the same. I held your daddy’s hand. We sat in the dark, yet the room was softly illuminated by the white lights of your Christmas tree.

Twenty six hours after I arrived at the hospital, I was actually able to doze a bit. I awoke after what felt like 10 minutes and I felt your head, right.there. I woke up daddy and called for help. Then, everything happened so fast. I was crying and shaking when the nurses and doctor encouraged me to push. I think I screamed that I wasn’t ready. I was so scared because I knew that finally saying hello to you also meant goodbye. And then…you were no longer inside of me. You were out of that safe place that carried you for 34 weeks. You were placed in my arms and I was stunned to see you. You didn’t make a sound. Daddy and I did though—we wept. You didn’t move either, but your little heart beat for 28 glorious minutes. What a bittersweet day, that of your birth and death. I remember it so vividly and I hope I always do. I was given a few hours to bathe, dress and cuddle you. To focus on your beauty—your hands, long fingers, big feet and precious lips. I kept you close. There was no reason for you to be anywhere else. I did all I could with you in our earthly time together and I am forever grateful to God for the special moments He gave us.

Today…

I look at the pictures and watch the video of you often, typically after everyone else is in bed. Your brother, Alex, likes to watch it, too. He’ll ask me if I’m sad and hug me tight. Sometimes he asks when you’re coming back from Heaven. When asked what he’s thankful for, Alex always says his baby sister. And he means it.

For the most part, I feel like I’ve been pretty numb this past year. But as December 3rd has been fast approaching, I’ve gotten more emotional. Thoughts and memories of you flood me. The Christmas decorations, music and holiday spirit put you on my heart. Will I feel this nostalgia and longing every Christmas?

I wasn’t planning on it, but I lost it in church on Sunday. We had placed some pink and white flowers on the altar in memory of you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire service, which was about Hope. Then, at the very end, during the last song, Mighty to Save, I was blind-sided by a baptism of a beautiful six month old baby girl. I found myself watching, crying, feeling, wishing…for what might have been. What a special and amazing ritual a baptism represents and I’m ashamed to admit I was envious that I was not the one holding my baby at the front of the church. The more I reflect on it though, I am confident that you know Him, you are with Him, you are happy and whole because of Him and I find comfort in that. I don’t have the jealous feelings and “why me” mentality on a daily basis, thankfully. I rarely think, “Oh, Lydia should be with us here right now” or that you’re missing from a family picture. Because I know you were only ours to keep for a short while. Instead, I sometimes think about how we will be reunited in Heaven. I know your body will be healed and perfect but, when that day arrives, will you still be an infant or grown into a young woman? I don’t know how that works, but I have no doubt I will know you.

Thanks to you, I truly know the meaning of unconditional love. God gave me grace when he gave me you, Lydia Grace. You were..you are…the greatest unmerited favor I could ever imagine. I didn’t deserve you and all you taught me, but God gave you to me anyway. Why? I suppose I’ll know when I’m finally with you again. Until then, I’m just incredibly humbled and grateful to Him for loaning you to me. For choosing me to be your mother. I am blessed.

I hope I always think of today, December 3rd, not as the day I lost you, but as the day of your birth. I want to celebrate you. Happy Birthday, sweet girl. You’ll always be my daughter. I love you so much.

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