Early that morning, as the end of my labor neared, the monitor revealed the steady thump of her tiny heart. Mercifully, the nurse removed the wires that attached it to my stomach as I began to push. During that brief journey that ushered her into the world, our baby’s heart stilled. The little soul I have yet to meet winged its way out of that hospital room to meet her Creator.
We cradled her motionless body in our arms, marveling at the perfection of her body, kissing her cheek. Her tiny head was covered by a cap, put there to hide the deformity that marks a baby with anencephaly.
That day marked the end of an emotionally painful journey, one that began months earlier when an ultrasound revealed the neural tube defect and we received the dire diagnosis it entailed. In my womb, she was safe – she grew and moved about just as any baby would. Strangers joyfully asked about my due date and if we knew the gender of the baby. While friends experiencing their own pregnancies registered at superstores for high chairs and strollers, we selected a grave site.
Yet I know now that Angel Marie was a gift. The lessons learned from her brief existence could fill a book. Three of them are paramount, a now unshakable foundation in our lives.
God is good.
His grace is sufficient.
His peace passes all understanding.
So today there are tears, but mostly I rejoice. Do I wonder what she would be like if she were here, celebrating her twelfth birthday among us? Oh, yes! But I know our Angel is there in heaven, surely greeting family members as they arrive throughout the years. So it makes the thought of heaven, as real and welcoming as it already is, even a touch sweeter to know that one day, she’ll welcome me.
shared at Tuesdays Unwrapped