My Bella Joy Is With the Lord

My precious baby girl,

My Joy is surely in The Lord!  I understand this with so much greater depth this Christmas.

It’s been a month.  This Christmas Eve marks the date.  We are doing well, but we miss you so, so much!  I don’t think that will ever change—not next Christmas and not in a hundred-kazillion Christmases (I revert to my mathematical credentials in establishing that this is a legitimate number).  The nostalgia and joy of the holidays have made thoughts of you more powerful.  The thought of an Infant Savior coming into an uncertain world makes these considerations overwhelming.  You have always been on my mind, but in this Christmas season, the confounding feelings of joy mixed with loss is so much more persistent.

As I teach my classes, drawing arcane symbols upon the chalkboard and introducing the occasional joke to lighten the mathematical mood, I imagine what you would have been like in school.  As I watch football, pretending to care about who wins, I wonder if you would have happily sat with me on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon.  As I play with your big sister, trying to give her an extra share of love, I think about how proud and happy she would have been to watch you grow.  And as I kiss your mother goodnight, struggling to seek the correct mix of compassion and strength, I wish that I was starved of sleep on account of your cries in the dark of the night.

I could write on and on about what I wanted you to have done.  Even in this first month, we had so many plans for the way things might unfold.  This was never part of our plan.

I have read about other families’ broken plans and broken hearts.  For some of them, decades have not healed the wounds.  For some of them, the loss has destroyed their faith and their joy.  For some of them, the bitterness has served as a caustic catalyst to dissolve the bonds of marriage.  I pray for these families, and I pray that ours will not join their company.  I don’t know the specifics of why you left so soon, but I know that the depths of our pain are as much a part of life as the highs of our joy.  For, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I can’t imagine the vastness of God’s love to assume such incredible risk in creating us!  He loved us so much that he gave us a conscious and active part in telling the story of life—he even gave me a part in the story.  In doing so, He opened up His perfect and pure kingdom to people like me.  If I were Him, I can’t claim that I would have been half as gracious.  What a beautiful risk God assumed!

Many would argue that an omnipotent God fears nothing.  I don’t even know what ‘omnipotent’ means, but if Jesus was capable of sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane for the anguish of taking on the sins of His fellow man, then I know that God must have the capacity to fear.  He knows the outcome of the story, but this does not make the weight of the unfolding any less painful.  I know that God feared the pain that we—His beloved children—would feel in your absence, Bella.  But, He loved us enough to endure this pain so that we might also enjoy the blessings in life and the eternity of His Kingdom.  From where I am right now, I feel your absence like an enormous weight pressing on my soul.  From where you are, I know that this temporary discomfort will melt into an unending sea of love.

I had such amazing plans for us, Bella.  I wish that this story was the one I dreamed to tell, but I know that God’s plans are better.  Even amidst this trial, you have shown me so much.

You have challenged my faith.  I have always admired Job of the Old Testament—good old Job!  Tooth and nail, he fought an epic battle.  Amidst the battle, he could not see the big picture on account of the onslaught of atrocities delivered upon his very life.  He suffered what seemed like a pointless and merciless struggle, but he continued to fight!  Little did he know that his victory over adversity would not only inspire a history of peoples, but that he was serving as a pivotal knight in God’s Army establishing the sovereignty and dominion of Good over Evil.  I don’t dare to imagine that my struggles begin to rival Job’s, but I know that we all will face adversity in this whimsically confounding life.

I know that we define ourselves in the midst of these battles that were not of our choosing.  This is when our faith is truly tested with the fire of eternal truth.  I’ve done things to prove myself among men.  I’ve traded lead with our nation’s adversaries—and only been super-scared a couple times; I’ve proven my ability to suck well with little food or sleep in the raining cold—and nearly died from the most loathsome feeling of self-pity; I’ve ran far quickly and lifted heavy objects above my head—in a way which only impressed people who undertake these events as a hobby; I’ve brewed beer that could warm a lumberjack’s belly—and a couple misadventures that even my best drinking buddies would not imbibe for free.  I don’t suppose that God really cares much about any of these challenging feats of my choosing.  These endeavors were not trials of faith and these were not true tests.  Bella, I confess that I did dream of losing a child in the depth of my fear.  In the darkest of my nightmares, I considered a life lived after burying a child.  Yes, this is a true test of my faith, and I am determined to succeed.  When I succeed, I will be stronger for the struggle.  Bella, you have renewed and energized my faith!

You have taught me what it means to be a husband.  I’ve been a husband for seven years now, but—as you well know—your mother is a strong woman!  Truly, she has not needed me much, which would probably cause me concern if I were more aware.  On the contrary, perhaps she is the perfect Army wife, so willing and able to strike it out on her own.  Still, in the depth of her sorrow over losing her perfect little angel too soon, she has needed me like never before.  Awkwardly but resolutely, I’ve been there for her.  As I have been there for her, she has been there for me.  How precious the bond of marriage is!  Bella, I thank you for reminding me.  Let me love your momma like you love her from Heaven.  Let me be her compassionate and enduring strength in the depth of her sorrow.  Let me be there for her as a husband ought to be.

You have taught me to consider my role as a father.  I love your sister like I love you, but I remember the day that your mother and I returned from the hospital.  As we came through the door, Caroline jumped up and down on the couch with excitement and asked, “Where is Bella?”  As I shared the heartbreaking news with your big sis, she hid her face in a blanket and responded, “Dada, you’re teasing me.  Stop teasing me!”  My heart broke for the disappointment she felt compounded with the justified belief that I would joke with her about a serious matter.  I know that I would never joke with her about something so serious, but it truly doesn’t matter what I know.  What matters is the confidence that I inspire in my children. 

Even as an adolescent teenager, I knew that raising children would be the defining endeavor of my life.  Caroline came so easily.  Maybe I took my role as a father for granted.  We hoped and tried and prayed for you for four years after Caroline.  Your future is well assured, but Caroline’s is not.  Bella, I know that you love Caroline with the intensity of Our Father’s perfect love.  As a testament of my love for you, I will instill confidence in your big sister.  Should God bless us with more children, I will instill confidence in them.  The gift of parenthood is so indescribably precious.  So, I won’t try to describe it any further.  Bella, I am so proud to be your father.  You have made me a better father.

My little angel, what a beautifully painful month this has been!  Do not worry; I will not fall in love with my sadness.  The world has bigger and better plans for this family.  I know that you understand all of these things far better than me as you rest with Our God in Heaven.  I’ve always aimed to get things at least 50% correct.  I surmise that my view was about 12% correct prior to recent events, and I hope that I am now close to 25%.  In any case, I have certainly grown through the gift of being your father.  I pray that this is only the beginning of my growth.

My dear and precious Bella, thank you for reminding me that my Bella Joy is with the Lord and, as always, my joy is in the Lord!  Merry Christmas, my little buddy.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                    Dad

Balloons

Today marks one month from the day we met and said goodbye to our Bella Joy.  In celebration of our love for Bella, we released some notes and drawings with balloons.  We miss you and love you, little one!  Merry Christmas!

Caroline's balloon.  She drew a picture of Bella.  And four stockings.  One for each of us!

Eulogy from Dad

We are gathered to remember the life of Bella Joy, our beloved daughter, Caroline’s little sister, and family and friend to so many of you who have blessed us today with your presence.  And yet, the thought of remembering her seems to somehow miss the point.  I was trying to remember the last time I felt her kick against her momma’s tummy.  I think that I’ve convinced myself that I remember my last physical interaction with Bella, but in the honesty of my soul, I know that I really don’t.

It’s hard to remember someone who we’ve never truly met.  But, as I look out among a dear community of family and friends who are here in person and who are here in spirit, I can literally feel the love that you have for Bella.  As her proud father, this means so much to me.  And, I know that Brittany finds strength in knowing that her angel has left an impact upon this amazing world.

So, what is it that makes us all so love this slumbering infant?   My 90-something-year-old grandfather served in the Army during WWII.  He had numerous business connections in the DC area.  He must have made a million friends during his remarkable life and, yet, when he passed he was memorialized by only a small handful of his closest family.

Bella graced us with a hint of life—a touch of unrequited promise.  Yet, we have seen an overwhelming outpouring of support from our community—locally, throughout the country, and across the seas.  Surely, this is not for anything that Bella did.  Instead, I suspect that this intense love is for what Bella might have done.

As I wrestle with these emotions, trying to believe that I can recollect the last time my hand pressed against her tiny kicking feet, I can’t help but acknowledge that I once held that promise.  I was once an untold story, pure and innocent.  And, as I am humbled to my knees giving thanks to Our Savior for sending my beautiful daughter into my arms, I am reminded that this promise has no expiration date.  Our hearts do not need to break for the love that Bella might have brought into this world.  Instead, let’s use our hearts as vessels of that love, letting it radiate out among our community.

Because 2000 years ago, in this Christmas season, God also sent another infant into this world.  He brought a message of joy and love that even the darkest of our days cannot overcome.   And He brought a promise of redemption.  We may feel tainted and jaded by our journey in life.  We may wonder why the eyes of this innocent baby have closed.  As I consider Bella, I am determined to rediscover that innocence within my soul.  On account of God’s gift of His Infant, this innocence is ours for the taking.

I can be a better father.  I can be a better husband.  I can be a better friend.  I can be a better Officer.  I can let my love upon this earth resound as an enduring testimony to Our Lord’s gift of Bella.

So the next time I go for a run, I’ll run a little harder.  The next time I read Caroline a bedtime story, I’ll animate my character voices with a little extra theatric effect.  The next time I embrace my wife, I’ll hold her a little longer.  And as I do all of this, I’ll remember my love for my dear Bella.

Bella is in the best of care as we struggle amidst the confounding mix of joy and pain that makes this life so incredibly worth living.  As our eyes are regretfully glued upon this uncomfortably small casket, let’s deepen our resolve to offer more than our share of joy to this world.  This is what Bella Joy would want.  More importantly, this is what Bella’s Father in Heaven would want.

I have shed more than my share of tears for my little Bella.  Fortunately, as a graduate of this fine academy, I am not bound by the same honor code that bound me as a cadet, because I have told my cadets that I am incapable of tears, and I see some of these same cadets sitting among you.  But, I know with un-equivocating conviction that when I meet my angel in Heaven, I will understand that these tears were always tears of joy.  After all, in the grand scheme of things, this is a love story.  This is about our love for Bella, this is about our love for each other, and this is about the abounding love of Our Father.

I may not remember your last kick, but I love you my dear little Bella Joy.  I love you with all of my heart and with all of my strength.  I am so thankful for the chance to hold you and kiss you goodbye.  Thank you for being a part of our family.  Thank you for being a part of our lives now and forever.

Eulogy from Mama

This evening, we held a memorial service for Bella Joy.  It was absolutely beautiful.  More amazing than I imagined it would be.  Friends and family joined us in celebration of Bella.  Greg and I each delivered our own eulogy to Bella.  This was my message: 
 

Bella's flowers

Born an Angel three weeks ago today.  7 pounds, 15 ounces and 21 inches long.

My sweet Bella,

We never met in life.  You were already gone before you were born.  I am so sad that I won’t get the chance to see you smile or ever hear your voice.  I’m sad that we’ll never know if you would have looked like me.  If you’d be an easy baby or if we would spend the next six months begging you to sleep as we had with your sister.  We’ll never know how old you would be when you’d take your first clumsy steps.  Would you have been a little artist like Caroline?  I can only dream of what would have been.  My heart is broken that I’ll never know these things for sure.

But we have so many memories to be happy about.  Forty-one weeks we spent together.  In your little life, you had so many adventures!  We hiked the mountains on the coast of Big Sur.  At work, I would pat my tummy and tell my patients about how we had our second baby on the way and they’d guess if you were a boy or a girl.  We drove across the country from California to New York.  It was during that trip that I started feeling little thumps that let me know you were real.  You were with me when I dipped my toes in the chilly water of the Pacific and you were with me when I swam in the much warmer water of the Atlantic.  We took a family photo in Times Square.  Your little bum was usually right under my heart and you’d like to stretch your legs out to my right hip.  You were predictably active during church and as we sat in the stadium to cheer for Army at every single home football game this year.  You were my little running buddy for so many miles over the past months.  And of course, we were together to see so many beautiful sunrises.

You were so perfect.  Right up until our last day together.  We didn’t know we were going to lose you and we consider that an amazing gift.  Not having you in my arms is tremendously painful.  But I’m so thankful for those forty-one weeks.  We had almost completely lost hope before I became pregnant with you.  You restored that hope and gave us forty-one weeks of joy and excitement for the future.  You were with us long enough that we’ll remember that you have the same wonky toenails as your sister.  Unlike her, you have a head full of dark hair.  I know what it’s like to snuggle you against my chest and drift off to sleep with your soft hair against my cheek.   I’ll miss you for the rest of my life, but I can’t believe how lucky I am to have these memories.

I don’t know why you didn’t get to come home with us.  I’m not ready to try to make sense of that yet, but I do believe you are a gift and the true impact of your life will be revealed with time.  For now, I like to remind myself that you’ll always be with us in spirit.  You are there when I see the early morning sunrise, when I smile and when I cry.  You are there when something surprising happens.  I will always look for ways you’re revealing your presence to us.  Your spirit is evident in the numerous gestures of love and support from friends, family and even people we’ve never met.  It’s amazing how such a tiny little person who never even took one breath could touch so many lives.  You will forever be our daughter and Caroline’s little sister.  You weren’t with us long, but you’ll be a part of our family forever.

Love you sweet girl,

Mama

 

“Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” W.S. Merwin

Running

I have ALWAYS been a runner.  I remember a fitness program in my elementary school where the kids would run laps around the goalposts of the soccer field during recess.  The teacher would use a big colored marker to stamp a dot on the palm of your hand after each lap and I loved the challenge of seeing how many dots I could collect each time.  I did 5K’s as a kid, track and cross country in high school, and kept it up into my adult years with races of all lengths all the way up to my one and only full marathon.  I’m NOT a fast runner by any means and I’m not competitive.  I just love getting out there and both pushing myself to exhaustion or leisurely taking the scenic route while stopping to take pictures.  I look forward to a weekend when I can get up at 4 a.m. and pay someone else a lot of money to run 13.1 miles with “thousands of my closest friends”.  Only fellow runners know and crave that same crazy thrill.

Running for me is definitely not about winning a race or the number on the scale.  Although it does have the added benefit of helping me fit into my favorite jeans and somewhat justifies indulging in good beer and French fries, running helps me keep my head on straight.  While I’m hitting the pavement, I’m solving problems and thinking about how to tackle whatever happens to be on my plate at the time.  It also gives me a chance to appreciate the (good) small stuff, pray and daydream.  It’s the best selfish “me” time there is.  Healthy body and healthy mind is what I’m after.  This has been especially true in the past few years.  

I’d been forced to alter my running habits as we dealt with infertility and miscarriages prior to the loss of Bella.  I ran a 10-miler while I was about 8 weeks pregnant in early 2012 with the permission of my doctor.  But instead of trying to maintain so-and-so minutes per mile, I took it easy and enjoyed the beautiful scenery of the California coast.  But that pregnancy was not meant to be and I was faced with the loss.  And then the recovery.  And then learning to take it easy and heal.  In the fall of that year I was pregnant again.  And then another loss, but this time it was just a couple of weeks before a half marathon that I’d signed up for months in advance.  I hadn’t been running much because I was pregnant, and then I couldn’t run because I was recovering from surgery.  But my stubborn, unprepared self went out and ran the half anyway.  My time was embarrassingly slow and my muscles ached for days, but getting back out there made me feel like myself again. 

When I found out I was pregnant with Bella, my doctor advised me to limit myself to walking for the first three months, which I did.  After our move to New York, I decided I’d ease back into running and worked my way up to short runs three times a week.  I felt great and decided I’d keep going as long as I felt well.  I felt better than “well”.  I felt energized, strong and healthy.  My last “long” run was at 38 weeks and 5 days, although I jogged about a half a mile of my 4.5-mile walk on the last day of my pregnancy.  I’d even checked a major item off my bucket list this summer—a 5K while pregnant.  I averaged a 10 min/mile pace for the down-the-hill-and-back course while pushing my 43-lb daughter in the jogging stroller.  I was 29 weeks pregnant and so proud of myself!

I always considered Bella to be my little running buddy.  I’d pat her little bum and talk to her along the way.  I felt that she was showing me how strong I was to keep going even as I grew more and more enormous.  Our runs were always very early in the morning due to Greg’s work hours, which meant that I was usually running along the river just in time to see the sunrise.   The chance to see the reflections on the water of the beautiful morning sky with my Bella made getting up before dawn worth it.  It was our special time together and each morning as we set out together, I wondered if this time the sky would be mostly purple, mostly orange or just clear and blue.  It was always our little surprise to discover together.

Less than a week after losing Bella, I started to get the itch to get back out there.  I’ve been living out a nightmare without her and I wanted to do something to feel closer to her again.  Bella was born at 7:07 a.m., which is right about the time that we’d admire the morning sky together.  I’ve been awake in the early morning every day since she was born and I feel that she is present with us most at that time.  A friend recently commented, "I have a sneaky suspicion that you will always feel her and 'see' her whenever you partake in your special activity".  I think she's right.  So in order to be "with" Bella, our whole family headed down to my favorite running path to go for a short jog and admire the sky exactly one week from the time she was born.  

Love you so much sweet girl,

Mama

Sunrise November 30

Taken at 7:07 a.m. on November 30, 2013.  Exactly six days from the moment she was born.  A little gift from our angel.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Dear Bella,

You know that you've been on my mind since I woke up this morning.  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the sky through my bedroom window.  It was that perfect moment just before the sun rises over the hill and the horizon is a beautiful mix of purple, orange and grey.  I believe that was a little gift from you to me.  Later in the morning, snowflakes fell--just enough to collect in small patches in the grass.  We were not expecting any snow.  Caroline giggled when I suggested that her little sister must have planned it as a surprise just for her!

Today, we're celebrating Thanksgiving with our little family at home.  Because we knew that you would be arriving this week, I made mashed potatoes, two pumpkin pies, and applesauce from scratch ahead of time.  We roasted a BIG turkey and made stuffing.  Your sister said the prayer and included thanks for her sister Bella.  This was the first time that I've eaten much of anything since you were born.  Dinner was delicious, but you were missed.  For months, I looked forward to this exact meal and had a clear picture in my mind of what our day would be like.  Your Dada would hold you while I'd quickly eat and then we'd trade places.  One of us would hover over the table bouncing you to keep you happy or you'd nurse while I struggled to eat with my one free hand.  Your Dada thought you'd be an easy baby.  I thought you'd be grumpy like your sister!  But you were not there.  At the end of the meal, your sister sat in front of the television and I chatted with your Dada about how much we miss you.  I glanced at my phone and pulled up the photo of your sweet little baby feet.  It took my breath away.  

Tonight, we'll prepare for our "North Pole Breakfast" and decide where your sister's elf should be placed for his arrival to our house this year.  The Christmas tree is up and all of our decorations are on display.  This makes the day even harder for me.  Last year, your sister was very ill and had three hospitalizations and two emergency surgeries.  She was so sick that there was a time that we weren't sure if she'd survive.  As I look around the house, I see the photo of her sitting on Santa's lap and I remember that it was taken the night before she became ill.  I see decorations that last year had been pulled down and collected into a shopping bag so that I could display them in her hospital room for Christmas morning.  I see an ornament on the tree that we bought together at the hospital's gift shop when she was feeling well enough to push her IV pole down the hallway for a long walk.  It all brings back that panicky feeling of worry that something could go horribly wrong.  And then there's the reality that everything DID go horribly wrong with you.

I knew that this would be a challenging day, but I decided this morning that I was going to do my best to focus on my blessings.  Losing you is an overwhelming, crushing pain.  But I have a lot to be thankful for.  I'm so thankful that I had a chance to know you when you were full of life.  I loved feeling your little hands and feet kicking and moving.  I loved how you were always so active while we were at church.  I loved seeing you dancing around on the ultrasounds--especially the last one when you were sticking your tongue out and putting your fingers in your mouth.  You made me laugh so much the ultrasound tech couldn't get a clear image of you!  I'm thankful that you were my little running buddy for all those months.  I felt like we were in it together and you showed me how tough I can be.  I'm thankful for the chance to have given birth to you.  There is nothing more empowering as a woman and a mommy.  And although you were already gone, I'm thankful that I had that one afternoon with you.  To witness your baptism, to dress you in your "going home" outfit, to know what it feels like to drift off to sleep with you snuggled on my chest.  I'll never forget how lucky I am that I know what it felt like to kiss your chunky cheeks and feel your soft, sweet newborn hair against my face.  If it was meant to be that you would become an angel, I'm incredibly grateful that you were at least with us long enough that we have these special memories of you.

I'm also thankful for your sister and your Dada.  Your sister is the most amazing person I've ever met.  She makes me laugh and smile and makes this beautiful, awful, confusing life more than worth living.  She is so smart, such an amazing little artist, has such a big heart and will surely have a crazy sense of humor like your Dada. It has been such a blessing to watch her grow into a "big girl" over the past five years.  And as for your Dada--you're lucky to have the best one in the world.  And I mean that!  I've never met a man so invested in his daughters.  He is silly, fun, loving and above all, sees raising children as the most important thing he can do in his life.  Part of the reason that he's an amazing father is that he would have shown you a great example of the type of man a girl is very lucky to marry.  He loves to spend quality time with your sister, but also does more than his fair share of the parenting.  Giving baths, reading bedtime stories, helping your sister remember to do her chores, taking her to the grocery store with him to give your Mama a break, spending his evenings drawing mermaids and making Lego and building block creations.  I couldn't ask for a better husband and partner.  I'm one of those girls that got to marry their dream guy.  I'm so lucky to be head over heels in love with your Dada and I know that he feels the same about me.  He treats me like a princess.  He respects me, listens to me, takes care of me, puts my needs ahead of his and always makes me laugh and keeps life interesting.  He is my best friend.  I have no doubt that by the time you'd become a young woman, the bar would have been set really high for all those guys that would have been hoping for a chance to catch your eye!  And through the past few days since we lost you, he has been such a source of strength for me and I can feel that our bond is only getting stronger as we go through this together.  Although the pain of your absence will surely never leave my heart, I can't ever forget how fortunate I am to be spending my life with these two perfect, wonderful people.

I miss you so much sweet girl.  I can't wait to see what surprises you have in store for us in the future to let us know you're with us! 

Love you so much, 
Mama

This Is A Love Story

Bella, I cannot tell you how proud and thankful I am to be your father.  You are so perfect, innocent, and beautiful.  When I look at you, I am reminded of why I must set out every day to leave this world better than I found it.  All of your potential and silent aspirations bring glory to the Divine spark that breathes life into our earthly bodies.  When I look at your slumbering countenance, my soul knows with immutable conviction that sheer chance did not bring us together.  You are my proof that I must fight courageously for the good in this world.

 

I know that you are just as proud of your mother as I am.  She took such attentive care of you in the womb and prepared to welcome you into the family with such loving detail.  You were a gift four years in the making, and despite heartbreaking setbacks, your mother never lost the courage and strength to keep trying to bring you into this world.  She willingly gave birth to you without an epidural, knowing that the pain in childbirth would forge a coveted bond of strength between you.  Her love for you is the type that only exists between mother and child.

 

And your big sister could not be more in love with you!  All of the plans that she has for you would fill up a thousand lifetimes.  You are to be the best of friends forever—and ever and ever.  She has set aside all of her clothes and toys that are too small for her (and perhaps a few that she simply no longer cares for) in order to give them to you.  She has dedicated a swing to you on the playground.  She has insisted that your changing table and bassinet will remain in her room.  After all, you are sisters.  She even decorated your diapers, fearing that the generic patterns that we chose would be too plain for your tastes.  While you were in your momma’s tummy, she gave you a giant hug and a kiss every night saying, “Goodnight baby Bella.  I love you!” 

 

Our Lord and Savior’s love for you resounds in the miracle of your birth.  I still remember our first ultrasound—no heartbeat.  “Don’t worry,” the doctor said.  “Let’s give it another week.  We will know for sure in a week.”  After a week and no sign of life, I let doubt overcome my hope.  I departed for a military training exercise laden with guilt for leaving Brittany alone to deal with the immanence of yet another miscarriage.  When I got a phone call several days later announcing your budding life and spirit, I fell to my knees and thanked God with tears in my eyes! 

 

Bella, thank you so much for coming into this world and becoming a part of our family!  Thank you for the unimaginable blessings that you have brought to our family!  Thank you for your proof of God’s unending love for us!  There is no joy like the joy of a new baby.  Thank you for bringing this joy to us!

 

We would have liked to spend a long lifetime together instead of a short one.  Your sister would have loved to lead you through all of your milestones, proudly watching her little sister grow into a young woman, following a few steps behind her big sis.  Your mother would have loved to nurse you and hold you and snuggle you up for the coming winter days.  She would have loved to get you ready for your first day at school and your first prom.  I would have loved to help you learn to ride a bike and build the perfect pillow fort.  Several decades down the road, it would have been an insurmountable honor to walk you down the aisle and to give your hand away to the luckiest man on earth.  There are so many plans that we had for us, but we know that this never was our plan unfolding.

 

When the dust settles on the tangible pain that we feel in your absence, we know that we will sing with joy that this is, was, and forever will be a love story.

 

We love you with every ounce of our strength.  We will see you again, dear Bella Joy!  Until then, rest easy in the loving arms of Our Father.

Bella Joy

It's been three days since Bella was born and I'm finally getting up the courage to start working on preserving what memories we have of her.  I wasn't sure how much I wanted to share with friends and family on Facebook, which has been our lifeline with the rest of the world.  After sharing a few photos, I realized that I want to share EVERYTHING about her.  She is real and the memory of her will always be present in our family.  Our five-year-old daughter Caroline is grieving right along with us, but she is also struggling to understand why and how this happened and where her baby sister is now.  I want her to know every detail there is to know about Bella that we can share with her.  This is unfortunately a part of our lives now.  Caroline will always be a big sister to an angel in Heaven.  I will always be a mother who lost a child.  It is what it is.  Follow along with us if you like.

Bella Joy.  I want to share that this was not supposed to be her name.  Caroline started calling the baby "Bella" when we found out that her new sibling would be a girl.  And it stuck.  Whenever we talked about the baby, we referred to her as "Baby Bella".  Greg and I had not decided on a name for the baby other than the fact that she would NOT be named Bella.  (Sorry Caroline!)  We had a few names we really liked and decided to wait until we met her to choose the name that best fit her personality.  Since we never met her in life, it seemed wrong to call her anything but "Bella".  And now that I think of it, this probably makes the most sense to Caroline.  She doesn't know that we were going to choose a different name and I'm excited about how, one day in the future, she will realize that she was the one to name her sister.  It's perfect.

Brittany