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