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