The day started out with a glimmer of hope. She had now lived three days. We watched her struggle through the clear incubator. We asked naive questions about her chances. The neonatologists and nurses answered as best they could. But it was up to her, but more so, up to a higher power. He was in control and we were not.
We went home to rest. And then the phone rang mid-morning. Results have just came back of the brain scan. A grade 4 (highest possible) on one side and a grade 3 on the other. We think you should come to the hospital.
At the hospital, we rushed in to see her. Amara was lying there like she had been. Her very tiny, fragile little being. She would wiggle and twitch. But mostly just lie there in her warm cocoon that was to simulate a womb. But it didn't. And her body wasn't ready for life yet. The two specialists called us into a conference room. The Chairman and I sat there holding hands. Crying. And listening to their opinions. One spoke in medical terms. She had charts and graphs and probabilities listed. The other spoke to us like wounded parents. His eyes brimmed with care and tears. And so we were left to make a decision. Please come back after you have decided what is best.
We went down to a vacant hallway. We held each other. We cried. We prayed. And we talked softly about how we loved her but we needed to let her go. We called our parents. One set was able to come in and see her beforehand. One set sent love from afar. And then we went back up to the NICU. The doctors were waiting. We told them that her struggle should be over. They completely agreed with our decision.
Dad and Mom D came up to see her. Then they left us to be alone with our very tiny daughter. The nurses removed her from all the wires and monitors. And they brought her to us in a quiet conference room. I held her first. Then her daddy held her. And we hugged and cried and spoke softly and told her we loved her enough to let her go. A nurse came to take pictures for our memories. Then a doctor came in to check her. He said it was soon. Very soon. And then... she was gone. From her daddy's arms to her Father's. I'm so thankful we were alone with her. I'm so thankful we had that time. Most parents get years and years. We got an hour. But it was an hour we won't forget. Ever.
Yes, it is fifteen years ago today. It seems like a thousand years. It seems like yesterday. But... looking back the long years over, twas a varied path and yet... all the way his hand has led us. I share this not for sympathy. I share this because I'm thankful. I'm thankful for Amara because she changed me. I didn't know empathy until I needed sympathy myself. I'm thankful that Amara cemented a relationship with my husband that was already firm. And I'm thankful to think of Amara in a very safe place free of wires and monitors and pain. And I'm thankful for our dear children that give us an opportunity to nurture. To guide. And to love.
...a so very sweet post, thanks for sharing your heart.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful and touching. What a beautiful name you blessed her with.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing. So glad you had the chance to say "goodbye". It might not seem like much, but it really makes a difference.
ReplyDeleteThat left me a teary mess... we will never forget. Thank you for sharing that experience.
ReplyDeletethanks again for sharing part of this story from you life...
ReplyDeletethis was SO incredibly hard to read and yet i made it through weeping. not weeping with sadness...weeping in agreement with your words...weeping because that's what we do when we feel that pain "our neighbor's know/ knew"..thank you for sharing. hugs to you..keep thankful. it's a lovely way to be.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing. Thank you for letting this very difficult experience make a positive impact on your life and in turn being able to be a help to others--in many ways.
ReplyDeleteEven though I never met Amara I think of her often. I love what a relative of yours was told her at a difficult funeral. Stay soft. Thank you for living a thankful life. Gina
ReplyDeleteSuch lovely words to tell a bittersweet story.
ReplyDeleteI have been thinking about you every morning this week- waking up thinking about you or at some point you'll pop into my head. I take that as a sign.
ReplyDeleteHugs.
I love this post, and I have to agree with everyone else's comments. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYour story is touchingly similar to our daughter & son-in-law's story of 11 years ago, nearly 12 years now, come January 6. That's when their little Alaina Rose, our second grandchild, was born and lived for only 1 hour and 21 minutes before quietly, peacefully slipping from her mommy's arms into Eternity. They, too, were so thankful for their experience; as our son-in-law put it, "We don't want to look at this as only a loss, but as a gift that we were given for a little while." And it truly was a precious gift to know that her sinless little soul was ushered safely into her Father's eternal care. We are once again living in the city where her ashes were scattered and we had the opportunity for the first time last month (at the service for a dear friend) of visiting that serene and beautiful little Rose Garden in a corner of the cemetery. You never, ever forget, even though life goes on and we now have two more grandchildren, three healthy and hearty boys in all. Thank you for sharing your heartfelt story.
ReplyDeleteLove from Deena in Roseville
I could feel the tears sliding down your cheeks as you wrote this in remembrance! And something about verbalizing that she would have been 15 had she lived, is well, healing and commemorating and acknowledging of the fact of her short but very special life, because she changed you for the better! We are remembering with you! Thinking about how she would've been right between two of her cousins! Hugs!
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