Perspective

Oh yes, it's another one of those posts where I share my thoughts on life as it is right now, and there are just a few pictures of Lily. Feel free to skip over this one if you're not into reading more words than pictures...

This picture and the shirt she is wearing fits Lily, well, to a T! As I have said before, Lily has always had a lot to say. The girl talks a lot. Recently, Jeremy and his friend ran some kind of machine on our lawn and then left to do the same to the friend's lawn. While Jeremy was gone, my task was to pull weeds and clean up the lawn. He was gone for two hours. While I worked in the yard, Lily talked to me. The. Entire. Time. Nonstop for two hours. Telling stories, telling me about her school, making up scenarios between a princess (her) and a queen/fairy/knight/etc. (me) and the adventures we could get into. Sometimes, her talking is exhausting. Mostly, it is creative, entertaining, and the sweetest noise to my ears.

Most of you who know me, and Lily, well, know about her talkative nature. Chances are you've listened to her tell you some story about her newest book or latest trip to the swimming pool. Heck, even her soccer coach now expects to hear every Friday about what "special" thing it is she'll be doing later that day, even if it is just a lunch trip to Cafe Yumm. And so, chances are likely you might soon hear her talk about something new she's wrestling with - the life and death of baby Grace. (If you need background on the story of baby Grace go here.)

About two months ago, on a quiet snowy day, I told Lily she has a baby sister named Grace. Lily doesn't remember (thankfully) the month of doctor and hospital visits. I say thankfully because she has been spared the memory of the time I spent walking through a haze of intense grief. I still live with grief, and worry about its affect on her, but the intensity has subsided and I worry less about what she notices of my sadness. But, because she has no memory of that time, I knew that meant I would somehow someday have to tell her. Tell her about Grace, the missing member of our family. I knew I didn't want it to be something I had to sit her down at some "recommended" age and make a shocking revelation. I consulted child psychologists, her pediatrician, books and internet resources, advice from family and friends. Ultimately it came down to what felt right for our family and in this particular case that meant being honest, but not giving Lily too much information. Jeremy and I say often, Grace is our daughter as much as Lily is. Our reality is that we have two daughters, one living, and, as it is our belief, one in heaven. So, when Lily started asking me questions about heaven and did she know anyone who was in heaven, I told her yes, your baby sister Grace is in heaven. She was, and is still, sad. She misses her baby sister Grace. She wants to hold her. She brings me pictures and toys that she wants to give to Grace and ribbons and bows that she thinks would look pretty in Grace's hair. She wants to take an airplane to heaven and visit Grace. She thinks heaven sounds like a nice place, but she'd rather Grace would be here with us. I know her little, growing brain can't figure all of it out and won't yet for a while. (Though, for what it's worth, I'm not sure I'll ever have it all figured out.)

And so, my first plea to all of you out there is this: listen and acknowledge my little girl's tender soul. Jeremy and I recognize a preschooler has no filter and that Lily doesn't comprehend that this topic may be awkward for some people. But, the reality is, this is her (our) reality. The most common thing she has said to people is, "I have a baby sister Grace in heaven" or "I'm sad my baby sister Grace is in heaven." Please, just say something short and simple, like: Yes, it's sad baby Grace died. We miss her. We wish we could have her here too. I've found Lily just wants to be heard. She doesn't typically keep talking about it past one or two comments. She'll probably tell you about baby Grace and in the next breath tell you about the butterfly she painted in school that day. If you have questions about what to say to her, don't hesitate to ask me, but we've discovered basic honesty is the best policy.

And, that brings me to my next plea, and the point in the blog where, if you don't want to read my soapbox, you stop reading.

As if being a mother/family of a baby born still wasn't difficult enough, I have lived with the judgment of others - questioning my "choices" and some of the decisions I have made. I've heard the whispers and seen the shocked faces. I've been asked, "Why would you tell Lily about baby Grace?" and been told, "I wouldn't have told my three-year-old that information." To this I say - how do you know? Until you walk the path of a mother who has buried a baby, and faced the burden of helping your growing daughter understand she has a sister she's never met, you can never say you know what you'd do. There are no right answers, no book we can turn to that will tell us the magic way to handle this situation, no prescribed path to take along this journey. You don't know how you'd handle these decisions, and I pray you never do.

Because, you see, I have that perspective now. I can have empathy for a mother who's facing the grim reality of delivering a baby who will never take a breath on this earth. I would never ask a woman if she's pregnant again yet or casually tell parents of a toddler it's time to think about giving her a sibling. I recognize I can't know most people's whole story and their truth could hold sadness. I have that perspective, and, yes, I suppose as people tell me, I'm stronger for it. I'm a kinder person for it because I can be sensitive to others' possibilities. But, you know what, screw you universe, you can have your perspective and your strength and your sensitivity back, because I'd rather have Grace here with me than all of those character qualities.

So, there you go, friends. Perspective. A little of it can go a long way and can mean the difference between an open wound stinging a little more or maybe soothing a person's tangled soul.

Because, that's the good news in this what could be all bitter post. I've been lucky enough to have people around me who have been there for me throughout this journey in amazing ways. There are women at work who are more than co-workers who have chosen to ignore the new study on crying at work that says women who cry at work are viewed as emotionally unstable (that may be true about me, but at least these special women don't make me feel as though it's true). There are teachers of Lily's who go above and beyond to give her, and me, a little extra TLC. There are friends who have written me notes or made a special point to tell me they remember Grace, she is not forgotten. There's the one-of-a kind friend who loves my kid as though she was hers, who feels the hole in our gaggle of kids, who misses Grace just about as much as I do. There's the man who has suffered along side of me, who has seen me go through the most dramatic struggle of my life and stuck with me as I've come back around, forever changed, but closer now to the woman I was before.

And there's Lily, the one who has given me the biggest perspective of all - that in the midst of the sadness, there is one perfect little girl, one shining ray of light, one precious gift who gives me more happiness than I ever thought imaginable.