Today marks 5 years since Gabrielle’s little spirit came to bless our lives.
She was with me only 21 weeks and three days.
She grew all that time, but would not be allowed even one more moment.
The day I met her, I had known for a day that she had already gone home to her Father in Heaven.
I woke up on the morning of the 25th with a pain in my heart from a dream of losing the daughter that was growing inside me.
I tried to dispel the feeling, but the thought would not go away. “Is she ok?”
I went to the OB office to take a small peek at her to make sure things were all right, and they weren’t.
As I laid there, I could see her small picture on the monitor, but there was no sound to accompany it.
No heartbeat to tell me that everything was ok.
I called John to tell him the news and can’t even bring to memory what his response was.
I remember heading home and just feeling completely numb. “Could they have been wrong?” “Why didn’t they look longer?” “How could she be this big and have no heartbeat?”
The questions seemed to completely take over every thought I had. And answers…I had none.
I went home and started to fold laundry. For a time I felt better. Like the news, that had just confirmed my dream, was all part of an illusion.
I stood by my bed folding and wondering how.
A dear friend came and convinced me that the time was now to meet my daughter. She too having suffered such a loss with a little girl of her own, her words proved to be invaluable.
As I walked the labor and delivery hall, to a room far in the back, I began to realize that she would not be coming home with me.
I tried to be so strong, to remember the words of my sweet friend, to hold everything back, but it was too much.
As I lay there with no physical pain from labor, but pressure in my heart that made me think that it would explode at any minute, I began to think about the plan.
The plan of happiness.
What an awkward time to think of happiness, but that is exactly what held back the tears.
The hope for the future, the opportunity to be with her again, and knowing that I would always be her mother.
Her body was too small to actually signal my pregnant body to progress with labor, so the time went by very slowly waiting to see her.
There was a lot of time to hold John’s hand, to sit in silence, and to feel the darkness that seemed to fill that room.
It was a long night.
How could I sleep? What if I lay very still and could feel her move again? But the morning came, and with it, the time getting closer of having to lose her.
I remember John and the doctor talking quietly as he checked me one more time. “It is almost time Laura” he said.
“Almost time?”
How could that be? But alas, I began to feel her body prepare for delivery.
One more moment with her. Just she and I. That is what I did, I held off the moment of that delivery by seconds to have that closeness to her for but a small time. How grateful I was for that.
Then to see her.
So tiny, so quiet and so warm.
I knew that she would not be breathing, but I didn’t realize that she would be so warm. Evidence of her presence within my womb.
We spent time with her. Time that is just between her father and I. Time, that even as I type, I can go back to like it was yesterday.
The darkness in the room had lifted. I could feel a light feeling in the room. One of a small child.
I am so grateful for that time with just the three of us. Staring at her, recognizing our other children’s characteristics in her tiny body, and naming her.
Tonight, just like that day, I don’t want to think about what we would miss. Bringing her home to meet her brothers and sisters. Her first birthday. Wondering what color her eyes would be. All those thoughts just stir the heartache.
But then I return to the plan.
The plan that promises that I can raise her in the next life. The plan that says that we can be married for more than just time. The plan that lets us know that if we do our best, the rest is made up by our elder brother.
Gabrielle, I will forever remember your smell, your soft skin and the warmth you gave to my arms and my heart. Thank you for the privilege of calling you mine. You have forever changed our lives.
