Happy Third Birthday

Sweet, Precious Elena,

How can it have been three years since I held you?  Some days it feels like an eternity has passed since I cradled your tiny body in my arms; other times it seems only a moment ago that I had to let you go.  I miss you so much.  Your prints hang in our family room, your little feet that left such a huge imprint, your tiny hands that still hold our hearts.  I look at your picture and reminisce how beautiful you were.  I wish I knew if your eyes were as dark as your big brother's - you looked so much like him!  I wish I could have watched you grow.  I wish you were here, at three.  Would you enjoy climbing trees and swimming with your big brother?  Would you laugh with the glee on the carousel and get excited about all the animals at the zoo like your little brother?  Would our house be cluttered with dolls and ballet slippers and little frilly dresses?  Oh, how I wish I knew!  How I wish you were here!

My arms ache to cradle you again.  I long to pull you into my lap for story time and to bury my face in your soft hair (I can only guess that it would have remained blond like it was at birth) for top-of-the-head kisses, to sing you a lullaby.  I feel so robbed.  Not only did I lose my precious baby, but I also lost an entire lifetime with you.  Why?  It's not supposed to be this way.  I miss you so much, every day.  I ache for you so much, not only on these special occasions like your birthday, but in the everyday, ordinary moments as well.  Your absence is always present.  You are always missing, always missed.  

I thank God for your earthly life, brief as it was, and I am eternally grateful that I am your Mom.  I would do anything to have been able to save you, but I wouldn't trade being your mom for anything.  Elena, you are such a blessing to me, to your family.  We all love you so very much.

I hope you have an amazing birthday celebration in heaven.  I am sorry I can't be there to celebrate with you.  Someday I will get to celebrate with you, and for that I thank God as well.  Someday I will know the color of your eyes, and someday I will get to hold you in my arms and sing "Happy Birthday" to you.  But for now, I desperately hope that you know how much we love you, how much we wanted you, still want you, and how we look forward to our reunion.  We wish you the happiest birthday, our beautiful princess.

All of our love always,

Mommy, Daddy, and Brothers

Her Story

I start telling Elena's story in the middle.  Her story has a beginning too, with ups and downs, joy and pain, laughter and tears leading to where I typically begin.  But I don't usually begin at the beginning, primarily because it's full of boring details, about extra sonograms and little pink outfits and corrupt drug manufacturers and "it's a girl" chocolate cake, that I treasure but will spare others the minutia.  So onto the middle or thereabouts...

Three years and a day ago I was put on hospital bedrest.  My OB said I would remain there until I delivered my daughter.  I mentally prepared myself to spend the entire summer in the hospital.  I scrambled to figure out child care for my almost 2 year old.  I was excited to have ESPN so that I could watch more Mavs games (funny the things you remember).  I was disappointed to be separated from my husband and son but grateful that they were able to visit every evening.  I was a lot of things...scared...relieved to be in the hospital where I'd get careful monitoring...disappointed that here was (another) pregnancy that I wouldn't get to enjoy carefree...worried about what might happen...excited to see Elena jumping around on sonogram...happy to feel her constantly moving...anxious about making it "long enough"... ... ... but mostly hopeful, especially in the first few days.  I was so hopeful that we'd be able to hang on long enough that she'd be okay.  I even laughed that after this whole ordeal was finished, in early autumn when the days would be almost ready to become cooler, she'd still be hanging out inside me past my due date, and that we'd have to induce to "evict" her.  I believed that she would be the miracle story that was so incredible that people might even be brought to faith by seeing God at work in our lives.  I wanted that so desperately.

But that's not how her story would end.  I wouldn't spend the entire summer in the hospital.  In fact, I wouldn't even make it to summer.  Just ten nights later I met my daughter face to face, and what a beautiful face!  It's amazing to me how perfect a baby just shy of one pound is.  She was perfectly formed.  She didn't have the fat of a typical newborn, she was slender enough that we could see her heart beat, and she had bruising on her delicate body from the trauma of a too early trip into the world, but she was so perfect.  She had the tiniest fingernails and the softest blond hair and the tiniest cry that I still sometimes wonder if I really heard it at all.  She looked so much like her big brother - I guessed my husband would have the monopoly on the kids' appearances (her little brother would later break that trend).  So perfect, and yet....  somehow perfect just wasn't enough.  We received 137 minutes with her, and while we know every last one was a blessing, it still wasn't enough.  We held her for several more hours.  And then we went home, without our baby.

We would face making her final arrangements, planning services to remember her life, trying to explain death to our precocious, curious, and confused toddler.  We had to say good-bye.

But that's not how her story would end either.  We were determined to honor this precious life that God gave to us, to cherish every memory with which we were blessed, and to create a legacy for our child that just might make the world a little bit brighter because our "light" (the meaning of Elena) had shined, even if only for a brief time.  Elena's Echoes was born of our grief and also of our hope.

Today we ask that you would help continue Elena's story.  Each year for her birthday, since we are unable to give her a party, we choose a "project" on which to focus.  This year we are donating to Mommies Enduring Neonatal Death (MEND) in Elena's memory.  MEND is an amazing nonprofit organization that has helped us navigate this path.  Some of my favorite things about supporting MEND are that it is run completely by volunteers - there are no paid positions meaning that ALL donations go to help families and that there are no charges for any of their services to bereaved families - help is offered freely to all those who ask.  I realize that budgets are tight, but if you are able, please consider supporting this organization as a birthday gift to Elena.  Donations can be mailed to M.E.N.D. P.O. Box 631566, Irving, TX 75063, online at http://mend.org/support/about-donations.jsp, or by phone (972) 506-9000.  MEND requests the following information when donations are made:  baby's name, date of birth/death, parents' names, and name of benefactor.  If you have any questions, please contact me.

If you want to help us celebrate Elena's birthday but are unable to make a donation at this time, we would still appreciate you remembering her this month with an act of kindness in her honor - it can be anything, small or large.  Just a few examples of things people have done in her honor in the past include donating blood in her memory, allowing someone to go ahead of them in line at the grocery store, paying for the lunch of the person behind them in the drive-thru, donating preemie hats and clothing to local hospital NICUs.  Please let me know if you participate so that I can add your kindness to the "Elena's Echoes" page here on the blog and document the continuation of her beautiful story.

And the Good News we have in our faith is that this is still not how her story will end.  We are confident that our daughter lives with our Lord in heaven and that we will someday be reunited with her and get to spend eternity with her.  So her story, our story, doesn't have to end at all.