Monday, August 12, 2013

Six Months



Today is my birthday, and it also marks the six month anniversary of losing Celeste.

 Last week, I babysat my niece for a few afternoons while my sister and brother in law were at work. She and Evie get along so well. It makes me so happy to see them together. I know Evie will have Sophia forever as a "sister" to go through life with. They are so close now, I know it will only continue as they grow up, and for that, for that for my Evie, I am so grateful.

 I was watching them play one morning, and Sophia was telling Evie that her mom was going to be having a new baby. She said "I'm going to have a baby sister soon Evie! You have a baby sister too. She's in Heaven." It was so unexpected. I didn't know why she brought it up. And right then, I felt the old familiar feelings. My throat tightening up and my eyes stinging. Hearing those words said by a child was so tender.  It still seems so unreal at times...

 Six months, and still I grieve. I grieve for the daughter that isn't in my arms. The daughter Kemi won't hold for a very, very long time. I grieve for Evie the most. For the loss of her sister. It feels unfair. I so deeply wanted that for her. I don't believe any amount of time will change that.

 I wrote once before that I can now talk about Celeste on a "surface-y" level without getting upset. I can tell the story of my daughter's life, relay facts. It's when I sit alone, or I can't sleep at night and I start to really think back on the afternoon before going to the hospital. I think about every sign and symptom. What if I had gone sooner? I replay arriving at the ER in my mind. The triage procedures that took FOREVER as I winced through contractions. The wait for an ultrasound machine, as I writhed in pain in a sterile room, attached to a contraction monitor, Kemi looking like I've never seen him look before. The unfamiliar, uncaring nurses. The Obstetrician who finally (finally) showed up and said with no emotion in her voice that I would deliver my daughter that very day. I think back on every detail, rewind it and replay it. Rewind and replay...and I wonder sometimes why I didn't completely come unglued. What kept me from coming completely undone right there in the ER?

It was the gift of faith. It was trusting, trusting that all things are possible. I believed, for every second of Celeste's life, that God's plan for her life was being fulfilled, and that all things were possible. I know to the depths of me that if God were able to spare her, He would have.

 I hope I can speak hope to you. I hope you trust that sometimes, it just can't change. Whatever it is for you. It can't always go the way we want it to. But God's plans for our life are good and his love is everything. Evie, it's everything.

Pray for me, My Celeste.

4 comments:

  1. again, beautiful. thank you for being so open and sharing your heart and your faith - it's always inspiring and moving.

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    1. Thank you Mazie. It's been cathartic for me to get my thoughts out here.

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  2. Corinna, your faith is so inspiring to me. When the time is right, I will share this with Ed and Elissa. I know it doesn't compare to to losing your own child, but we all feel the loss of these little ones and our hearts grieve with yours. You, Kemi and Evie are always in my prayers.

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    1. Thank you, Kellie. I don't feel very faith-filled most of the time. I'm praying for Ed and Elissa every day.

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