Monday, November 17, 2014

Bringing Lyddia Home

One thing that people do not often talk about when dealing with death is that there are so. many.decisions.  Decisions you don't even think about when you are not used to doing death. Decisions you do not want to make. Decisions you do not know how to make.

One decision we had to make was whether or not to let the boys meet Lyddia.  I did not know whether this would be weird, morbid, to pass around a dead baby.  I was scared of the questions they would ask.  Would they be gentle?  Would they even care? Surely they would not understand.

Bu we felt that they needed to meet her.  To see her.  To understand that this thing they had been talking to for months and months was real.  To see the hands that moved and the feet that kicked them when they touched my belly.  To see that her ears were real, and they heard their words of love and excitement they spoke to her.

I also think that this was an important time for Adam and I.  Part of a loss like this includes the crushing loss of all your dreams and visions for the future.  I had often imagined her running around this new house we had been working on and moved into while she was inside of me.  I painted her room and pictured her gowing up in it.  So, in a way, I needed to see her here, at our house, at least once.  

The funeral home had gone to pick her up from the hospital after we left, and then they brought her to the house the next morning.  It turns out that it was a sweet sweet time for our family.  We were blessed to have another Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photographer, Paula Davis, come and take pictures of the family holding and meeting her.  The pictures that she took are so special and something that we will always cherish.

Henry was so gentle, and very eager to hold her, as was George.  They touched her, inspected her, and asked a lot of innocent-- and some very hard-- questions.  I feel like we fielded the hard questions by just being honest.  Though this all, right or wrong, Adam and I just wanted to be honest with them...in the midst of our own confusion...about what what happening.

There were tears, of course, but there were also some smiles, and laughs.  We all cooed over her, trying to decide who she looked like.  It was almost easy to imagine this was a normal scene.  That nothing was wrong.  Almost.

After a few hours reality set in. The people from the funeral home came.  We filled out paperwork and signed our names. We walked our baby out to the car. We handed her over, and said goodbye for the last time.  I said goodbye to my constant companion, the baby I carried with me for the past 9 months.

I was so tired.  I was one day postpartum, but I didn't feel like I had the right to rest.  Resting is for people who have babies in their arms.  Rest when the babies rest- isn't that what we tell new moms? When do you rest when your baby is dead?

For the rest of the world this was Halloween.  Children all over the country were dressing up and getting ready to consume massive amounts of sugar. You sometimes forget that when these horrible things happen the world does not stop.  People still go to work.  Halloween still happens.  You still need to go to the grocery store.  Life does not stop even when you are absolutely sure the world as you know it is crumbling.

And so for us, life went on.  The boys went trick or treating.  Family and friends came into town, and we started planning a memorial service.

2 comments:

Lori said...

Sweet Kara, When my mother was dying (and died) I remember how small my world became and I remember how muffled the fast moving world around me sounded and how every step I took felt as if I was walking through water. Each day I simply hoped to remember to come up for air and breathe. The breathing became easier..time changes things..it does not heal, it simply changes you..changes everything.

Brittney Knox said...

My dear, as a fellow writer it brings joy to me to see you using this beautiful form of expression to help you during this time. But more importantly as your friend, I grieve with you because I love you and your sweet family. But as someone who whispers a little prayer for you, and someone who knows your strength, I have all the trust that wisdom and grace will forever comfort you. Sending love!