I don’t offer myself much time to actually stop and think. Usually we hit the ground running by 6:30 a.m. and don’t stop until 10 at night. Days are filled with the activities of the business and our children’s lives. Often my husband and I only offer each other a quick hello and goodbye as we briskly pass each other through the different corridors of life---busy, busy, busy! Like the Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland running with the clock dangling at his side repeating “Can’t be late!” Life! And then, the inevitable will happen…..
My friend’s baby girl died last week. It was his third child. She was 4 days old. My friend and his wife knew of possible complications. They had been warned by all the best doctors, but their convictions were strong. They refused to believe science and instead relied on their faith—a faith so strong it boggled my mind as I listened to his testimony day after day of God’s healing grace. He did not waiver. Faith. Makes me wonder.
On the day of the baby’s birth I received a text message announcing the news and later I received a call. His voice was calm. “Something is wrong. This is not like my other two babies. The doctors are talking about tri-something 18. I will call you when I know more.” Waiting is the hardest thing, isn’t it? I am not a good waiter. I went to the computer and ‘googled’ tri-something 18 and found the news I did not want to read—a chromosome disorder, an extra no. 18 chromosome, which inevitably causes death, either early in life, or by the early teen years. What remained of my faith withered…how could you, God?
A day later I received another text. “I don’t know if I can do this. I love my daughter!” And after two more days, his little girl died in his arms.
As any other friend would do, I attended the Rosary. I arrived a few minutes ahead of time to find that the gathering had burst the side chapel and had been moved to the ‘big’ church. Quietly I walked inside to see row after row filled with.... well, who? Who are these people? I sat quietly. Alone. I’m Catholic, so I knew just what to do. I knelt, crossed myself and reached inside a pocket for my rosary beads. As I situated myself for the first “our Father” I glanced down to the front of the church and spied a tiny pink casket; a perfectly shaped head rested on a pillow. Her dark hair was edged with a pink elastic band. My gaze drifted over to the front pew where my friend sat with his wife—tall, so tall and his wife— poised, but motionless. She rested her head on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the pink nest cradling her daughter. I shifted in my seat. God, why? This is not right! Why this couple? They are so faithful to you!
The joyful mysteries of the rosary were prayed. It was melodic. It had been a long, long time. I dropped into the rhythm easily. My friend’s sister read a lesson from the New Testament. His eldest daughter—all of 8—stood bravely beside her aunt and when given the cue spoke clearly into the microphone. His four year old (known as the feisty one!) quietly waited her turn to speak –“I love my baby sister”, she plainly said and then playfully peeked from around the podium. Cute, I thought to myself. How proud my friend must be. All the more reason to scorn you, God!
The next day I attended the funeral. The parking lots were filled. I parked halfway down a street and I was fifteen minutes early! For pete’s sake. I had no idea this guy had so many friends. This time I met another cohort from work and we made our way into the church. A piano quietly played “When You Wish Upon A Star”. “This is going to be hard”, I said as I looked over and saw her eyes filled to the brim with tears. “I know”, she said. The mass began with a familiar tune, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was for as I turned to look to the back of the church my eyes landed on my friend proudly holding the tiny pink casket in his arms as he led the procession. His wife and two daughters followed closely behind holding hands. The daughters wore matching dresses. Are you kidding me? My friend’s eyes were gripped with sadness as he moved forward. He gently placed the casket in front of the altar and joined his family. The prayers of the mass began and at all the appropriate times the crowd responded. The priest spoke. He relayed his experiences with my friend over the past four days and judged it has the highpoint of his lengthy priesthood. He remarked of the countless people touched in such a short time and gestured to the crowd as witness. He reminded the parents attending of their own children and the lifelong significance of their position. He spoke of unconditional love and encouraged parents to be the parents they were intended to be. The priest turned his attention to the children attending and lightly agreed that while a parent doesn’t seem to know much at times, it was probably best to be patient because one day they would have the wisdom seldom found in youth. The mass ended. My friend and his wife advanced to the podium and began to speak. Each took a turn thanking their church family, parents, relatives, hospital staff, hospice volunteers, and friends for the support shown over the past days. They explained the chromosomal disorder, Trisomy 18 and reaffirmed their commitment to life, even if it meant losing their little one just days after birth. My heart softened as I listened. I began to understand. My friend’s daughter was brought to all of us to teach the valuable lessons of unconditional love, the irreplaceable role of parenting and the reasons for an unwavering faith.
The following day I visited with my friend. I noticed he still wore the hospital bracelet placed on his wrist to identify his rightful title as “Daddy”. His voice was soft, but his faith shone through his sadness. He shared intimate details of his daughter’s life and referred to her as ‘my little angel’. He said he knew she was protectively watching over his family and knew she lived and died to bring his family closer to one another. I could offer no words of comfort. He actually comforted me! He was living proof of faith tested and victory. He left. I sat quietly, alone but NOT alone. Thank you, God, I get it and I will not forget.
For more information about Trisomy 18, please visit www.trisomy18.org.
