Cousins
My sister and I were due seven weeks apart with our firstborns, girls. Coming from a family with only girls, excluding my dad but including all pets we ever had, I desperately wanted a girl. My sister and her husband chose to do genetic testing at ten weeks gestation that told them they were having a girl. We found out a couple weeks later that we, too, were pregnant with a girl. Immediately, we started dreaming about the cousins growing up together.
When I was 26 weeks and my sister was 19 weeks, I visited her in the Midwest. We took plenty of belly photos, talked enthusiastically about "cousin camp" at the grandparents, the balance of family and careers, and learning to be parents together. As we walked through pregnancy, I would tell her things to look forward to and gave her heads up when warranted. (You think you feel big at 24 weeks, just wait until you're 31+ weeks!)
We saw each other again when I was 37 weeks pregnant and my sister was 30 weeks. She and my other sister flew out for a visit in early June. She helped me sort baby clothes by size and her husband researched where to return duplicate items.
Isabella came earlier than expected at 38 weeks, 1 day. The dreams of our daughters growing up together were shattered when she died at 29.5 hours. My sister's doctor cleared her to fly out here for the funeral at 32 weeks.
One of my clearest memories of the interment at the cemetery is helping my very pregnant sister up from her chair to put a shovelful of dirt on my daughter's tiny casket. I remember praying that the only time she and her husband would ever put dirt on a child's grave was that day.
When my sister was induced, all of us were somewhere along the terrified continuum. Until Isabella passed away, we never knew babies could die after a normal, healthy pregnancy with no warning signs during the pregnancy. Especially in America, in 2017, in a hospital.
Until my niece was born just over eight weeks after my daughter died, I never realized my heart could simultaneously hold both tremendous joy and devastating sorrow. Once a heart is shattered, its ability to hold seemingly incompatible, intense emotions simultaneously is revealed.
Praise God, my niece is now just over two weeks old - healthy, eating, sleeping (not for as long at a time as her parents would appreciate), crying, and growing as expected.
After Isabella died, I knew I wanted to meet my niece. This visit is sooner than initially planned when I thought I would have a small baby of my own to contend with. When I spoke with my sister about flying out, I said that there may be times that I hold my niece and cry. She said that it was fine. There is no where else I would rather be traveling this weekend.
Some people have asked me if I'm jealous of my sister. No. Not at all. I'm grateful that their daughter is healthy and that they are not walking this road of neonatal death. It is horrible. I wish they still had the innocence of thinking that all babies went home that we did the whole time I was pregnant. I'm heartbroken that our daughters will not grow up together, that we will not be able to discover the joys and pains of raising children, that we can never discuss strategies for teething or what foods to introduce first. I hate that Isabella will only be a story that my niece hears about rather than one of her best friends.
I have prayed for my niece since the moment that I first heard my sister was pregnant. One of my main prayers for my niece now is that she get to know Isabella. Not for many, many decades after a long and well lived life. But, I want her to come to know the Lord and to get to know her cousin for eternity.
For now, I am looking forward to meeting my niece, loving her, and being her aunt. Watching her grow up will forever be a joy and a reminder of what we are missing - first tooth, first steps, first day of preschool, etc. All the milestones, firsts, and lasts. All the family events where one of the children is missing. I pray that God continues to allow my shattered heart to be enlarged and that he would give all of us the grace to mourn and rejoice in the same breath.
When I was 26 weeks and my sister was 19 weeks, I visited her in the Midwest. We took plenty of belly photos, talked enthusiastically about "cousin camp" at the grandparents, the balance of family and careers, and learning to be parents together. As we walked through pregnancy, I would tell her things to look forward to and gave her heads up when warranted. (You think you feel big at 24 weeks, just wait until you're 31+ weeks!)
We saw each other again when I was 37 weeks pregnant and my sister was 30 weeks. She and my other sister flew out for a visit in early June. She helped me sort baby clothes by size and her husband researched where to return duplicate items.
Isabella came earlier than expected at 38 weeks, 1 day. The dreams of our daughters growing up together were shattered when she died at 29.5 hours. My sister's doctor cleared her to fly out here for the funeral at 32 weeks.
One of my clearest memories of the interment at the cemetery is helping my very pregnant sister up from her chair to put a shovelful of dirt on my daughter's tiny casket. I remember praying that the only time she and her husband would ever put dirt on a child's grave was that day.
When my sister was induced, all of us were somewhere along the terrified continuum. Until Isabella passed away, we never knew babies could die after a normal, healthy pregnancy with no warning signs during the pregnancy. Especially in America, in 2017, in a hospital.
Until my niece was born just over eight weeks after my daughter died, I never realized my heart could simultaneously hold both tremendous joy and devastating sorrow. Once a heart is shattered, its ability to hold seemingly incompatible, intense emotions simultaneously is revealed.
Praise God, my niece is now just over two weeks old - healthy, eating, sleeping (not for as long at a time as her parents would appreciate), crying, and growing as expected.
I fly out tomorrow to meet our niece and see my sister and her husband. I am excited and I know it will be a difficult visit at times. We have held babies since Isabella died, but only for short amounts of time. This will be the first experience to truly see what we lost in the daily routines and mundane aspects of having a newborn.
After Isabella died, I knew I wanted to meet my niece. This visit is sooner than initially planned when I thought I would have a small baby of my own to contend with. When I spoke with my sister about flying out, I said that there may be times that I hold my niece and cry. She said that it was fine. There is no where else I would rather be traveling this weekend.
Some people have asked me if I'm jealous of my sister. No. Not at all. I'm grateful that their daughter is healthy and that they are not walking this road of neonatal death. It is horrible. I wish they still had the innocence of thinking that all babies went home that we did the whole time I was pregnant. I'm heartbroken that our daughters will not grow up together, that we will not be able to discover the joys and pains of raising children, that we can never discuss strategies for teething or what foods to introduce first. I hate that Isabella will only be a story that my niece hears about rather than one of her best friends.
I have prayed for my niece since the moment that I first heard my sister was pregnant. One of my main prayers for my niece now is that she get to know Isabella. Not for many, many decades after a long and well lived life. But, I want her to come to know the Lord and to get to know her cousin for eternity.
For now, I am looking forward to meeting my niece, loving her, and being her aunt. Watching her grow up will forever be a joy and a reminder of what we are missing - first tooth, first steps, first day of preschool, etc. All the milestones, firsts, and lasts. All the family events where one of the children is missing. I pray that God continues to allow my shattered heart to be enlarged and that he would give all of us the grace to mourn and rejoice in the same breath.
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