She died at six days old. I attended her funeral this morning. I’ve been out of touch with the couple for some time and didn’t even know they were expecting until she was born. She wasn’t breathing at birth, had some seizures, and was rushed to the children’s hospital. I saw pictures of her at three days with a tube in her mouth and a cold-cap on her head to control brain swelling. Assorted tubes, wires, machines everywhere. More pictures, lots of beautiful black hair. Glowing baby skin, bright eyes, round cheeks, arms stretched above her head. Then the news last Wednesday.
My heart aches for my friends. They tried for three years to conceive and she was their miracle firstborn. Seeing the father cry as he spoke of the blessing she was… words fail…
I was almost afraid to look at her, but I did; my heart needed closure. Another swell of tears. That sweet little girl, sleeping peacefully in a pale pink dress in a lace-covered white bassinet, will live on. Her heart and kidneys will give two more children hope for life. I will never know the full purpose of her short time on earth, but when I think about the impact of that one act of love… again, words fail…