I miss my daughter terribly.
But don’t know if I would say I’m sad.
There isn’t a moment that passes that I don’t wish she was here in my arms. I’d be a complete liar if I said I don’t look around during my normal “kiddie head count” when we’re out and about and pause for a moment wondering where my sixth child is only to realize, again, that she is gone.
I’m not sad for her. I know she is free from her earthly, broken body and she dances in glory in Heaven. She has seen the face of my Savior. She has met our brothers and sisters in Christ that have also returned Home. She may have even already met the babies my mother lost to miscarriage, the babies other family members have lost, the babies my friends have lost. They must be having quite a celebration there in Heaven.
I’m sad for us.
We have to stay here waiting for that day when we are welcomed into Heaven, waiting in this imperfect sin-filled world, waiting for the day we get to go Home. I’m sad that my daughters will always miss their little sister. I’m sad that Nate is a big brother but he doesn’t get to hold his little sister, instead he holds her picture. Sad that my older boys will always wonder why she couldn’t be “fixed”. Sad that when my children were supposed to be learning math and history they were instead learning how to cope with death.
But I’m also full of joy.
I’m happy that I had an uncomplicated pregnancy and that even my labor was peaceful. Happy that I was able to give birth at home surrounded by people who love me, and that my other children saw and kissed their sister before the ambulance whisked her away. I’m forever grateful for the doctors, nurses and RTs at JHH who cared for my sweet girl and answered every question I had, but I am glad my faith was in my Lord and not the doctors.
I’m thankful that I had my little girl for 28 days when she could have died on that first night.
I cry often, but I take refuge in the knowledge that Miranda will never shed tears again, and that makes me un-sad for a while longer.