Each mom was given the chance to share her story and all of them were powerful. When I tell Glory's story there are some main points that I usually try to hit on - how we named her Glory, my faith, her unstopping fight to live, how I am a new person, and how I don't want to use my time while I wait to see her again by being silent. I think all of the moms would agree that although there is a lot of disappointment and heartache in our stories, we heal a little more each time we tell them.
At this particular retreat our Glory Girl was the youngest in heaven and then the ages went up from teen to adult. All of them beautiful - inside and out. A beautiful high school student with the world at her feet. Strong, brave men who played roles of son, husband, and father. And it made me think of something I thought often in the CVICU as I stared at Glory while she slept - something I rarely mention when I tell her story.
How could something this beautiful die? She is so sweet. She is so cute. She's too precious to die. Sounds superficial, right?
It was.
But whether these thoughts were shallow and superficial or deep and meaningful, it was the sentiment that swallowed all other thoughts when I walked into her room and saw perfection lying in a hospital crib with too many tubes and meds to count. She's too beautiful. My mind would not allow itself to travel as far as death. It was such a hard road from believing that your child would grow up and have children of her own, to the death of your baby. I remember the pain associated with realizing the only thing we could give her was love - and that was all she needed.
But, wait...how could I not face this reality knowing what had happened in the past. Someone infinitely more beautiful than my Glory Girl died two thousand years ago, and, because of Him, my fear - the place I could not imagine traveling to - has already been visited. So the only thing I have to wait for is a reunion...
