Heaven Hold Them

Twenty-Four.  It’s been twenty-four years.  The number of years I have lived has now surpassed the number of years my daddy lived.  I can’t believe he’s been gone for twenty-four years. 

It seems strange that I have considered myself such a daddy’s girl for all these years, even though he has not been around.  It seems strange that our family culture persisted to remain so strong even in light of its most important member being absent for most of our lives.  It seems strange that my children have never known the joy of Pappy’s laughter, the silliness of his jokes, the tenderness of his embrace, the enormity of his stature, the solidity of his faith.

Twenty-four years. 

Nearly two weeks ago, I sat in a grim ultrasound room and felt the sting of a gentle voice.  “Well, Erin, it looks like everything is good.”  “But the baby?”  “No, I’m sorry.  Not the baby.”  I allowed myself a quiet break down as my mom put her arm around me.  There were no words.  Sweet husband was working 2000 miles away, leaving us to separately face the devastation that the child growing inside of me that we had already grown to love, plan for, and anticipate, was gone. 

The best and worst part was coming home to face my two precious turkeys, the oldest of which was old enough to articulate that there was a baby in my belly.  I feared, however, his ability to articulate the idea that there was no longer a baby in my belly may be a bit far-reaching.  Even still, as we had already begun to discuss this baby, its name, being an older sibling, I knew the discussion was imminent.

After my youngest was in bed, I looked at my oldest and said, “Buddy, I have to tell you something.  The baby in Momma’s belly went to heaven to be with Jesus.”  They were some of the hardest words I have ever spoken, and I waited in silence for his reaction.

With what seemed an understanding beyond his years, he took my hand, looked sweetly at me and said, “Well, Momma, she’s gonna be a big girl with Pappy.  And we’re gonna have another baby another day.”

It was difficult to hold back the tears, as I hugged him tight and reassured him that he was right.  We didn’t yet know what the baby was, but he had already decided it was his “stister.”  That boy.  He’s a special one…

And now, on the anniversary of my Daddy’s arrival in heaven, a pleasant image fills my mind.  It’s one of my Daddy and my sweet girl.  I imagine he’s taking her on a trail ride in heaven, getting her a little too muddy, but still sternly reminding her, “If you are going to wear a skirt, you need to act like a lady.”  I take comfort in knowing she will get the opportunity to enjoy the privilege I lost—learning the gentle love of a kind man.  May heaven hold them, until we meet again…