Saying Goodbye...
To all of our surprise, she was too big for the box. I couldn't help but smile at the fact that, once again, our daughter had proven everyone wrong. She was TOO BIG. Instead, Sis cradled her and carried her out to surrender her body (God, it feels awful to say it that way) to the funeral directors. After my parents left, one of the funeral directors came in to talk with us. I don't remember much of what was said... I recall numbly telling him that I wasn't sure what the plans were, but that my dad had been in touch with his boss and had discussed most of the plans. I think I asked too if her outfit was okay... I do remember him telling us that he wasn't sure they could embalm her. As soon as he said the word, I felt myself about to be ill. I should not have to be discussing this the day after giving birth. It wasn't fair and just down the hall there were multiple women getting ready to take home their babies, nursing their newborn infants in their rooms, or anticipating the days to come while waiting for that special little one to arrive. Why the heck was I the one to get to pick out a funeral outfit for my child?
We were given the option to go home that day, but I just couldn't leave yet. I spent the day regularly taking pain medication, hoping for sleep and holding Jeff's hand. Thankfully my nurse, Randi, had brought me the blankets Kaidi had been swaddled in. I laid them across my chest for the entire rest of the time I was in the hospital. I could still smell her hair on them and it made me feel like I still had her with me.
Tuesday we were discharged around 11:15 am. I'd never thought I'd WANT to stay in the hospital, but I knew once I went home, I'd have to deal with the fact that she really wasn't there. As long as I was at the hospital, I could pretend she was just down in the nursery or something like that. As I was wheeled down, I felt my arms begin to physically ache to hold her. Instead, I clutched close her memory box that the nurses had put together for us. Everything I had to remember my daughter by fit into a box that didn't even measure 1ft square. And it pissed me off. I joked and chatted with the nurse and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary and that everyone left the hospital with a little white box to remember their child by. Inside were several footprints, her hand prints, foot and hand impressions, a lock of her hair, her hospital bracelet that she never wore, her newborn gown and stocking cap, a gold infant's ring, her "boogey sucker" bulb, the bottle of Johnson's Baby Shampoo they used for her bath, a tiny heart pillow with her footprints on it, a journal with her hand and footprints in the back cover, and a card from the delivery and post-partum nurses. While I was eternally grateful to have each and every item, I was very, very angry.
Later that same afternoon we had to go to the funeral home to make final arrangements for Kaidi's service, which would be the following Thursday. They let us know that they were unable to embalm her, but that she still looked quite pretty and would be ready for viewing if we wanted her to be. They asked if we would like to see the "crib" (I call it this because I still can't bring myself to use the other "c" word) that she would be placed in. I didn't REALLY want to see it, but at this point, things couldn't really get much worse, so why not do so? It was tiny and perfect, just like Kaidi. I couldn't get over how little it was. The more I looked at it, the more it reminded me of some morbid prop for a photo shoot. Sadly, I knew this was no photo shoot and was quite real instead. We placed the blanket that my sister-in-law had made from scraps of material given to her by Jeff's late mother, as well as pieces she and her kids had left over from various projects inside of the tiny "crib" that would hold our precious baby. While we took pictures of it for our family who we knew would be unable to attend the funeral, they offered to get her ready for us to say goodbye to.
I wasn't as ready as I thought I'd be. They told me it would be okay for me to hold her and to stay as long as I wanted. I didn't want to believe that the baby lying there was my sweet Kaidance. She looked like a VERY life-like doll replication. I couldn't fight the need to hold her for long, so my dad had me sit down and carried her over to me. The thing that stuck out to me the most every time I held her after initially changing her clothing in the hospital was how extremely cold she was. I'd tell anyone around, "I know it is going to sound crazy, but she's so cold! I just want to warm her up. My baby is so cold. She's going to get sick." I'm sure, now, that I was just still in shock - but if I was, I snapped out of it while I held her. The tears began to flow and wouldn't stop. I'd been almost sure that I'd cried out every tear that I had and then some. Boy was I wrong. 
I finally allowed myself to let go of her, and handed her to Jeff. He'd been silently watching from beside the chair I sat in, rubbing my back and just letting me know he was there. He quietly took her, and my mind flashed back to the night Kamden was born. We had gone through 18 weeks of wondering if he was going to be born normal, with mild or profound retardation, or a vegetable. We'd promised that no matter what the end result was that we would love, cherish and treat him as normal. Jeff had the same look on his face as he took Kaidi in his arms as he did when Kamden was born. I'll never forget the first words Jeff spoke when we were finally alone in our room after Kamden arrived - "Thank you, Lord. We give him back to you. He's all Yours." While he didn't say it this time, I knew that we were doing the same thing again. We'd had Kaidi, even if only for a few moments, and now we were giving her back. 
He gave her back to me and I held her and cried some more, and I apologized. I apologized for everything I could think of - many of which I logically know aren't my place to apologize for as I had no hand in them, but in my grief, I have to work through them. I told her I was sorry for being so mad at God. I was mad at Him because I didn't understand how some babies with Potters can still go home and live fairly normal lives. I was mad because people all across the country had been praying for a miracle and for her little life to change the hearts and minds of the medical community through God's grace and power, and yet for some reason he said, "No". I told her I was sorry that it might have been something I've done - whether it be that I didn't have enough faith that He would heal her, or whether it be that my anger kept Him from acting. I promised her that I'd make sure Kamden knew her as best we could help him to do so, and that he'd never, ever forget her. And I asked her to please take one moment while she was curled up on Jesus' lap to ask him to come sooner rather than later.
We came back to the funeral home on Wednesday with my mother, one of my aunts and Kamden. Even being only 3, we wanted him to be part of every part of Kaidi's existence and had gone over with my parents the things that we were telling him to help explain why baby sissy couldn't be at home with us. I was in a much better state that day and was able to hold things together. Kamden asked as soon as he saw her if he could hold "Baby Sis", so we set him on Jeff's lap and I brought Kaidi to him. He smiled at her and told me she was sleeping "so shhhhh" and asked if she needed to get back "in her bed". For his peace of mind, we did place her back in the "crib" before he walked out, and then Jeff and I had time to say our final goodbyes. (I didn't walk out with Kamden, but my dad later told me that after Kamden left the slumber room, he crawled up on the couch with my parents and said, "Papaw...Baby Sis isn't in there anymore." Tell me that a little one doesn't understand the concept of death.)After Jeff and I spent time with her, holding, rocking, and snuggling her for the last time here on Earth, I opted to place her in her "crib". I didn't think I'd have the strength to do so when I'd initially thought about it, but I felt like I needed to in order to have it be "real" to me. I laid her down, we straightened her clothes and tucked her quilt in around her. I have to admit, as I left, I thought, "Jesus raised Lazurus from the dead on the 4th day...this is only the third day for us. We still have time." I knew though that the next day would bring a harsh reality my way. I wasn't sure I could see where she'd rest until His return without losing all faith I'd ever had in Him. I was so tired.
Comments
Post a Comment