Yesterday was my daughter’s first and last Easter.
Much like any other Easter Sunday, we arose for worship service, ironed Noah and Daddy’s new outfits, scurried around the house preparing Noah’s breakfast, unloaded the dishwasher, did some last minute tiding up, put the ham in the oven, set the tables for Easter Dinner and off to church we went.
Maybe it was just one of those days, but it seemed that everywhere I turned I was reminded of the things my daughter and I will never do and reminded of the day that looms in our near future, the day of her death, the day of her funeral.
Sitting in the pews of Mount Olive, I juggled Noah and tried to find joy in a service that typically leaves me feeling renewed and full of hope. I heard parts of pastor’s sermon and then I heard a baby’s cry. It hit me in that moment that I might never hear her cry. I saw the cross process into the church and my eyes wandered to the girls in new dresses, spring shoes and little purses. And then as I stood at the front of the church in the seconds before the choir began to sing, I looked at Noah in his new Easter suit and wondered if I would need to get him something new or if his suit will still fit him for his sister’s funeral.
As we made our way out of church a women asked me when I was due. I told her the end of July, smiled politely and prayed that was as far as the conversation would take us, but then she said, “Do you know what your having?” again I smiled politely and said “it’s a girl.” “Oh, perfect," she said, "one of each!” All I could do was nod my head in reply.
The day bustled on filled with family, food, smells of coffee and the outside air. Noah ran circles around the rest of us, skipped his nap and finally crashed on my lap around 6pm. Normally I would ease him out of my arms and sneak away to take care of the stuff I can’t get seem to get done when he is awake. But I didn’t move, I just held my son, and my daughter, together on Amelia’s first and last Easter.
In the quiet of the early morning today, the tears finally came as I stood in the shower (one of the few places I can allow myself to cry). It was then that the words came to me, ‘woman why are you crying?’ And I finally felt the words I had heard on Sunday and found new comfort in them. He is risen indeed, Alleluia!
Much like any other Easter Sunday, we arose for worship service, ironed Noah and Daddy’s new outfits, scurried around the house preparing Noah’s breakfast, unloaded the dishwasher, did some last minute tiding up, put the ham in the oven, set the tables for Easter Dinner and off to church we went.
Maybe it was just one of those days, but it seemed that everywhere I turned I was reminded of the things my daughter and I will never do and reminded of the day that looms in our near future, the day of her death, the day of her funeral.
Sitting in the pews of Mount Olive, I juggled Noah and tried to find joy in a service that typically leaves me feeling renewed and full of hope. I heard parts of pastor’s sermon and then I heard a baby’s cry. It hit me in that moment that I might never hear her cry. I saw the cross process into the church and my eyes wandered to the girls in new dresses, spring shoes and little purses. And then as I stood at the front of the church in the seconds before the choir began to sing, I looked at Noah in his new Easter suit and wondered if I would need to get him something new or if his suit will still fit him for his sister’s funeral.
As we made our way out of church a women asked me when I was due. I told her the end of July, smiled politely and prayed that was as far as the conversation would take us, but then she said, “Do you know what your having?” again I smiled politely and said “it’s a girl.” “Oh, perfect," she said, "one of each!” All I could do was nod my head in reply.
The day bustled on filled with family, food, smells of coffee and the outside air. Noah ran circles around the rest of us, skipped his nap and finally crashed on my lap around 6pm. Normally I would ease him out of my arms and sneak away to take care of the stuff I can’t get seem to get done when he is awake. But I didn’t move, I just held my son, and my daughter, together on Amelia’s first and last Easter.
In the quiet of the early morning today, the tears finally came as I stood in the shower (one of the few places I can allow myself to cry). It was then that the words came to me, ‘woman why are you crying?’ And I finally felt the words I had heard on Sunday and found new comfort in them. He is risen indeed, Alleluia!
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5 comments:
Happy Easter to you and your family. Noah and Amelia have a very special mommy. I am sure as the days go by it gets harder and harder, and fears take over. Planning for a birth, planning for a funeral. The joy of a new life, the sorrow of death. I am sure it is hard to watch everyone elses little girls, and knowing there are so many things you will not get to share. Take it one breath at a time, only one breath. Enjoy your precious time with Amelia, as she is safe today in mommy's tummy.
Melissa, you don't really know me, and I don't really know you, but I've worshipped with you many times. :-) My parents are Rich and Debbie Wismont, and I'm good friends with Rachel Jank Misiolek. I grew up at Mt. Olive, and even though I'm married to a Navy officer and have not lived in Omaha for years, I still consider Mt. Olive my family and miss it most sorely every Easter.
I've been reading your blog for about a week now, since my mom told me your sad news and sent me a link. I've been keeping you all in my prayers and have been meaning to comment...and this post actually made me cry so I figure it's a good one to comment on.
I cannot imagine what you're going through, and the last thing I want to do is minimize your grief with statements like, "God has a reason for everything." But I do want to tell you that your post was probably the best preaching of the Gospel I heard this Easter.
I will continue to lift you, Tim, Noah, and all your families and friends up in prayer, that you will have strength and grace through the coming months and years, and that when you are not strong you will have faith to lean on God's perfect strength.
Oh, Melissa, I had no idea what was going on with your family until I read your blog today. God's love and grace are so evident in your life. My heart just aches for you and I will be praying daily for your strength. Much love to you, hun. Leah Heinauer
You never cease to amaze me. I am not overly emotional, yet I cried through this message, I get to the end, and think give me a little of what you have!
What a beautiful moment of holding your son and your daughter together. I'm glad you are enjoying the moments you have together. While Amelia is still here on this earth, I am happy to hear that you are enjoying the time you have. The cleaning and other stuff can definitely wait. You are an amazing and strong woman. I know, having gone through this myself that its not really easy to hear that or feel that way, but it is the truth. You are such an inspiration to others around you and so is your daughter Amelia. Thank you for sharing your journey with us as I know that it is hard.
love
elena
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