Meeting Her

The struggle was absolutely real at this point one year ago.  I could feel the temptation to pull away from my daughter.  The idea of having to let her go was so painful. I wanted to protect my heart.  I found the human way of premeditated grief, a desperate attempt to prepare for the worst in hopes of getting over it more quickly.

My friend prayed with me.  She reminded me that Wylie needed me.  Like many other times in which something felt impossible--forgiveness, letting go, choosing mercy over judgment--I felt God helping me open my heart all the way to my precious girl.  I realized, either way, whether alive on earth or in heaven, I would have the chance to hold her body.  This encounter became my new focus.

I had never been induced.  I felt strange arriving at the hospital for a labor appointment.  Peaceful, full of hope, and surrounded by love, we journeyed through that pivotal day anticipating the inevitable crescendo.  In this state of heightened awareness, everything is magnified.  I am forever grateful that what I remember is goodness from the hospital staff, from my family, and from my friends.

Wylie's delivery was by caesarian section.  Gavin and I clung to each other as I laid under the light and then she was born. They brought her to a place I could see, but even looking at her purplish limp body, my eyes were too dull to take her in just then.  Gavin let go and went to her.  I remember his message clear through the blur of medicine, doctors, and the hum of the operating room, "She's breathing, Kar.  She's breathing."

And it began--meeting Wylie.

Before she was born, I imagined the first time holding her in the terms that I knew--the way I held all of her brothers and sisters.  The first time I held her was not like that.  Meeting Wylie for the first time seems like an unfolding to me, not a singular event.  She was a baby, but a very different baby from any other I had known.

I was separated from her for a long time, by comparison, after she was born.  If I knew what the reality would be before I experienced it, I would have dreaded it.  I did not actually hold her until the next afternoon.  In all this time, though, Gavin was with her and my mom was with me.  I had a difficult time with the after-effects of the surgery.  I was not physically able to get up and go down to the NICU right away.  Nevertheless, God's peace held us all together.

I had opened my heart to hold my baby, but what I realized is the real culmination was witnessing my daughter.  We all just watched her.  What a wonder to behold!  Her life seemed impossible and there she was--living!

Since May 8th, 2019, I have kept a website open on my phone that has counted the days since.  There have been a few times that I thought her earthly days were ending.  After going through experiences like that, meeting Wylie each morning is like a new birth.  I could have never imagined that the weight of her life would continue to impact me just like the day she was born.

In a real sense, Wylie has awoken me to the miracle that has always been.  When in this world, we have the opportunity to meet one another anew over and over, discovering and appreciating the gift of life together.  I changed the words to "Edelweiss" for Wylie and sing them over her.  The edelweiss flower grows in the high altitude of the Alps and is a symbol for bravery, courage, and love.  How fitting for our mighty warrior!

   

      Edelweiss, Edelweiss,

      Every morning you greet me,

      Soft, and light,

      Sweet, and bright,

      You look happy to meet me.

      Blossoms of love, 

      Will you bloom and grow,

      Bloom and grow, 

      Forever.

      Edelweiss, Edelweiss,

      Bless my daughter, 

      Forever.