Eulogy

I wrote this piece for my baby, to be read at her service yesterday.

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Dear Eleni,

Once upon a time, long long ago, your father and I shared a dream of two daughters: the first we would name Aria, and the second, Eleni. When brother Liam came along he brought an unexpected richness to our life. And we were so, so happy. Our first two children blessed and filled our hearts so full that we tucked that earlier dream away. And so it might have been always for us. Except. Except. One day a wise man asked us what story we wanted to tell with our life. I knew you were always a part of my story, child. I had to be very patient, honey, but at last your time came.

Eleni, you were the most anticipated baby. Beautifully and wonderfully made, a blue eyed dream come true. Then your birth injury shattered our fairytale into sharp, agonizing pieces. Nothing was as it should have been. I cried out to God. Where was He? Why had he allowed this to happen? Where was His love, his Father love? How could we ever be happy again?

From your first breath you struggled - to breathe, to move, to feel your mother's touch. You couldn't know me like that. You couldn't find me or all the love and beauty the world had for you. No, this was not a good plan. No, the lessons I would learn and the ways I would grow as a person would not make up for your suffering or for our great, great loss. Perhaps you were here on mission to help others, but this was not a mission you had chosen. Would God sacrifice an innocent baby so? My mother heart cracked wide open, and our family began to bleed.

Still we fought for you, baby. We fought for you tooth and nail. From your birth love surrounded you, love from every corner of the world, gifting you every opportunity to heal and grow, amazing opportunities that brought hope to us all. Do you remember how you loved to learn even when trapped in a broken body? While in survival mode, literally fighting for breath, you tried new things, made small gains and encouraged us with your pluck. Gosh, you wanted to move! I loved that about you. I admired your strong and courageous spirit. It is why you survived your birth at all. You were gentle and uncomplaining, like your father, but a fighter like me. I saw you.

But for so long, Eleni, I didn't know if you saw me. I carried the heartbreak of separation from you long before you left this earth. God never told me He would heal you. Like Jacob wrestling with God, I demanded a blessing, I demanded He make your life a story worth telling. The heavens were as silent as your sweet, hidden voice. Waiting is the most difficult lesson.

Towards the end of our time with you, God gave us a wonderful gift: a week and a half truly together. I will always treasure that time with you, baby, so short, but so sweet. I remember how you turned and quieted when I crooned your name. I remember how you looked at me, looked right into my soul, as I sang you our lullabies. I know you felt my love and the love of your family. And if you'd had more time with us, you would have smiled soon.

As I mourned the waning of that precious time some things became clearer to me. I realized that even without answers, even with so much suffering; somehow, through it all, He still had my heart, our Father God. I don't know how He managed it. But I'm grateful. I think if you had stayed with us, there would have been more ups and downs on this earth for you, perhaps more downs than ups. I wonder how long it would have taken for me to see the goodness of your story.

The night after you passed I had two epiphanies. I did not search them out; they arrived heaven sent. First, I found what I had been searching for the whole exhausting 10 months: a reason your suffering was worthwhile. And the reason is you. You exist. Your life on earth was not fair or good or beautiful. But your life after death, it is nothing but good and it goes on forever, out shadowing a mere 10 months of pain so completely that our minds cannot conceive. Today we

are both tear stricken and joyful; crushed and lightened, for you, Eleni, our child that suffered so much, are now completely free from pain and struggle and fear and even from those limitations that so unfairly bound you.

I imagine right now you are learning to roll over to your tummy, and you are amazed how easy it is to lift your head and look about.  Surely you'll recall when you suck and swallow with your own dear mouth that this is what I was trying to show you, this is what we all wanted for you with all our hearts.  And what is to come for you, who are freed from the slow pace of our time, is better than we could ever offer you on this earth.   No more waiting for you. You will grow, are growing and have grown into the fullness of the human you were meant to be.  And I will know you again.  And I will see you smile.

The reality you now enjoy is worth everything we went through. Every bit of it. I'm so glad for you!

And the second epiphany was smaller, but sweet. God did not take you more quickly to freedom because He chose to send you with the memories of your family, something good to carry with you into the new life. And, too, he chose to allow us to get to know you so our lives would change for the better and our hearts would grow and we would know in advance a bit of the beautiful person that you will and are and have become.

I can truly say, dear baby, that I am grateful for my time with you, for the way you have shaped my story.

With all my heart and soul,

Mommy

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During Eleni's life the song, Beautiful Things, was my song for our journey. It doesn't shy away from the pain and sense of hopelessness that we all encounter at times in this life, and yet claims the promise of redemption. No matter how dusty things get, the Ultimate Creator can craft something beautiful, something new out of us. At times I struggled to believe the promise of this song until the very end when I would hear what I imagine is Eleni's sweet, pure voice claiming His work in her.