April 13th

Alivia,

Today would have been your birthday. Funny how Goga and I laughed about the fact that it was a Friday the 13th. I’m not superstitious. It was just another day.

Though we never got to hold you in our arms, I will never forget this day.

Alivia, I wish I could have seen your face, smiled at your little grunts… your soft skin… your beautiful eyes.
I wish I could have delighted in your tiny fingers… swaddled tightly your fragile arms until you felt safe and secure enough to drift off to sleep.

I still don’t know fully why we didn’t get to keep you. I know sin in our world finds it’s playground. I just wish it hadn’t brought about death. But you have met the Creator of Life, in one lost heartbeat you appeared at His throne. Fragile and naive of deep hurts, you found yourself with Jesus. He will care for you far better than we could.

Eleven weeks and three days in utero. We were going to announce you to all our friends, family, and the church at 12 weeks. You only had eleven weeks and three days in utero. The world may not count you as a baby, but there was no doubt in my mind. I saw your little hands. Those little feet. Your little heartbeat. Your closed eyes. Nothing can convince me that you were just some glob of tissue. No, my baby, you were so alive.

God can and has worked all things for the good of those who love Him. He has and will continue to use this for His glory, my dear Alivia. For your life pointed and continues to point directly to Jesus. Hope is found in His eyes. How amazing to think that one so small – only an inch or so big, could so clearly point to the Ruler of the World, without ever speaking a word or taking a breath.

Alivia, I missed you when my friend announced her pregnancy. I felt a little pinch of hurt. I missed you when I held my friend’s newest bundle of joy. I miss you when I look into your big sister Rachael and Abi’s eyes sometimes, catching that glimpse of utter joy I hoped to see in your eyes.

I miss that I will never get to hold you in my arms, or watch your character grow… your personality form… and discovery and mastery and accomplishment light your eyes. I miss that I will not get the privilege to call you mine and announce, “That’s my girl!” I miss that I will never get to delight in how you play with your sisters, running through the house with glee.

Alivia, Daddy and I used to joke that you had to have been a girl because “he only makes girls.” We laughed that he defied the “Stauffer” odds of having boys by having two girls in a row. We don’t even know for sure if you were a girl, but what we do know is that you had as good of a chance as any.

It took me a month before I spoke your name. The shock of it all is still so real sometimes. Daddy agreed shortly thereafter that it just fit right… Alivia. And of course Mommy had to spell it “a little funny” to fit in with the rest of the kids. Alivia. My precious.

We miss you. We love you. And you are not forgotten.

Some day we hope to see you, if we get the privilege. And if we don’t get the privilege, sweet girl, just know that there was a family down here that was just thrilled at the chance to love you and hold you, but Jesus made the best of the situation… as I am sure you are well aware. And we too hope to feel Him and know Him fully to be our faith’s sight someday.

Praise Him all the more up there, sweet Alivia.

He deserves it all.

– Your Mommy.

*** Written October 2011.