I had to ask, originally, which date was the heavenly birthday. Was it the child's birthday after they passed, or was it the day they could arguably been "born" into heaven, that is, the date of their death?
Language I didn't need to know before. Anyway, it is in fact their birthday, after they no longer age.
It bothers me a little that she will never be three. I remember reading the test result notes, like for the xray, every day, "2yr 10mo f." She didn't even quite make two years and eleven months. But it would have been silly and painful to hang on to her just to meet that milestone.
If she had come home, we would have thrown her a banger of a party. No combined birthdays, it'd be all Madeline.
Instead, I went to the butterfly exhibit in Reiman Gardens, and celebrated my birthday with my family and a special meal, then after we walked out to her grave. Melissa brought little balloons to leave. One was Baby Shark, one was Minnie Mouse (Mickey House!), one was Anna and Elsa. She loved balloons.
I posted this on my social media:
By the Fireside : Resignation
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven’s distant lamps.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead,—the child of our affection,—
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister’s stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;
But a fair maiden, in her Father’s mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,—
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
Will she be grown by the time I get there? Then the biggest loss of all wouldn't just be that I'm deprived of her presence here on earth, but that I lose her childhood forever, in both worlds.
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Madeline. I hope it's special somehow up there for you. Jesus, give her a hug and a kiss for us.
No comments:
Post a Comment