A Note to Callie Marie February 27, 2011

Dear Callie Marie,

I first met you on February 28, 2009, long before I was supposed to.

I wasn’t prepared to hear your daddy’s voice on the other end of the phone the morning before. He told me that your little heart had stopped beating. He and your mama were devastated, as were many others (myself included) who already loved you.

We’d been praying for a miracle for weeks—ever since we learned that you weren’t growing quite right in your mama’s womb. So many people around the country were praying for that miracle (that you’d arrive healed and healthy in August), but God chose to answer prayer in a different way. And not the way any of us preferred.

The morning I met you was one of the proudest moments of my life—and yet one of the hardest. Your body was so tiny and not fully developed. I ached to hear you cry and count ten fingers and ten toes. But neither came to pass. Instead, I sat in the hospital room with your mommy, daddy, Aunt Kristen, and Grammy and Papaw Allen, crying the hardest tears I’d cried since meeting your big brother Cooper just six months before in the very same way. (Your Great-Aunt Brenda and Great-Uncle Ken were there too, driving 2 ½ hours late the night before just to see you and be with us.) As much as I wanted to hold you (you would’ve fit comfortably in one hand), I couldn’t. Holding Cooper on August 14, 2008, almost undid me. I couldn’t bear myself to do it again. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.

Leaving the hospital without you was difficult for everyone—especially your mama and daddy—and it took us a long while to overcome the pain and sorrow of losing you. I remember reading this quote on a hospital wall the day before your brother was born: “If God brings you to it, He’ll bring you through it” (author unknown). The quote rang true again after your mommy birthed you. As a family, we had some extremely difficult days, weeks, and months ahead after telling you both hello and good-bye on the same day.

But God brought us through it, slowly but surely. As the sun began to shine in our hearts again, I saw your mama and daddy grow in strength and grace. They grew both individually and as a couple, still choosing to trust and love God despite their broken hearts. You would’ve been proud of them.

On the second anniversary of your passing, we still remember you. I wish you could meet your little sister, Camille, who joined our family last April. Sometimes I wonder if you’d resemble each other in looks and personality. Even though our family constantly dotes on this little miracle baby, I assure you that you’ll never be forgotten. You will forever be etched in my heart as my first niece. I will always love you and look forward to the day we’re united in Glory. On that day, I will meet you whole and complete—and I can finally count those ten fingers and ten toes.

I love you, little one, and remember you today and every day.

Aunt Trish

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