Today I was going to write about my experiences the day before the girls' birth, about my last prayers to God begging Him to change His mind, to spare the girls from pain, to let them live long enough for us to say goodbye.
I was going to write about the meal Caleb and I had before we tried to sleep in the hotel room close to the hospital. How we tried to make conversation while we choked down our food. How we failed miserably at small talk. How I resented everyone around us looking like they hadn't a care in the world.
Instead of dwelling on the pain of that day, I'm going to prepare for tomorrow.
I'm going to tell Hayden that we're going away for a little vacation. That we can jump on the hotel beds and get a cup of whipped cream just for her at the local coffee shop. That we can wade in the water at the beach and chase the ducks on the sand.
I'm going to pack the little boxes that the hospital made for us, filled with Amelie and Adaline's hats, hospital bracelets, pictures, and little hair clippings.
I'm going to buy two pink balloons.
I'm going to pack my camera so I can capture some pictures of Hayden on the shore of Lake Michigan releasing those balloons in their memories.
I'll tell Hayden that even though Amelie and Adaline are celebrating their birthdays with Jesus tomorrow, that she and Mommy and Daddy will celebrate down here too with a birthday cake and candles.
Tomorrow is necessary and bittersweet. It is part of the process of grief and healing. Amelie and Adaline have taught me to be a better person, when I thought I had nothing more to learn.
It's a wonderful, hard life, isn't it?
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