Dear Sweet Baby Nora,
I often imagine you in a field thick with forget-me-nots; you’re at peace, safe and secure and whole, almost glowing as you bask in the glory of heaven in a secret garden all your own, a garden watered by the tears of all those who loved you here on earth, a garden where you run with Jesus while you wait for the day when your family will join you there.
Your name means honor, light. And so it seemed fitting to light a candle in your honor as I prepared to bake a batch of cookies that I would have rather not have made at all. Perched on a delicate china dish adorned with those little blue flowers that were both a question and a promise, the flame seemed to whisper “Forget me not?” as I measured, stirred, shaped, baked.
Meltaways, they were called. The cookies we made for your memorial. Cookies which – as it turns out – are much like you: small, delicate, pink and sweet – and gone far too quickly. As we made them, Addie stood with me, wanting to help but not really knowing how to help, and watched as the candle burned and the cookies took shape. The process of scooping, rolling, and flattening the dough seemed too much for her little hands to handle, and I was sure that it would be easier if I did it by myself. I thought she would get bored, tire of watching and waiting for me to finish.
I thought about how much your mommy and daddy will need people to do the same sort of thing for them in the coming days, weeks, months. Years, even. They will need people to stand with them and just be. To give them the space and quiet they need to do the difficult work of grieving. To talk about you. To keep you alive in their hearts and minds until the day they get to hold you again. I pray we can be that for them.
You are in our hearts, too. We talk about you every day, it seems. Addie and Mia play with the baby doll Addie named after you, snuggling it and remembering the way you let Addie snuggle you when you were brand new to this world. Without knowing it, you gave a gift to her – to me – when you let her hold you when you were just days old. You will always be the first baby Addie held on her own. (Even her own little sister can’t claim that.)
We still can’t believe you’re gone. But we take comfort in the truth that Jesus walks with those who grieve for you, and that you are with him, complete. Radiant. Full of light.
So until we meet again, we promise we will always “Forget You Not”.
I have all that I need.
2 He lets me rest in green meadows;
he leads me beside peaceful streams.
3 He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths,
bringing honor to his name.
4 Even when I walk
through the darkest valley,<sup class="footnote" value="[a]”>[a]
I will not be afraid,
for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff
protect and comfort me.
5 You prepare a feast for me
in the presence of my enemies.
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
My cup overflows with blessings.
6 Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me
all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house of the Lord