Sleepover at Emma’s (pt. 6)

Thursday May 3rd, 2012

That is the day you were released to go home from your first big hospital stay. The hospital stay which began the day you quit breathing at the Olive Garden at just 6 weeks old.

Monday May 3rd, 2021

That is the day you went home.

I’m not quite sure any of us saw that coming, but it was something we instantly realized all the same.

It had rained all day Monday, and after your dad read you your bedtime story, Mister Sun came out shining as bright as ever through the window of your room and right onto your bed.

Your dad placed you in the arms of Jesus in that moment, as he lay you in the sun onto your bed that final time.

It is something of the greatest sorrow and a gift that I think I see in his eyes when he mentions “if you ever wonder what Jesus looks like, I can tell you exactly, I’ve seen him”.

And when I heard about that moment, that gift, this little diddy that had been playing over and over in my head suddenly broke a dam. You are Home.

I believed in these words as this call to God, for Jesus to wrap Emma in all his light.

But let me tell you, even I wasn’t prepared for how that would truly show up.

Fall on me

With open arms

Fall on me

From where you are

Fall on me

With all your light

With all your light

With all your light

Someone had to make the next step phone call, the Colwells, they had to come.

I don’t know who made that call, but I knew they were on their way.

Michelle and I just stood guard of your room, of you.

Your mom came out of your room and in her devastation, her loss, her sadness - her eyes had a light as she celebrated you and everything you were doing.

Through her tears she braved a smile, she said “I could not be happier for her, I’ve worked every minute… every miiiinnnnute for her to be able to have the things she has right now…. the feeling in my soul, I feel like I’m watching her run around, hearing so many saying her name… gosh she’s clumsy, you know she’s clumsy, like on Bambi a deer on the pond going how do these things work… and ooooh I can’t wait to hear her voice, I’m going to hear her voice…”!

As she stood in the middle of all of us there, I was blubbering in awe of her.

Speechless.

Aunt Sami speechless was a good chuckle for everyone!

No matter what we were helping you through, we are all this big dysfunctional amazing family and finding a hoot and a holler even in the toughest of moments is what we did.

But I knew, this was a section of time that wouldn’t last long. This immediate after we were in, it wouldn’t last and in a short time we would all crash.

The same way we felt like we could suddenly breathe, we weren’t waiting and watching every minute anymore, the crippling pain in our hearts, weight on our chests- that was coming back ten fold.

Before long headlights would be coming up the lane, Stephen and Abbie were arriving to take you.

We were back posted at your door.

I remember the decision to carry you out as you were, a sweet sleeping child draped in her blanket safe in someone’s arms your head on his shoulder.

As parents something so many of us have done carrying our babies to bed, it felt better than any ride via medical equipment.

But it wasn’t like anything any of us had ever done.

No one was taking you to bed

they were taking you to a vehicle

that would take you to a building

and there you would be until it was time for our most absolute and final goodbyes to your flesh as was here on this earth.

As Stephen carried you out, new screams cried out from your room and just like that, the immediate after we were in -was over and a new immeasurable pain set in.

Eventually we all tried to wind down we had a lot to prepare for and details to still hash through.

It was hard to sleep, not because I was working through whatever I could say for you, to you, about you… but rather all I heard was you.

I heard you running through the room, I heard a faint giggling, I got a glimpse of movement and it was something of absolute joy and heartbreak.

I wanted to scream and beg you to come back to us.

I wanted to tell you how much I wanted you to stay running about all night, but that it was too hard, but to not go either because we can do hard things.

I wanted to feel you staying there with us all, but to keep hearing your foot steps within the constant replaying echoes of your momma’s screams was ripping my heart into tiny pieces.

A little tape and glue, it will survive.

I told you I loved you forever and I would miss you for always, but that I should sleep if I could, tomorrow we start our first day without you so I’m putting on my headphones to quiet the pitter patter of your now working sticks.

Oh sweet girl Aunt Sami is extremely proud of you, good night now, until I see you again someday… I love you.