It was six weeks ago today we had Lydia's graveside service. I went to see her site this morning. It's a beautiful little spot. The service six weeks ago was so sweet. It was in the morning. Only close family had been invited. Our pastor gave a beautiful talk then a friend played his guitar and sang the song I had picked, Hillsong United's "You hold me now". I cannot recall much of what our pastor said. Some words of reassurance I can recall, but mostly I remember crying and aching and staring at disbelief at the little coffin before me holding my baby.
She is buried in an infant section of the cemetery, which I really like. At first I hated going out there. It didn't seem real, it made me so angry, and for the first few weeks her stone hadn't arrived so all that marked her grave was a make-shift metal sign stuck into the ground. I didn't feel any sort of connection or closeness there. I felt, and really still do, closer to Lydia while at home. At home is where I was pregnant and would talk to her during the day, feel her kicks, decorated her room, etc.
Now I am able to go to Lydia's site and it not be as negative as a place as it was. I enjoy it in the morning stillness. I pray and talk to her.
"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness."
I frequently think on the day she was stillborn. It may sound very strange, but part of me wants that day again. Not all the emotional pain and exhaustion, I do not want to relive that specifically (as if I don't relive some part of that daily). But I want to hold my little girl again. And looking back there are things I wish we would have done. I am satisfied; we did do many things that I am so happy about. Talking to other women who have experienced stillbirth, they have other regrets. I am so glad we took photos with our own cameras and had them professionally taken. I'm glad we saw her and held her. I wish it could have been for longer, but I don't think it would ever have been long enough.
What I had really been regretting was not taking anything of hers. We have her hand prints and foot prints. She is buried in the little dress we had for her and wrapped in a pink blanket. I have felt almost a panic in the regret that I did not save anything she had worn or the blanket wrapped around her. We were given a nice keepsake box from the hospital with her prints, the hospital arm bands, some little knit hats, a book, etc. I had looked through that several times, but none of the little hats were the one she had worn.
Then on Sunday night I went through the box again and saw the bonnet-style hat that went with the little dress she had worn. We have pictures with her in that little hat. I was so excited and so relieved. I know it is so simple, but it means so much to me. I do not ever remember seeing it in the box. I have looked through it so many times, have looked through it with the hope that something in there would have been something she had worn. My husband cannot recall if it was in there before or not either. Maybe it had been there, but I am saying it is a little miracle.