After Evelynn’s birth, I was given the option and decided to stay over night in the hospital. All I wanted was a slice of thin crust cheese pizza. Momma got what she wanted delivered and even though I could only handle a few bites, it was fantastic. The next day they needed my room and I was discharged by 8:30a.m. As we were about to leave, Dr. G walked in the room. Stopping by to see us was such a sweet gesture. I felt bad for him. I’m sure he’s done this for years but I wouldn’t know what to say to someone like me. Even now, being there and feeling complete loss as your body and soul want to care for a newborn who isn’t there, I can’t find the words. Words are not enough.
Driving away from the hospital felt odd. The world was still spinning and people were still living their lives. Did they know my world had just crashed down and been dragged through hell? Why wasn’t everyone stopping in their tracks? If life worked that way, no one would ever get to keep moving forward. We drove straight to the funeral home to make plans. I knew that’s where Evelynn was and a part of me felt like I had to get to her, like she needed me.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior; … Isaiah 43:2-3 NIV
Walking into the funeral home, we were greeted by the director and other friendly staff and then escorted to a private meeting room. When we found out about her diagnosis at 14 weeks we decided then to have her cremated. Dalton and I don’t have a forever home or family land and we wanted our girl to be with us wherever we go. The director stepped out to grab some paperwork because we decided we wanted a memorial service. The meeting room has urns on display on several shelves and we sat across from them and just stared. It didn’t feel like it was real life, like it was our life. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a pewter looking stem with leaves standing tall in a flower vase. The flower buds were different colors. As the director walked back in, I noted how pretty they were and he verified they were urns. Such a cute idea. He said that they had other colors and my heart leaped. Evelynn’s color for me has been lavender from day one. It was my favorite color as a little girl and it just suited her spirit. The director pulled out several boxes and started to read the different colors: red, pink, yellow, blue, LAVENDER! I was shocked and a smile grew on my face. It was immediately hers. What a God thing, right? He knew I would just love that little feminine detail as I displayed all I had left of my daughter on Saturday.
We were finally back home. I was so sore. That night Dalton just laid in bed and held me as I wailed, covering our bed in tears. I’ve returned to the place where she was conceived and grew in love, where I held her, read to her, sang to her. My belly was empty, my arms were empty, my heart was empty. I didn’t know how to live with that much pain. There was a couple of days of physical healing and trying to find an outfit that fit my new postpartum body. (Here comes the binders and shaping underwear that all moms love and hate.) My mom is not one to let me wallow in my sorrow so we were in a local department store the next day. It was definitely a push I needed because I would have not gotten out of bed if it wasn’t for her. That would have been ok, too, but no one wants to see their child in pain and that was how we coped. I decided everyone was wearing lavender.
Dalton, Charlie and I were matching hand in hand as we arrived on Saturday. It was a beautiful day. I didn’t want to leave the car. I had to pull myself out of the seat. I felt like this was finally it. The last event, the last time I had to say the hardest goodbye. I had brought with me all the things of her I had left and a few gifts to set up on a table in her honor. I printed some pictures of all our ultrasounds and the good times we had together and strung them up on a set of lights. In the middle of the table, I folded a blanket as small as I could so it would cushion my girl. The flower urn was brought in and I kissed it ever so softly as I lay it down on her soft bed for the day. I wanted to scream as realization set in that I could never hold her body again. Everyone that came that day was a sign of God’s love for me. We are not in this alone. Not that day, not today, not ever. Time will pass and people will move on, we will press on in our lives too, but all the gestures of love and support throughout our journey are daily reminders to us that we’re never alone. Every time I see lavender I will think of Evelynn and then be reminded of God’s continuous love.
…to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve–to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Isaiah 61:3 NIV
Day 19. A piece of art in honor of Evelynn. The flower urn only held a tiny part of her. We preferred a more artistic touch to her earthly home and had a potter make one out of clay. Of course there was lavender glaze and pretty gold butterflies involved. I sit on the couch next to her when I can to feel a little closer to her and God. Rest In Peace, sweet baby. You’re in the best arms. 
Evelynn’s Basket 