Unveiled

It's beautiful, absolutely gorgeous.
Just like my girl.
So fitting, such a perfect way to honor her, remember her.
It's a dark sage green and it looks like it belongs there.
It is a work of art, a lasting gift.

I read this today when we gathered with family, all of us dressed in bright colors, for the unveiling...

My Sweet Tikva,


For the past few days I’ve felt so peaceful. And a bit suspicious. Knowing that this wasn’t all I was feeling, just underneath my calm exterior. And yet still calm, not to be dismissed as insignificant. For the past few days I have felt you so close to me. On your birthday last week. When I visited another little girl working hard to get well at the hospital, where I believe you’ve been watching over her. When I sat on your bench in the courtyard and made origami stars to leave next to the Hope and Love and Forever Angel Spirit rocks I left there a few weeks ago. I felt you there in the wind on my face, and saw you in the calla lilies that were such a bright yellow I thought they could not possibly be real. But they were. So many flowers in that garden where your mighty spirit left your body ten months ago, in the heart of that big place where your human journey unfolded.

That feels almost passive, as if your journey unfolded without you at its helm, steering the ship. When in fact you were in charge, from the very beginning. You and God, you as a magnificent part of God. You guided us every step of the way, Tikva. You told us when to believe in you, when to travel to the ends of the earth for you, when to hope and have faith. You taught us how to love unconditionally.

You taught me how to love like I have never loved before.
You opened up a part deep inside my heart that is now open forever, never to close.
You gave me the gift of true compassion, as pure and sweet as your incredible soul.

Now I listen to the gentle flute concerto that I heard in the car sometime during your life, which I found and listened to in the final weeks, mostly at night, sitting in the glider while I pumped milk for you. Such an act of faith, of hope, pumping milk that I always wondered if you would have a chance to finish. I think a part of me always knew you probably wouldn’t, and yet it was one of the biggest things I could do for you – and for me – to continue to hope, to give you love through the nourishment of my body, to feel like I could do this one thing for you that no one else, no doctor or nurse, could do. I could give you my liquid gold filled with love. That had to feel good inside you.

When I close my eyes I am right back there, to those moments where I confronted the darkest parts of my soul – the fear, the sadness, the anticipatory grief of what it would be like to be without you, the longing for things to be different than they were, for you to be there in my arms, nursing at my breast, peaceful and well. I know you felt me during those nights, when we were connected deep within each of us. I felt you there close to me the night of August 7, when I had just come home from the hospital for the last time, silent with shock that your journey in your body was over and I would never see you or hold you or touch you or look into your gorgeous eyes again.


And I have felt you so deeply, so many times since. Seen you in the Red Tail Hawk that visited me in the park, outside our window, perched in a tree, flying high above with the seagulls and crows. Heard you in the sweetness and gentle sadness of that flute melody. Saying to me, I love you, Mama. I’m with you. I’m sorry not to be in your arms, but I am even closer – in your heart – where I began my journey when you dreamed of me before I was conceived.

I could never have dreamed that you would be as magnificent as you are, Tikva!
As graceful.
As mighty.
As beautiful.
As sweet.


Did you smile inside, Tikva, even if you couldn’t smile on the outside? Even though you had so much big work to do in so short a time? Did you feel warm fuzzies from the love we showered on you? Did you feel as good in my arms as I felt holding you? Did you feel my heart beat against yours when our skin touched? Did you feel my hand holding your face, feel me accompany you the night your spirit left your body, so that you would not be alone until you knew that you were enveloped in God’s palm, that you would be okay? Did you know that a little part of my heart has stayed with you since then?

It has been a hard ten months without you. I have missed you so deeply. It has also been a time of magic connecting with you. With and without, at the same time. I don’t get to wrap you in a sling against my body, but I get to envelop you in my heart, and wrap myself in your spirit, breathe you in the wind and the sweetness of your snapdragons and roses. Hear you in the humming and whistling of the birds. Feel you in possibility, and the feelings of hope I am still – somehow – able to muster from deep in my soul.

I know you don’t want me to feel heavy, to feel dark or bitter or abandoned, to feel like my life is over without you. I wondered, when I learned that you would be born very sick, how I could ever survive losing my child. But my life is not over. Surprisingly, it’s not even close to that.

Because how can my life be over when I have been cracked open by you?
When the journey has just begun?
When there is so much love to share and feel and grow?
When I have important work to do?


There are seven blades of grass on each side of your headstone.
Seven like the days of creation – look at all you created in your short but boundless life!
Seven charkas of the spirit body.
Seven, divisible only by itself and one – you always were, are, and will be a part of God.
The grass is rooted in the earth and reaches up towards the heavens.
The grass blows in the breeze, bending easily.
I see you there, in all of it – the earth, the grass, the wind, the sky.

Thank you for the gift of you, my Tikva Ahava, my Hope and my Love.
Thank you for choosing me, for trusting me as your partner on your BIG journey.
Thank you for blessing me with your tiny hand on my heart – imprinted there forever.
Thank you for blessing me with your eyes gazing deep into mine – soul to soul forever.
Thank you for being my second child, my daughter – forever.

I love you, Baby Girl.

*******


Dahlia came over and hugged me after I read, and she whispered in my ear,
You still have me.

I do, sweet girl. You are my light. I love you so much. So much.


Dahlia released ladybugs into the grass,
And they crawled onto the flowers and the stone,
Onto those of us nearby...
And they flew all around.
(Can you see them in the photos above?)

And even before we opened the box they had come in from the plant store,
Someone noticed there was a ladybug that had flown to us and landed on my back.
A little spirit visitor...

And just as I was about to leave,
When everyone had gone to visit the other family members buried in the same cemetery
And I was standing near my car with my Dad, Dahlia and Karina,
Preparing to visit my grandmother, Aloisia at the cemetery down the road,
I noticed in the sky the Red Tail Hawk circling above the baby section of the cemetery.

Naturally... How could Tikva soar above us in any other way?

Hi, you! Hi, Baby Girl. Hi, My Beautiful...

I felt you in the powerful wind that brushed my face
And ran its fingers through my hair as I had walked, earlier, to the bathroom.
I know you were there, so close.

It's you! You are so close. You just look different now...