to lily,

i knew before i met you that you would change my life. before i saw your beautiful face, or brave soul, i met your lovely mommy.

it was a rainy september afternoon when your mama asked me if i would be willing to photograph you. your parents didn’t know if you would survive the wild ride that is birth, but either way wanted some way of remembering your physical presence. i burst into tears when she asked me.

i had waited, too passively, to do something like this for someone. my baby sister had lost her baby girl just months before. i had been there, had been graced with my niece emma’s presence just for a moment, had heard the wails of my brave and broken sister, and had sworn that i would come home and help other mommies remember their sacred moments with babies no longer here.

you were my first chance to do that. what i didn’t realize, was that you would help me... would bring more healing to me than i may have for your family.

the first moments at the hospital were scary for me. walking by the pink, healthy babies left my heart in my stomach. how come it happens? who makes these calls? how is it fair? how do you ever, possibly recover? how would your mommy be? how could i possibly be afraid when your parents were so brave... when they were the ones with their hearts down the hall? i straightened up and walked into your mommy’s room.

there was your mommy, gracious and exhausted. she is always gracious! but you know that. and your oldest brother sat with her; protective, quiet, sad. after quiet words with your mama, your brother led me down the hall toward you.

the first time i saw you? you were breathtaking! you were just a few hours old when i walked into the intesive care unit and saw you. your little chest was heaving with life, up and down, up and down. for some reason that sight made me smile. you were a tough cookie. you had your own timeline and set of rules. you were doing things your own way.

your daddy and grandpa were standing there, proud and smiling and teary eyed all at once. your daddy spoke to you in his soft voice, held your tiny hands and whispered of his love to you. you were stoic in your little isolete, with the wires and cords and the beeping, beeping of monitors. i’m quite sure you reacted to your father at your side.

the second time i saw you was an entire 4 days later. your mommy and daddy were holding you, so soft and small, in a kinder, dimly lit room. you weren’t so connected... but the monitor watched over you. and your parents watched that monitor. the numbers would rise and fall, rise and fall. just like your little chest. your were even more beautiful that day... so comforted and content in the arms of your loving parents.

i made the pictures that i could... as painful as it was knowing you were leaving... as heartbreaking as it was to watch your mommy and daddy grasp that, begin to say goodbye, fear the inevitable. your strength and will, your sheer bravery gave me chills. gave me hope. before leaving, i desperately wanted to touch you. it was a need. i wanted to tell you goodbye. i wanted to tell my niece that i loved her. after getting the consent of your mommy, i held your tiny shoulder. i thanked you aloud for the honour of knowing you, for the effect you had on me in our brief friendship. i whispered internally for you to tell emma hello, how much i miss her and ache for her and adore her. i knew you would see her soon, that hopefully you would dance and play and giggle and know us all. watch us all. upon leaving i prayed, mostly for the hearts of your parents, i never imagined you would return. yet somehow it wasn’t entirely shocking to hear the story your mommy shared the next day. the story of your big heart and soul returning to your broken body to comfort your parents. it was so YOU. so selfless and heroic. that day you joined kiki and emma in my league of angels. i don’t deserve any of you, but feel you, in different ways at different times.

so it wasn’t a surprise on the day of your funeral that i saw you the last time. and let me correct myself. i didn’t actually realize it was you till several weeks later, when i looked at the pictures from that day. there you were, gleaming behind the lilies that had been placed in the hands of those that loved you most and were to be lain over your too tiny casket. i’d felt you so severely that day that it scared me, and comforted me at the same time.

thank you. thank you. thank you. i wish everyone could have a lily in their lifetime.

amy