A tiny broken heart

At the funeral for our baby cousin, who was born 6 days early stillborn last week, we experienced things that we hadn't anticipated.

We took our daughter, who is 5. She's been to many funerals and did fine. And this was to be a short, graveside service so we didn't even think not to take her along. But somewhere along the way, this 5 year old grew up and has a heart bigger than we ever realized. At the sight of the tiny casket, roughly the size of a duffle bag, our daughter fell apart. Throughout the 15 minute service, she fell into a million pieces, bawling and sobbing. This baby girl was to be her cousin, she had gifts picked out and wrapped for her, and was so excited to meet her. And then she was gone. And our daughter didn't even see her. She went from her momma's tummy to the tiny marble casket. And our daughter went from casual observer to heartbroken little girl.

The entire rest of the day, even throughout the weekend, she would spontaneously burst into tears, just thinking about little Britton. She didn't say things like "I miss her," instead, she said things like "Robyn must be so sad" and "I feel so bad that she didn't get to love her baby," and "Who will take care of her in heaven if she's still a baby there?"

Something else happened. Another cousin's little boy, who is about the same age as our son, was also distraught beyond consolation. His parents recently divorced. Both were there, but he found himself latching onto my husband and me. Was that because it felt "normal" to him? Was that mom-and-dad-together feeling what he needed for comfort? He's not normally overly affectionate with us, though he does come over to play and hang out, and always has.

Whatever the cause, holding tight to this little boy, and our own little girl, changed us somehow. It made us realize how tight and close we need to hug our children every day. Not to take one.single.moment for granted with them. We could lose that chance in an instant.

As we stood in the frozen air, our tears turning into frozen droplets on our faces, we all came together as a family. We hugged so tight it felt wrong to let go. We shared meals, we shared laughter and of course more tears. We looked at Britton's adorable nursery, we looked at picture of her after she was born - a perfect little blonde haired, 6 pound baby, who never had the chance to breathe the life of our Earth, but who is at home in heaven is waiting for us to join her someday. In the days that we have here, I won't take my own children for granted. Because that tiny, broken heart in my daughter (and my son) is mine to heal, to nurture, to love...and I will with every fiber of my being. Every.single.day.