June, 2004 Dear Ronda, The article (See, "A Soft Blanket, A Journey Through Grief) was a very moving reminder to me of your presence with us on those Wednesday nights when we shared our deepest feelings and particularly the night when we received Mirra's blanket. The hospital gave us a blanket for her, too. It was stained with her blood that she left behind as she lay on it for the pictures we now hold as one of few in a small box that does and doesn't contain her life. I hold the blanket you gave to us in advance of her death and remember its anointing and your prayer that the Holy Spirit would allow the blanket to comfort us in our remembrance of Mirra. I know that prayer has been answered. I have slept with her blanket and felt God's peace cradle my wounded heart just as surely as I know that He cradles my daughter. The hospital blanket, though a more direct reminder of her, is not so blessed by His healing power. One blanket, anointed with oil, is a memory of new life and peace tinged with lingering sorrow; another blanket, adorned in blood, is a reminder of birth pain and death accompanied by empty arms. Both blankets are soft and small and both are important to me. Both are poignant and necessary elements in my memory of Mirra. My son, Nicholas, is perhaps even more in need of tangible remembrances of the sister he prayed for (wishing she were a brother at first of course) and finally lost. Just as I have benefited tremendously from the time I had to prepare for her loss in my life, I have sought to help him work through his feelings before the day finally arrived. With him it is more difficult. He is not an adult, and he does not truly know all of the little moments he will miss without her. Still, his pain is very real, and I can see the fear in his eyes. It is not as easy for him to let go of the question he asks of God, "Why did this have to happen to our baby?" His confusion and grief deepen when she is finally gone. He worries about his mother, too. Will I be taken away from him before he is ready? I offer him the only comforts I can of my hugs and kisses and assurance that God knows just what we need and when we need it. He loves us with an incomprehensible love. Besides my embrace, Nicholas is also comforted by holding and looking at the few memorial items we now cherish: her blankets, pictures, an angel bear and several statues that depict various comforting figures. The bear is very special to my son. Its fur is ivory and its eyes are blue. She wears an ivory dress, wings and a halo. She carries a felt bouquet of pink roses at her side. The bear's limbs move so that she can stand on her feet or sit. Rick ordered the bear for me on the day I was admitted to the hospital after learning that Mirra's heart had stopped beating. His hope was that the bear would be another item for us to hold as we cry and to always look at with fond memory of Mirra. The bear is not intended to represent her memory itself, but it seems like a part of her somehow just as if she had lived and received it as a present from us. Within days of Mirra's memorial service, I was able to find an embroidery shop that would complete the bear's dress with an inscription: "In Loving Memory of Mirra Charrisse Smith." The pink color of the embroidery thread is a perfect match to the bouquet of roses that the bear holds in her hand. Today it sits in the alcove that graces the entrance to our home. Its position is visible from both the front and garage doors. Sitting silently, it is not a reminder that shouts to me. It seems to belong there. The bear holds in her lap the mauve velvet pouch that carries Mirra's ashes. We decided that we would prefer to keep them in our home rather than bury them in Littleton's Baby Cemetery. At first I thought we would place her ashes there with a marker so that we could have a place to visit whenever we wished to remember her on a special day or pray a message to her through Jesus. When we received the small, velvet bag, we decided to keep it instead. Being so small it would not take up too much room and was easy to move anywhere in the house. We would also have it with us always even if we someday moved far away from Littleton. Beside the bear in the alcove we placed other items that our family, including Nicholas, could see and touch whenever we liked which would remind us of Mirra. His favorite, I think, is a small ceramic figure given to him by my sister. It is dear to him because it was given to him especially. The figure is another angel-bear holding a baby bear wrapped in a pink blanket. The bear's dress is blue and her pewter-colored halo is adorned by a star. The base of the figure is a like a white cloud and has a gold message inscribed: "Cherish the Children." On the underside of the base is another message: "If I met an angel, I would ask the angel to make me healthy again." The message is from a child undergoing chemotherapy. Whenever Nicholas is talking about Mirra to someone visiting our home, he always shows them the bear asking, "Isn't it cute?" It makes me glad that he focuses on the bear's sweetness instead of always being sad about losing his sister. Finally, the path he walks most often in grief is really no different for me - he needs to talk. He needs to talk about Mirra and talk about how he feels. Unless he does, the pain will not go away. Every day it grows less as life pushes us relentlessly forward. Every shared conversation about his loss makes the pushing less of a struggle. I pray for him as much as I pray for myself that he will experience the Lord's peace in his heart as he journeys toward healing. God answers that prayer through this sharing that we have with one another, and He also helps me to understand that Nicholas' pain is still different than mine. I have never lost a sister. I have a greater capacity for understanding the medical reasons for Mirra's life ending than he does. Death is not as much of a mystery to me as it is to him even though I certainly cannot claim to understand it fully. As he grows older his understanding will grow, too. His faith, I pray, will be strengthened and he will trust God to explain everything to him when they meet face to face. I trust that Nicholas will learn to put his hope in that day and know he will see his sister again. Until then, I have to accept that he may express himself in ways that seem morbid or inappropriate to me, his mother, who bounces between grieving for Mirra and trying to help him understand this path he must walk. Above all, I hope to help him realize that he is free to share his thoughts and feelings with me, and I will love him no matter what they are. This is not always easy for me because some of his process causes me further pain. I must forgive him for that and accept that he would never purposely hurt me; he just doesn't know any other way to deal with his own overwhelming feelings. Giving him the freedom to ask questions and cry and go on with his little boy ways and then cry some more is, I think, the best way for him to go through this valley that we are all walking with Christ's strength and love. Love, Baby Mirra's Mother Lisa Baby Carina Cooksey