Airplanes

I bent down after the service and rested my hand on Amelia's casket.  The box was so tiny - beautiful and ugly at the same time.  I hated the flowers on top; the funeral director clearly hadn't understood what I meant when I said bright colors.  But it didn't matter much, I looked right through the casket.

The day before her service we visited our baby at the funeral home for the last time.  That day will forever be the hardest day of my life.  Anything hard to come will be easier because of the sharp, immediate maturity that comes from closing the casket lid on your daughter.  But before I closed it, I memorized every inch of it's contents... her dress, the stains on her little sweater, her stuffed monkey from grandma with an arm draping down on her cheek and her bright, beautiful airplane blanket which seemed to mock death. 

I spent very little time buying things for Amelia.  We had hand-me-downs coming out our ears, all the gear E used and plenty of bottles.  The only thing I splurged on was her blanket.  I had picked E's baby blanket, one of a kind, from a fun etsy shop and I wanted something with a similar hand-made feel for Amelia.  After weeks of searching I ran across the perfect pattern and sent it off to a friend with a sewing business who agreed to make it for us.

Beautiful, isn't it?  When we first showed it to my mom she got a puzzled look on her face and sorta smiled awkwardly.  "It's because it has planes, right mom?  You have no idea why I would wrap a little girl in an airplane blanket..."  She continued to smile nervously until I reminded her that our baby's name would be Amelia... like the famous Kansas pilot.  She laughed, still not convinced her granddaughter should come home snuggled beneath a "boy pattern", but she went with it.

Neither Amelia nor that blanket came home with us.  I actually saw them last on that ugly Wednesday I hate to remember, but I see the scene vividly every day.  Kneeling before her casket Thursday as the service ended and friends looked on, my mind painted them again for me. I looked past tears right through that awful faux-marble finish and saw my baby girl wrapped in airplanes.  E was beside me with her hand on the casket as well.  We leaned down to give Amelia a kiss and stepped away.

My legs felt like tree trunks as I forced myself to walk out into the sun.  I looked up into the sky where we had released dozens of balloons earlier and I saw Amelia's sign for the first time.  A bright white jet stream streaked across the sky and I felt joy.  Amelia's message was clear and obvious - she's not imprisioned by death or earth.  She lives above this world, outside it's laws.

I believe God understands a parent's heart is not at peace until they know their child is safe.  For that reason, I think he offers special glimpses to those of us who have buried children if we're aware.  I see Amelia's peace in jet streams and I know she's ok.  One afternoon that was particularly sad and unfortunately dreary,  I cried out to God angry that he had filled the sky with clouds.  "God you know I need to see Amelia's sign!  You know I need to know she's ok... why did you put all these clouds in the sky to cover any chance of seeing an airplane?"  As I cried in pitty a jet flew low, beneth the clouds clearly on it's way to land at the airport.  I laughed at my small mind, my lack of faith even after all that's happened and I laughed at death.  I know Amelia's laughing too because she knows death holds no power over her mamma and daddy.  We'll be flying with her in heaven as soon as our work here is done.

Our view from the cemetery today.