August 11 – It’s amazing how quickly lives can change. I’m not talking get-a-new-car kind of change, but dramatic, my-life-will-never-be-the-same kind of change. In just two short weeks, I’ve been witness to, or become aware of, several of these kind of changes – one marked by life, two by death and others by the hope that lies between.

On life – Our family was blessed with the addition of our beautiful nephew from my sister-in-law. Being their first child, their lives changed overnight. No longer will they make decisions solely based on their wants and needs, but that of their precious baby boy. Sleeping, eating, going out and every other activity will now take on new meaning and purpose. I know their hearts are full and mine rejoices with them. Welcome baby E!

I won’t pretend it’s not hard too see pregnant women or hear about new births, because it is. But I can separate it from genuine feelings of happiness for others. Or maybe separate isn’t the right word, but rather the feelings can coexist. Joy and pain have become close companions and have taken up residence right next door to each other in my heart. Not just in contrast to other people’s lives, but even in our own. My husband and I take pleasure in our day-to-day family moments with our girls. But very quickly our happiest moments can turn into our saddest. When our girls are playing and laughing and having sweet ‘sisterly’ moments that melt my heart, my joy and laughter can instantly turn into tears when the weight of Liliana’s absence from this moment, and every moment thereafter, comes crashing down. I still allow myself to enjoy my girls, but thoughts of Liliana are always right there.

On death – This world lost a beautiful soul this week with the passing of my former boss. He was a genuine, good-to-the-core man. He’d be the first to refute or downplay any praise, but he’d be outnumbered by all those who agree with me. His family loved him. My family loved him. My former colleagues all loved him. Even my 95-year-old grandma remembers him fondly after only meeting him once or twice. He always made you feel like you were the most important person in the room and he gave his full attention to you during a conversation. And to say he was caring and generous with his team would be an understatement. He gave me the start to my career and nurtured it to its heights, always letting my star shine bright. It’s something that I always tried to emulate with my employees as well. It was an honor to know him and call him my friend. My heart aches terribly at his passing. I never even got to tell him about Liliana. He was the only person I shared the news with that we were pregnant in our Christmas card, outside of my immediate family and a few close friends. We were supposed to connect after the holidays to catch up, but then we received Liliana’s diagnosis and apparently he received his own difficult health news, and we never did connect. I’d like to think that he has now met Liliana and is telling her stories about our travels and fun times together. That thought makes my heart lighter.

My husband also lost his uncle last week. I didn’t know him, but I see the pain my mother-in-law is experiencing and I know the grief is heavy. This uncle also lost his daughter when she was a teenager. After Liliana passed, he wrote us a beautiful letter to us expressing his sympathies for our pain – a pain he knows all too well. While death is never easy, I pray that his soul is at peace with the reunion of his daughter in heaven.

On hope – This year has shown me how fragile life really is. First Liliana and now my dear friend. And then somewhere in-between life and death is the news I received from our dear hospice friends who came to visit us this week. In the few short months since we had Liliana, they have five new families in their care who received fatal prenatal diagnoses. Five!! My heart is broken for these families as I know the pain they are enduring and will continue to face on their journeys. We were the only family our hospice team was working with at the time of my pregnancy, and so I naturally assumed that cases like mine were few and far in-between. I was shocked to hear the news that so many families were in our same unfathomable shoes in such a short time. While I’m happy to hear that these families have chosen life for their babies to give them a chance, I know the emotional rollercoaster they will be on over the next several months. I pray that these babies will have a chance to be born and by God’s grace survive. I have no doubt that all five families are hoping against hope that their babies will defy whatever medical prognosis they were given. And I hope right along with them. I hope for life. I hope for their strength. I hope for their faith. And I hope they know that no matter how difficult the road God has put them on, they won’t regret their decision to choose life for their baby. To meet them, hold them, kiss them and love them – for however long they’re given – are the greatest gifts a parent can ask for. So, I hope.