April 26 – The day after Liliana was born, my husband and my 3-year old daughter came to visit around 10 a.m. This was the day we would tell her that Liliana wasn’t coming home and that she went to be with Jesus in heaven. But once again, she came in wanting to see her sister and hold her. We didn’t let her see Liliana at first. We wanted to wait until after we talked to her. We sat her down and explained that Liliana was in heaven with Jesus. She took it very well, almost joyfully. And then she got distracted with something else in the room and changed the subject. Then we brought Liliana out and let her play with her again.

We realized fairly quickly that we were confusing her by telling her that Liliana was in heaven while she was physically right in front of her. So, we changed plans once again to wait until we said goodbye to her to tell her that she was going to heaven. It’s so hard navigating through these things. Life doesn’t prepare you for how to tell your 3-year old that her baby sister is gone and that she can’t buy her that giraffe that she wanted.

As part of our plan B, we just allowed her to study Liliana’s hands and face and ask whatever questions she had. We took several pictures and videos of her playing with her as she measured the size of her hand next to her sister’s. It was heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once.

While they were there, we had a hospital photographer come in to take family pictures. I’m so glad we did this. When the nurse asked me that morning about pictures, I thought maybe it was too late since a ½ day had already passed, but the nurse reassured me how beautiful Liliana looked. And she did. And now we have so many wonderful memories and photos from that day. These pictures are the ones that now fill our house in every room and bring me comfort whenever I see her face. During this whole journey, God has for put the right people in my life at the right time to help guide my decisions when doubt or fear would creep in and blur my emotions and thoughts.

At about 11:45 a.m., the funeral home came for Liliana. I can’t describe the pain of letting her go, physically. I knew her spirit was gone, but her body was the last piece I could hold onto of her life in this world with me. I wasn’t prepared for that moment. Nobody could. All of a sudden, the emotions of the last day and the finality of that moment hit me hard and I couldn’t let her go. It was unbelievably hard. Too hard to even think about now. Anyone who has lost someone they love may know the pain I’m talking about. Even though it’s only the body that remains, it is the body that you can touch and see and hold. Now I can’t do that anymore. And it hurts. It always will.