Not every day was a happy one. Four days after I found out I was pregnant, I went home to Atlanta to visit your grandparents--Momma Gerri and Poppa Joe. It was supposed to be just a weekend visit but it turned into a much longer, much sadder stay. On the morning I was supposed to fly back to DC, Poppa Joe got really sick and I took him to the hospital. He never came back home again and died ten days later of a blood infection.
He knew about you. I told him you were on the way the morning that he died and I know that he heard me. Sweet girl, he loved you as much as he loved me (which is a considerable amount, trust me). And I am so very, very sad that you never got a chance to have him tickle you or call Dr. Finklestein for a consultation about what happens to little girls that don't eat all their spinach (not that this will be a problem, of course). Oh, the stories you will hear about Poppa Joe. I can't wait to start telling them.
I've added a picture of your grandfather holding one of my favorite babies (pre-you, of course). If he were here , he'd be spending a lot of time holding you just like this.
1 comment:
I loved reading your blogs. They all brought tears to my eyes because of how you struggled to have Marian. But of course, this one definitely made me cry. What an amazing experience for our family to be going through one of the most difficult things I can imagine, but still have that ray of sunshine that was eventually named Marian. The circle of life is continuous and no one knows that better than us. I love you all
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