The Best Lesson I Learned from my Granddaughter’s Short Life
“Mom, it’s Nathan. He said it’s time.”
Those are the words I remember. The ones that started Livie’s life. And while we were told that she might not make it to her own birth, no one told Livie.
I remember the first time I held her. It wasn’t my first time as a Grandma, but Livie was special. She had what they called, Trisomy 18. And so I was never sure if I was holding her the right way. Fear has a way of doing that to us.
Thoughtful friends would send me articles about Trisomy 18 and I would read them, but I never felt better. Not one time.
Hospice was involved from day one. My son, Nathan and my daughter-in-law, Heather were told to prepare for Livie’s funeral as they were going to the hospital.
But Livie did come, and we celebrated her arrival. She was celebrated each week she was here because it was worth celebrating. This little one who was incompatible with life. This precious one who only knew love for those 14 months.
The phone rang.
“Mom, Livie is not doing well. Maybe you’d like to come and see her.”
“Would you like me to come later?” I asked.
“I think you better come now.”
So we drove the fifteen minute ride to their house.
But when we got there, she was doing okay. And I could read the relief on their faces.
There would be other scares, which became the norm for them. After a while Livie no longer needed the oxygen from a little portable tank they had.
Then she started doing things they were told she would never do.
She learned to drink from a sippy cup.
She smiled
She laughed
Everyone who saw her smiled at the miracle she was.
I remember one day I asked her brother, Charlie who was 8 at the time.
“Why did you all choose the name Olivia? Was it because of those cute children’s books about the little pig named Olivia?”
“No,” Charlie responded rather quickly.
“We called her Olivia because it has the word live in it. We want her to live.”
I understood completely. I quickly wiped a runaway tear off my face. I too, wanted her to live. We all did. As well as the thousands of people who were following her story on Facebook when Nathan and Heather decided to share her life with everyone.
Olivia kept smiling, and growing and learning new things. Like how to make raspberry sounds with Daddy.
Like head dancing to music.
She was his little night owl, spending time wide awake while the rest of the house slept.
Livie brought people together. People who wanted to celebrate that she was here. People who wanted to bless Nathan and Heather by helping out in some way.
There were offers of all kinds.
Did they need help with laundry? One friend offered to do it And with three other children, it was a gift well received.
Did they need their house cleaned? Another friend showed up and made everything sparkle.
Were there errands that needed to be done? You name it and people responded.
And then Livie turned one. There was a special party dress, a beautiful cake and plenty of people there to celebrate.
Livie was the belle of her birthday ball. Smiling for everyone, especially her siblings and mom and dad.
I lived with this cloud that seemed to hang over those 14 months. The fact that she was terminal was always there, waiting to make it’s presence known.
But so were her smiles and the joy she gave to anyone who met her.
I looked forward to posts from Nathan and Heather. People would comment, people would smile, and everyone prayed.
I remember when Heather asked me, “Do you think you could come and stay with Livie so we can get some rest. We are exhausted.”
It was Livie and me in the living room while everyone else in the house was asleep.
I held her and spoke softly to this little one I loved so much. I would get lost in her blue eyes that were so beautiful.
I sang, as I have with her siblings, I rocked her in my arms and I prayed. I was full that night. It was our special time.
One I would never forget.
Everyone gets a call like the one we got that day in March.
“Mom, I have some very sad news to tell you…”
I quietly hung up the phone and walked to the living room where my husband was sitting.
“Oh Mike,” I said…and my face told the rest.
A short while later we rode silently to their house.
Walking in was surreal. This was the day I didn’t want to go through. The one I kept thinking about ever since I heard about the Trisomy 18. On their sun porch I saw Heather with Livie in her arms. I could hardly see because of all the tears.
A few moments later, my son laid his daughter in my arms. The tears were nonstop. I felt the pain cut through my broken heart.
I held her so gently as if she would disappear. And in moments he took her and handed her to Grandpa.
This is the day we didn’t want to happen.
And after a while people started coming into the house. There were hugs intermingled with tears, lots and lots of tears.
Livie would be picked up and taken by the funeral director. I saw a basket with handles carried in.
“Nathan, I don’t think I can be here when they take her,” I whispered, hoping he would understand.
“It’s okay,” he said trying to reassure me.
And so after one more hug, I slipped out of the house with my husband and daughter behind me.
No. I could not bear to watch.
A few days later we stood at Livie’s casket. But it didn’t look like Livie. Not the beautiful little baby that I held that special night.
At the cemetery we released white balloons against the blue sky. It was a clear blue sky, just like Livie’s eyes.
God kept giving me strength for the days that followed. And as time passed, the pain became more bearable. It took quite a while for that to happen.
Now I smile when I think of her. And I know I’ll see her again. I’m sure when I reach heaven’s gates she will be there to show me around. And she’ll do the things she would have never done here on earth. She will talk, she will walk and run and be like all the other little girls.
Livie taught us all about life. She only knew love for those 14 months she was here. But the most valuable lesson she taught me was to be where I am.
To be present.
Because if we’re not, we’ll miss something.
It might be what someone says.
It might be a beautiful picture someone makes.
Or it might be a precious laugh.
Yes, Livie has taught me how to be present.
It’s a lesson I’ll never forget.
The Best Lesson I Learned from my Granddaughter’s Short Life
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