Yes, the blurry photo is intentional. Everyone warned me that Christmas is difficult. Those who have lost a parent or spouse, experiencing their first ever Christmas without their loved one – always seemed like more of the typical holiday grief. I never had a Christmas with Eden. I never had a lot of things with her. I really convinced myself that I would be able to get through the season not feeling any worse than normal.

As you read this, I am sure you can predict what is coming. I was wrong. I am bombarded with thoughts of all the things that will never be. It is different than missing her, it’s recognizing the loss of life. Her life. She will never experience life! My daughters will never get to create a relationship with her. Our choice to have all our kids within a year of each other seemed crazy, but I was so hoping my kids would have every advantage in creating a friendship with each other. That was very important to Nathan and I. The heaviness of that loss of friendship with Eden hit me this morning. Christmas mornings will include Eden only by her framed photo on the hearth of the fireplace and her memory in our hearts.

Like most families, mine would watch a line-up of Christmas movies throughout December. Home Alone, Claymation Rudolph, How the Grinch stole Christmas. A more serious one, that we never missed was It’s a Wonderful Life. I will give you a quick run-down if you have never seen it. After an angel takes George Bailey on a trip to see what the world would be like, had he never been born, he realizes how much purpose his life truly has. He had influenced a multitude of people over his lifetime that he never understood until he witnessed the affects of his absence over his lifetime.

He was then sent back to his old life, with an overwhelming sense of appreciation, for his family and friends, and the hometown he cursed only hours prior. The world wasn’t better off without him, he felt purpose and value again.

I was thinking of the end of that movie this week. When all is said and done, in the last scene George finds a gift the angel left for him, a book, and in the inscription, he writes:

Dear George, remember, no man is a failure who has friends.

Failure has been haunting me since I lost Eden. I really must fight the feeling of being a failure, that I failed Eden. It is so damaging, and I just can’t shake it. But when I thought of that message, no man is a failure who had friends, it really lifted me. The response of my friends in this tragedy was over the top. People I haven’t spoken to in 20 years, staff from my high school, parents of my church friends back in Saskatoon, friends I met back in 2004 when I traveled Australia, obscure people who have touched my life or I have touched theirs. Grief and tragedy has united us again, and so much love is coming from it. I know they are aching for me, but it’s because they care. And the fact that they are going out of their way to write me long detailed messages, sending hand written letters, gifts for my girls, money, prayer, flowers, meals is major evidence of value in friendship. Although grief is lonely by nature, I am never left wondering if everyone has forgotten about us.

As usual my family went to a Christmas Eve church service. We haven’t been attending church regularly since Eden died. She passed on a Sunday morning, so it’s usually a low day. I can’t remember missing a Candle Light Service on Christmas Eve ever in my life, so we just made it happen yesterday. The girls didn’t wear tights, and I couldn’t find Aspen’s church shoes, but whatever, we made it. For Christians, Christmas is all about the Hope of a baby. This theme is just daggers for me, and I know it always will be. At one point the pastor used the term ‘A baby sacrifice’. I had never really heard that before, especially because Jesus was my age when He gave His life for our salvation. But it’s accurate, he was born to be a sacrifice. This was foretold hundreds of years before his birth. His death provided Hope for mankind.

Finding hope in death seems utterly impossible on most days. Especially when my baby’s death didn’t prompt the salvation of mankind. I do however cling to the hope that there is purpose in all this heartache. There just has to be. Pain so significant and an experience so profound just can’t be for no reason.

Today was the first time Nathan and I made the long descent – to visit Eden’s resting place together. (Only gone individually before) My parents live on top on Eagle Mt, so from there it is literally a plummet into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. We drove down together, then walked hand in hand to our girl. I hate that we have to visit our baby there. Our forever baby. I still have a huge sense of wrong when I visit her. It’s just all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. How is this my life?!

I wonder so many things. Does she visit us? Can she see us whenever she wants? Is she even concerned with our world, or is she too happy in heaven? What is her level of awareness? She only saw this world through an infant’s eyes, does she have a full understanding now? Does someone look after her in heaven? Or is she independent? It is just so hard to imagine what my baby’s life looks like in heaven. My world revolved around this precious gift, and now I struggle to understand her new world, without me. Given her level of dependence on me as a 3 month baby, her new home seems impossible.

Questions to which there are just no answers. So, for now, Sleep in Heavenly peace sweet Eden.

Sleep in Heavenly peace.