More

I just finished reading a book, Choosing to See by Mary Beth Chapman. It’s the story of losing her 5 year old daughter in a tragic accident and how she coped with the loss. There was a line that she said a couple of times that really spoke to me and that goes through my mind over and over again. I wanted more.

Shortly after Vivienne died, someone told me “she lived her whole life.” It hurts because her whole life was 8 minutes, and she’s gone. But it also helps to think that Vivienne had a purpose, she fulfilled that purpose, and now that she has, she’s gone. And even though I can find some solace in that Vivienne lived her whole life, I wanted more.

I want to hear her cry, coo, laugh, and say her first words.

I want to watch her as she learns to roll over, crawl, and take her first steps.

I want to watch her sleep, watch her play, and watch her grow.

I want to hold her and hug her.

I want to watch her Dad hold her, read to her, and rock her to sleep.

I want to help teach her how to read, ride a bike, and do her homework.

I want just one more minute to hold her, kiss her cheeks, and tell her how much I love her.

In the end, we had 22 weeks and 1 day, and then 8 minutes with Vivienne. I’m grateful for every minute we had. But I still wanted more, more than I can even articulate.