From the Beginning

Thank you for being here, for taking the time to meet my sweet girls, and for linking arms and walking with me for a while.

When I first started writing here I titled it Waiting For Morning. I was inspired by Psalm 30:5 and the hope it promises; weeping may remain for a night but rejoicing comes in the morning. Those were sad days and I desperately clung to the hope of God's promised comfort and restoration. While I waited, this was my safe place to pour my heart out while I walked, and often crawled, through my grief. How I longed for morning to come.

And it did.  Not right away and not without struggle, but God was faithful to deliver the dawn. Waiting for Morning no longer fit. But I knew it wasn't the end. There is more to this journey, more transformation, more growth, more healing, and certainly more to write about here. This is the next chapter.  

This is the story of Aubrey and Ellie, their life, their death and my journey  
After the Dawn.

Now let me introduce you to the two little girls that changed everything.

This is Aubrey Elizabeth. She was born on June 24, 2008, weighing 1lb 5oz. She died in my arms on July 7th, 2008 after 13 days of life.  She was a feisty little spitfire with smokey gray eyes and auburn hair.


This is Ellie Alexandra. She was also born on June 24th, 2008 and weighed 1lb 4oz. She died in her daddy's arms on July 1st, 2008 after seven days of precious life. Ellie was our mellow girl. So calm and sweet all the time. She also had fine auburn hair and long blond eyelashes.



Aubrey and Ellie were born at 24 weeks and 4 days gestation-way too soon. The doctors cannot find a reason for why I went into labor so early with them. Other than being premature, they were born perfect. All of the illnesses and injuries they experienced were a result of their struggle to survive outside the womb. I was not allowed to hold them or nurse them. We wanted so badly to comfort them and all we could do was peer at them through the glass and beg God for a miracle. Kirk and I would reach inside their incubators and hold their little hands. We hoped and prayed for them to live and cried often at the fear of losing them. We did not get the happy ending we hoped for and had to let them go. Kirk and I had the privilege of holding them in our arms as they took their last breaths.


We placed them in the same casket and buried them in a cemetery near my home town. I wanted them to be together and I wanted them to be where I would always be able to get back to no matter where the military took us. Kirk performed the service and friends and family from near and far came to love us and celebrate the lives of our daughters.

Their funeral was the hardest day of my life.  I felt suspended in time staring at their tiny casket in disbelief that my babies, MY BABIES, were in there and not in my arms. Before I walked away to let them be lowered in the ground I promised them that I would honor them by healing.  And that set into motion a journey I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams.

I hope you will continue to walk with me on this journey and find hope and healing here.  You are a part of what God is doing here as much as I am.  You are quite welcome here and I am honored to have you.
 
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