I desperately wished that I believed in God so that I could see her again one day ...
- debbocg1
- Sep 11, 2023
- 6 min read
I have never posted a "trigger warning" however, this memorial post and anterograde outpouring of my heart four years later is very raw. It is not meant to expose others, violate privacy, or harm Anna's precious memory but to share what is on my heart and the incredible love, perseverance, and salvation that God has worked in me and through our family since her passing. On September 11, 2019, I drove to work with thoughts of the day's 9/11 Remembrance Ceremony on my mind, mentally running through my checklist to make sure I had all my uniform items. It was an hour and a half commute one way so there would be no turning back. I was about halfway to Base Alameda when my cell phone rang with a video call from my older brother Paul. Paul never calls me (we text) and he certainly doesn't video chat. I put on my turn signal to pull off the freeway. Was it Mom? Or Diana or another loved one? We all know what those calls mean. After assuring him that I wasn't driving his face appeared on my screen, tears streaming down his cheeks and snot shiny on his upper lip. He simply said, "Anna died." Dead silence. In that moment my entire world shifted. I don't remember what my exact response was but nothing could have prepared me for this. She wasn't old. She hadn't lived a long and full life. She had beat cancer. She had thrived following her leg amputation, jumping on trampolines and off diving boards. We were just home in Ohio to visit for Spring Break. She had most recently survived open heart surgery. She was the strongest child I have ever known. With shaking hands I dialed the Clinic Administrator's phone number where I worked to let her know what happened and that I wouldn't make it to the office today. Then I sat there, unsure of what to do next. I called my husband and told him the news with a quivering voice. I think we briefly discussed that I would need to make arrangements to fly home to be with the family before I started the commute back home.
It's incredible the sheer number of thoughts you can pack into a 45 minute drive. My oldest daughter, Morgan, would be devastated. Anna was her only girl cousin and they had been obsessed with one another since I first took Morgan to visit as a baby. Did I make a mistake visiting so often so the cousins could all get to know each other? I could have spared her the pain of the dreadful news I would have to share with her when she got home from school later on in the day. And oh my God...my sister-in-law Sarah. Her first baby. Her only daughter. I couldn't breath thinking of her pain. My brother Paul, retired Army veteran and my first hero...he named Anna after our badass Grandma who passed shortly before our Dad and frequently referred to her as "Anna Junior". My four nephews were suddenly without their only sister. My Mom just lost her first granddaughter. I once mailed Anna a dinosaur shaped sandwich cutter since she was infatuated with them. With all animals really. My brother enjoyed taking her to zoos and on nature hikes as they bonded over their mutual love of wildlife. Morgan loves animals just as much and was also enamoured with dinosaurs. Morgan. Morgan and Anna could have been sisters. I could never look at one and not see the other. They share the same beautiful "sad eyes" that you can barely see and their eyes squinch shut when they smile. Shared. Past tense. I shouldn't focus on my pain when so many others have the monopoly this time around. I am the type of person that kicks into full gear in times of crisis or distress, yet I couldn't think of a single thing I could do. Nothing could fix it. Nothing could make it better. Nothing would ever be the same. I wasn't even in the same time zone, much less state, so even offering to watch the younger kids was off the table. I'm sorry for your loss. Sincere condolences. Thoughts and prayers. Memory eternal. All futile human attempts to grapple with the pain and gut wrenching hole in the depth of your soul when you lose a loved one. When an innocent child is lost. So I had an Instacart order delivered to their home. One less thing for them to manage. I added all their favorites. All the things I was used to seeing in their fridge and pantry when I visited. I added Nutella to the list. Then I deleted it from the list. To this day I cannot think of Nutella without thinking of Anna. It mostly makes me smile now but occasionally my eyes well up.
How would I navigate this new life and extended family dynamic? I am sure that I said many of the wrong things. Ignorant things. Things that people who haven't lost a child say to the hapless ones who have in an attempt to comfort or connect. I didn't want to say anything that would bring up the pain of their loss but that pain was front and center and nothing I said or did would "remind" them. They were living it. Are living it. I flew home with Morgan to be with my family and help in any way I could with the arrangements. I was blown away by the tenderness my brother displayed in his loving support of my sister-in-law. Death was not new to him but war is not the same as a child preceding you in the afterlife. I had never seen him so stripped of all his bravado. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I did not know what to expect from my nephews or from Morgan since this was her first loss and would be her first funeral. I had never experienced such a traumatic loss either. Unexpected. My Dad and my husband's parents both passed before she was born so her childlike innocence had not yet evaporated. When they say that children are resilient, they are not wrong. I will be forever grateful to my younger brother Steve and my sister-in-law Jessica for their support, friendship, and wisdom as I attempted to navigate the brief time we all had together that week. My sister-in-law Sarah gave the most touching and poignant speech...eulogy...conversation...none of those words seem to capture what my ears heard. I don't know what the right word is but she spoke rivetingly with a lovingly clear voice, her beautiful German accent filling the sanctuary and lighting up the space. It was a true representation of a "celebration of life"; not avoidance of death as some can appear to be. She quite literally embraced the truth and spoke in the absolute assurance that her lovely daughter was already in the presence of God and wrapped in his arms. Anna had not perished but had passed from death into everlasting life. At the time, I recall a desperate longing to believe; for the assurance that so many in my family had voiced over the course of that week. I too wanted to know that I would see my sweet niece Anna again. It's hard to explain. I knew that she was in heaven but I was not yet saved. I had not yet come to the end of myself...and the end of ourselves is the beginning of God. The seeds were planted in my heart long ago and though I do not subscribe to the concept of predestination, there has always been a "Rainbow hanging over my head". I believe that God knows who will be saved, but that doesn't take away our choice or free will. The decision is still ours...but of course in his omniscience, he knows the outcome. The closest I can describe it is Philippians 1:6 "Being confident of this very thing, that He who hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the Day of Jesus Christ."
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