On March 10th, my brother died unexpectedly.
His daughter, my beloved niece, Sarah was too pregnant to go to be with him during his last hours on this earth. She lives in Wisconsin, he in Missouri.
She had suffered in this same way, only a week earlier---her Aunt Mary died unexpectedly as well.
Two times in two weeks, she had suffered unspeakable loss. Both times she couldn't go say goodbye.
Thirty-eight weeks pregnant and unable to comfort and be comforted by extended family. Her sweet, supportive husband, Ryan and darling baby, Bella held her close through her storm. Kisses and hugs and silly moments helped dry her tears.
They waited for their baby to be born.
He surprised everyone by coming just two days after the death of my brother.
He, Grayson John, parted the ashes of my niece's sorrow, and brought joy and happy tears.
As humans, we make up stories to help us feel better when someone dies. I made one up when my first born came along, and my father had already passed away. My father would have loved my kids.
I believe in heaven. I believe in spirits.
I believed that my father met my children in spirit, before I met them in body.
I believe that my brother, did indeed, get to meet Grayson. I believe he held him and rocked him and told him stories. I believe he tickled Grayson's tiny chin with his mustache and nibbled his tiny toes.
It makes me feel better in the bittersweet moments.
Grayson has been, for me, a Phoenix that has risen from the ashes of my brother's untimely death. Happiness blends with sadness. Hope with sorrow.
Welcome, little man.