Stop Time.

You know those moments that stop time? You can remember them vividly. You recall the oddest details: the setting, the people, the sounds. Or maybe it's the feeling of the moment that is captured in stone. Most often these never-forgotten moments are tragic. Sometimes joyful. Usually life changing.

I'd venture to say that most people remember where they were when they found out about the 9/11 tragedy. I remember walking into my dorm room and seeing my roommate fixated on the TV. I'm sure people that were alive when President Kennedy was assassinated can remember exactly where they were. Events with such a global impact are bound to stop you in your tracks.

Of course personal events may be more vivid. And for me, those involve death. I suppose the finality of death and the uncertainty of it are some of why it stops us in our tracks.

I remember hearing my grandmother died (unexpectedly). I was nine. I ran downstairs to look through the picture box because I wanted to find photos of her, I wanted to see her. I remember I felt really weird walking as a family down the church aisle in front of everyone else. I remember looking up at my dad at her funeral and seeing him cry and wanting so badly to fix it. The memory is stuck, embedded years later.

I remember learning my friend died in an accident in high school, bawling next to my parent's bed in my blue pajamas. I remember skipping school to lay on leaves and grieve as I began to think about what life was all about. 

I remember where I was, what I was doing when I found out my sister-in-law's mother had left earth far too soon. I remember the feeling of being almost jealous as I thought of heaven and the glory there yet feeling such sadness for Jill.

I remember the ER visit, the packed waiting room as I waited to learn the reason for the piercing pain. I remember the worry for our first child and the desire for Greg to be with me. I remember calling my sister and not being able to form words because of the tears. I remember the drive home, the surreal feeling of being changed but not understanding why. I remember reading Tear Soup with Greg and learning it was right and good to cry and grieve.

I'm certain I will always remember the moment we found out Maelee died. I wonder, though, what details will fade and what will stay? The gut-wrenching, stomach-curling ache will forever be there, lessened of course. Yet the morning of April 5, 2010 will forever be etched in my mind.

And now... I want to acknowledge the fact that we were not the only ones to go through those painful few days. We were not the only ones whose lives completely stopped when they found out. We are not the only ones that can tell you details of that day. And I don't believe I've ever wanted to know until now, but where were you? Where were you when you were interrupted with the news that Greg and Heather's baby died? What do you remember? I know from my own experiences that if you find out something tragic, it will stick with you. So feel free to share with me, a comment or email or tell me in person someday.

I just wrote up what I remember from the worst day of our lives. It wasn't easy to recall (so I'm sorry if you are brought back to a bad place, remembering is hard). Instead of posting it here, I will wait and post on the 5th. Please skip that if it's going to be too much for you.

-Heather

April 1 two years ago was the last time we saw Maelee alive in an ultrasound, everything looked great and we were giddy. I feel like posting the lyrics to one of the songs Greg wrote shortly after Maelee died...

Perfect Peace 
Pink is on my mind
Think about you all the time
Pink is on my mind
Life goes on, but you stop time

Perfect peace
And closed tight eyes
Out of the womb
There were no cries

Pink is all I see
When I wake and when I sleep
Pink is all I see
Know my love in this deep grief