Dear Lily,

It was strange writing the date at the top of this letter. I know time must not mean anything to you yet, but to people walking the earth, it means everything. There are so many sayings involving time -- "Time is money," "Time flies," "Don't count every hour in the day, make every hour in the day count," and "Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday."

It's so crazy to think that today is the day the doctors projected to be your birthday (although I go with the 21st). I look at the date on the calendar, and I imagine all the birthday parties we could share. In reality it is just a day. It's an excuse to celebrate, though we should celebrate each moment, really. There are some families with a baby who has trisomy 18 that celebrate shorter intervals, like weeks, months, or even days. I don't know how I will feel if you are able to stay with us for a while. Will I want to celebrate each small interval? Will I be too busy trying to suck out all the moments I can with you to light a candle?

It is in these moments of thought that I laugh at the relativity of time. In the grand scheme of things, especially if you believe in the afterlife, our short lives are just a blip on the screen. In science, with numbers thrown around like trillions of years, your and my life are really insignificant. One minute isn't that much shorter than a hundred years. No one will record this day in the annals of history as the day one little girl was supposed to be born. But all that doesn't matter in the slightest to me. This day (or whatever becomes your official birthday) IS important. Each second I get to spend with you in my arms IS important. The eternity that I look forward to spending with you IS important. No matter what relativity of time you put to these next few days, they are important, and they will remain with me for as long as I have thoughts and memories. You are my little girl, and time is no object.

Love,

Daddy-

Dear Lily,

I listened to a song today. It is one that I have listened to a hundred times. Most of the time, I hear it as a battle cry for my own ambition. You see I have always felt a strong pull to be someone -- to do something special, meaningful. The song is entitled, "I Dare You To Move" by Switchfoot. I like them because they are a Christian band, but they are not in your face with it. I like the subtler approach. Anyway, while I was listening to it today, it struck me that the first verse seemed to be speaking to a newborn baby. The lyrics say, "Welcome to the planet/Welcome to existence/Everyone's here/Everyone's here/Everybody's watching you now/Everybody waits for you now/What happens next?/What happens next?/I dare you to move."

I have spent so many days and nights lifting you up in my thoughts. I have been pushing you to keep fighting. Well, I realized tonight that, like in the song, everybody 's watching you now. Everybody waits for you now. I found myself speaking to you as I sang the words, "I dare you to move." I dare you to prove everybody wrong. "I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor." You can do it. I am waiting here to catch you. You have come SO far. This journey that your mommy, our friends and family, you, and I have taken together has seemed so long. It has been heartbreaking at times. It has been heart-filling at times. I can't say that I would have asked for this trial, but I can say in looking back that I am better for it. The funny thing is (people say "funny" when they really mean interesting, scary, wonderful, etc.) that I have this feeling that our journey isn't nearing it's end. If that is so, just think of all the learning I still have to do. Come with me on that journey. You can teach me and I will teach you. I dare you to move like today never happened before.

Love as big as the moon is high,

Daddy-

Dear Lily,

It's been a little while since I have been able to write to you. You see, your mom and I have been working hard to get prepared for you. That includes working during our spring break to put away some money so that when you come, the focus can be entirely on you. Don't think that I haven't been thinking about you. In fact, I have been itching to get a chance to write to you.

So much has happened in the past week. I showed some people I was driving around the video of you on my phone. They were mesmerized. I guess in England that technology is rare. So, I felt lucky to have gotten to see you, before you are born. I think you are lucky too. That may seem strange to some others who are reading this, but I know you understand. There are so many people who know about you, who are praying for you, who love you already -- and you're not even born yet! So many people have no one to love them, no one to care about them. Not you. You have hundreds, maybe thousands of people who do. In fact, this past Saturday at noon, you probably felt a burst of love coming from all around the world. I'm sure you felt it. That's because we all stopped what we were doing, and we prayed for you. We prayed for the strength to love you as fully as we can for as long as we can. We prayed for the chance to see your face and to hear your cry. And we even prayed for a miracle -- for you to be whole. We thanked science for allowing us to prepare for you, and yet we prayed for the science to be wrong. It was palpable.

I have also been thinking a lot during this Easter season about the parallels between what happened to Jesus and what we are dealing with. I imagine how Mary must have felt to watch the horror that her Son was dealing with. In a small way I can empathize in a way I never could before. I imagine how helpless she felt as she watched her Son die. Again, I am dealing with that same helplessness. But then I think about Easter Sunday, when her Son defeated death. I imagine what it would feel like to see you defeat death, and I am overwhelmed. My emotions take over, and I cry. I cry like I never have before. I am broken all over again. I ask God through my tears to wrap you in his arms and to take care of my baby girl like his own. I pray for you to be born whole, but I pray even more that if I cannot raise you, that God does -- that he raises you up in gentle hands to be with our family and friends who are waiting for you in heaven.

In asking this, I am fully inside the fire. I feel like I never have before, or ever will again. I hope I can withstand the flames, the agony, the brokenness and come out galvanized -- better, stronger. You are the catalyst -- "nobody, not even the rain has such small hands." You are my Easter Lily, and I love you more each day.

Daddy-

Good evening Princess,

I hope you are doing well. I haven't felt you kicking in the past couple of nights, but your mommy tells me that you are still kicking away. I have reached the point that I am anxious for your arrival. I am not scared (not really). I am ready to hold you and kiss your head. I still get sad sometimes when I think about the possibility that my time with you will be short and that I will have to give you back. But for the most part, I am happy that you will be coming soon. It's funny how fire will affect you. By fire, I mean struggle or suffering. Some people get burned -- scared. They run away from the suffering, only to realize that their suffering follows them no matter how far they run. Others give up, relinquishing all hope for change. They accept their fate as cursed or unlucky. Then there are others (those with a great support system) who let the fire in. They allow the flames to take them and change them into something better -- stronger. Lily, I hope that I am strong enough to be the last type of person. I want to be galvanized. I want to become a better, stronger person as a result of this experience. I need to do that -- for you. You deserve it. You have been so strong, defying all the odds. I hope you continue to. I still hold onto that hope that all the tests were wrong and that we will be able to run and play together. I will not let go of that hope until I know for sure. I know, though, that you are exactly the way you were supposed to be. That may be sad for me and the others who love you. That's OK.

I my class today we watched March of the Penguins. It was a fantastic movie about the way of life for the emperor penguin. Their babies are so fragile in the frigid antarctic. Yet, somehow many manage to overcome the steep odds to persevere. Not all though. Some fathers come back after nurturing the egg until it hatched, then caring for the newborn until its mother returned from feeding, only to find that their baby does not return its calls. You see each father and baby learn each other's calls before the father leaves to feed. They have formed this special bond and then the father has to go away -- sometimes returning to an unanswered call. I wonder if he is excited to return. I imagine that these penguins have human emotions, and I think about how sad it would be to return, only to call and call without ever getting an answer. I think about how long the father penguin calls for his chick before he gives up. I wonder how long it takes before he is ready to try again. That is the life of an emperor penguin. It's not easy. God didn't promise them an easy road. He didn't promise any of us an easy road. What he did promise is that when we fall, if we let Him, that we will be held. I thought about you. I am an emperor penguin returning. I will be calling for you. I hope that I find you safe in your mother's arms.

I love you,

Daddy

This is a video I took from my camera phone during Jill's most recent ultrasound. Lily was moving around so much. In fact, she turned around 180 degrees (hopefully she turns back around before April 21st). I love watching this. We have a little lioness cub growing in there. ;)

Dear Lily,

Hey little girl. We have been busy getting ready for you to enter the world. Some of the things have been bitter, but most have been sweet. The sweetest of all was getting to see you all grown up at the ultrasound yesterday. It was great to see you smile, stick out your tongue, and even growl. It's so hard for me to see you on there and not get my hopes up that everything will be "normal" after your delivery. You are smaller than you should be, and you may have something going on in your little brain, but you seem so active. It's baffling. People say, "Watch. She'll prove everybody wrong." God, I hope so. But in my mind, I know that you are like a loaf of bread with double the salt. You can use the best oven, but it will still not come out right. The funny thing is that I would open my arms wide for a baby that was not normal. I just hope that you had that little talk with God, like I suggested. I hope he hears all the prayers everyone is saying, and he lets you stay with us for a long, long time. Only time will tell. That's the problem, though -- the unknown. I'm excited though. I will not let fear rob me of my joy! Do you hear that? No matter how much it may hurt, I will not drown out this emotion just to feel safe.

I watched a very inspiring movie the other day -- August Rush. I hope you heard it -- felt it. It is a story about how music is the tissue that connects all of us. In your honor, I have put a couple of the songs on my playlist. I was fascinated by the little boy's relentless search for his parents. Everyone told him to give up. The odds were to great, yet he believed. He had no doubt that he could connect with his parents with the music that was living inside him. It is one of those movies that allow you to believe in the impossible. I was touched. I was able to set aside my scientific mind and believe that maybe . . . maybe. Get some rest and keep growing strong. You have a great journey ahead, my girl. Just follow the music coming from my heart. I will find you.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

Daddy

PS Here is one of my favorite poems, alluded to above. It will let you know just how much I love you.

Love Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

-Pablo Neruda

Dear Lily,

I thought a lot about you today. You woke me up last night, kicking me in the back. That's OK, I don't mind. I feel like I have been walking on eggshells. I want to be excited for you to get here. I want to imagine bringing you home. I want to envision your smile, your wondering eyes, your little hands and feet. Trust me, I would rather think about all of that than to think about where we will lay you down, and in what casket. Some defense mechanism keep me from daydreaming about all the happy days we might have. Today, I let in one thought that maybe you are that one-half of one percent (or whatever it is) that has a false positive or that your case isn't as severe as others and you will be fine. I am not a superstitious person, but it is as if me thinking about those happy times will keep them from happening. I can hear you saying, "You're silly, Daddy." I know. I'm working on it, OK? What I can say with certainty is that there has never been a father who loves his daughter more than I love you. As Paul Simon says, "As long as one and one is two . . . woo-hoo."

So, you have about five weeks left to grow in there. Can you believe how quickly time has passed? I actually wonder how time passes for you. I mean, there is no clock for you to read. I bet it is getting a little crowded in there though (I hope, because that means that you are getting big). Sit tight little one. Mommy worries that you are not as safe in there, near the due date. I know better. There is no one on earth (me included) who could take such great care of you. She has a sacrificial heart, and she will do and has done absolutely anything and everything she can for you. She amazes me every day. I just hope you get to feel that love from the outside. If not, I know you can already feel it.

I love you little girl,

Daddy

PS Please feel free to wake me any night.