Dear Lily,

It has been a difficult day for your mom and me. I'm sure you felt it. Because we love you and want to give you the best chance of finding your way into this world, we are going to use medicine to help nudge you along. I'm not sure what that will mean for you. The decision was difficult because we wanted you to control when you came to us. Well, little angel, you are going to have some persuasion in a few days. We can only pray that it is really in your best interest (if we thought otherwise, we would not have made the decision).

That decision was not the only difficulty today for me. You see, about a week ago I watched a great movie, called Instinct. I had seen it before, but I had forgotten the meat of it. Basically, it is about a man who lives among the apes for two years. He becomes part of their family -- he was cared for, trusted, welcomed. Then, because of some artifacts he had left behind, some local men were searching for him and began shooting and killing the apes who had taken him in. He did what I would hope any family member would do and defended them. The problem is when that mentality translates to society. He was arrested and put in prison -- for defending his family. He called our society "takers." Instead of living in harmony with nature, we try to dominate it -- to own things and take things.

That concept has stuck with me since, and I have thought about how I too am a taker. Just today, I was working on our front porch with my dad. There was a robin's nest at the top of one of the columns we were removing. My dad pulled it down and handed it to me. It had eggs inside. Well, a bee was in the nest and it frightened me. I bobbled the nest and a couple of the eggs fell out. Now, our society says, "At least they were just eggs." Well, to draw a parallel, you are still just an egg. You are still expendable. I couldn't help feeling as if I had just taken something really special away from that mama and papa bird. I had taken you from me, all because I was in a hurry to get a front porch built. Today I was a taker. I hope that those days become more and more rare.

I wish you were here for me to hug. That would be so nice. Come as soon as you can. I understand the science behind why you aren't here; but I can't help wondering why you aren't. I guess that is not for me to know. I know. I know. Does a chrysalis have a timer on it? But there is a limit to the safety your mommy's belly can provide. Come on out now. I'll defend you like the man did those gorillas. Fierce loyalty is a trait I admire, even if society doesn't.

I love you so much. I can't wait to show you.

Daddy

Dear Lily,

How are you doing lion cub? You are past due by our silly sense of time, but I have a feeling you have things figured out. Don't think that I am not worried, though. Your mom is convinced that inducing you is a bad idea. I can't argue with that. So, you need to come on out pretty soon.

Your mommy and I were talking about decisions and how they can affect later events. Your brother was induced, and he had distress during labor. We have read that inducing labor can do that. We want you to have the best circumstances possible for your delivery. We have also read that once a mother is induced for one delivery, they need to be induced for later deliveries. That is what is getting your mommy in knots. She is frustrated that she didn't really need to induce Gabriel; he would have come in a few days. Now, because of that decision, she is afraid we will have to induce you or have a c-section. Whatever happens, I want to be able to say to myself that we gave you the chance to be here if that was supposed to be. Life without regret is a peaceful life. That has always been my goal for this pregnancy -- to make decisions that I would have wanted made on my behalf, if I were the one on the inside.

So, please know (I know you do) that we love you -- so many people love you! And we are trying to give you the chance you deserve. But now it is your time to act. We are anxiously waiting for you to spring from your chrysalis, broken or not. Come out. Don't be afraid. I will keep you safe and warm. The world is a scary place, but I will protect you with the ferociousness of a papa lion.

I love you little lion cub.

Daddy

Dear Lily,

Well, according to my calendar you are officially late. That's OK. You take your time. I do want to thank you for turning your little body around the right way. Your grandma told me tonight that you did that so that you would have more time to grow in there. I agree. Your mom and I have always said that we will do this on your terms.

I was thinking about something last night. I have been holding onto hope this whole time. Before I knew you had trisomy 18 I hoped for a healthy baby. I didn't care if you were a boy or a girl -- just healthy. Then when I found out you may have T-18, I hoped that the blood tests were wrong. I had so much hope that I convinced myself that you were fine -- it was just a scare. Then when it was confirmed that you had T-18, I was heartbroken. I hoped that either the amnio was wrong or that you had mosaicism, which would give you a better chance of surviving into adulthood. There were days I hoped God would take you with him so that you (and I admit) so that I wouldn't suffer. Then there were days when I hoped that you would make it, even for a minute, so I could see your shining face. Even today -- right this second -- I hope that there will be a miracle and that you will be healed.

The point is that I have had hope throughout all this. You seem fine. Even today at the doctor, you seemed fine. My mind cannot fully accept that you even have this awful disorder that will certainly rob me of you. So, I cling to hope, like someone hanging onto a slippery vine, swinging over a deep ravine. The thought that stopped me in my tracks was when I considered what I would do when there was no hope. What happens if you don't make it. When all hope is gone, what do I cling to? I asked your mommy that question this evening, and she said that I can hold onto the hope (knowledge) that God has grabbed your hand and wisked you into heaven. I can hold onto the hope that one day I will get to see you again. I can hold onto the hope that you are smiling down on us, without pain.

I like that kind of hope. I hope I can grab onto it if and when I need to.

Love from the other side of the belly,

Daddy-

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