A family Findley has known his entire life lost their only child in a car wreck in 2005. A drunk driver crossed the median on the interstate and hit her. The magnitude of that loss for her parents will never be measured.
A few months later, Findley and I were at a wedding party for the nephew of the couple who lost their daughter. We had Virginia with us because no one else was able to keep her. We were still devastated beyond words, and in those days, Virginia basically cried nonstop.
I am sure it was obvious that we were struggling. As we made our early exit from the party, the father who lost his only child approached Findley and gave him a hug. I will never forget what he said.
"Just hold that baby girl, Findley. Just hold her."
We were caught up in what had been lost. We were overwhelmed because we could not heal our daughter. But that father was able to look past all that had gone wrong and all Virginia's injuries and see a baby who needed to be loved. He wasn't minimizing what had happened, but he was able to see that at the end of day, it didn't really matter. We just needed to hold her.
I have thought about his words a lot lately.
As Virginia gets bigger, she will have a lot more physical issues. Her scoliosis has progressed (her muscles are not strong enough to keep her spine properly aligned) and we are going to see the pediatric orthopedic surgeon on Wednesday. I am scared. If it needs to be straightened, it is beyond a huge surgery, especially for our little lamb.
I know lots of you pray for her, and I guess I am posting this in hopes of prayer for Wednesday and for medical issues that will arise down the road. I pray that Virginia will have as little pain as possible in her life and that we can somehow avoid some of what could lie ahead.
I would trade places with her in a nanosecond. I would give my life so that she could be healed and be able to eat and talk and run. But I can't.
All I can do is hold her.