“Our daughter is so beautiful,” my mom said to my dad on the day my sister was born. Every part of her 9 lb. 13 oz., 21 inch long little self was perfect. Her dark hair made her blue eyes sparkle. I was eight. I had practiced diapering my dolls, cradling them to pretend sleep. I was ready to be a big sister. I couldn’t wait. I had even chosen her name – Elizabeth. My smile was proud!
Elizabeth was beautiful!
Within twenty-four hours, the doctors recognized something was not quite right. Her little heart beat was erratic and she struggled with breathing. In 1975, ultrasounds were not prevalent. No warnings were given prior to her birth. No warnings that my sister had a two-chambered, deformed heart. No warnings that my mother’s heart would be broken two days later!
Twenty-two years later, I delivered my second child, a beautiful little girl. She had a head-full of dark hair and blue eyes that sparkled. She weighed 10 lbs. even at 21 inches long. My mom cradled her in her arms with the sweetest smile ever. My dad stopped in his tracks as he whispered to my husband, “She looks exactly like our Elizabeth.”
My mother’s heart was delighted, filled with a healing-happiness. I chose my daughter’s name – Elizabeth. She’s beautiful, fulfilling, and knows where her name originated.