33 Years
Time. Time is what has caused 33 years, to the day, to elapse since I was born. Time is what measures how long we are here, and time is what is keeping Lizzy and I apart. Lizzy is outside of time, and Cecilia and I are still within time.
33 years. Jesus died at 33 years old. At the age of 30, Jesus began his public ministry with the Baptism in the Jordan. The Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary recount this ministry: The Baptism in the Jordan, the Wedding at Cana, the Proclamation of the Kingdom of Heaven and the Call to Repentance, the Transfiguration, and the Institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. The Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary recount his Passion and Death: The Agony in the Garden, the Scourging at the Pillar, the Crowning with Thorns, the Carrying of the Cross, and the Crucifixion. These are the things that occurred between the ages of 30 and 33 for Jesus. He died at 33, and when he was resurrected, he was outside of time.
When I was 30, I learned that I was pregnant with Lizzy even though I thought I could not get pregnant. She was my miracle baby. From the ages of 30-33, I became pregnant with Lizzy, gave birth to her, had two precious years of life outside the womb with her, watched her slip from this world shortly after her 2nd birthday, lay down with her as they unplugged her from life support, held and kissed her dead body, honored her at her funeral, and buried her. A month later, I gave birth to Cecilia. Cecilia is four weeks old. And now I am 33.
Yes, I realize that I have done exponentially less with my life from the ages of 30-33 than Jesus Christ, but for me, Lizzy is my personal mystery. I do not understand fully why she chose to come to me, and I certainly don’t understand why that time could only last for two years. I do not understand, nor can I begin to accept that she is now gone, outside of time. Her death is my own personal cross to bear. But I do not bear it just at the end of my life, at age 33; no, I will bear it until I die.
During his homily at Lizzy’s funeral, our priest exhorted me to the following: “Caroline, Mary is close to you and you are close to her. Stay at the cross with her. Be there with Jesus in your suffering and in his suffering. You have the strength you need. You know that springtime will come, the Resurrection will come, eternal joy will come. You will see Lizzy again.”
Lizzy’s death is my cross, my suffering that I must carry until my own death. But Lizzy herself was pure light–the light and love of my life: my own personal luminous mystery.
And just as I do not understand why Lizzy was given to me for such a short period of time, I do not understand why I am still living, nor what is being asked of me to do during this lifespan, however long it may be. Time is outside of my understanding, but I am bound within it and its rules.
In my post yesterday, I determined that one of the things that I must do is to make time pass, but I asked the question of what I am to do with the time that is passing. Yesterday and today, the following passage from Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring has been ringing through my head:
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
This passage has always resonated very deeply with me, but now, in light of Lizzy’s death, it takes on an even deeper meaning. I do not want the burden of my daughter’s death. I do not want this cross. I do not know how to cope with this suffering. I just want my baby back.
I woke up this morning in the bed that I shared with Lizzy for almost every night of her life, and I woke up to the twin realities of her death, her utter absence from this world, and to the living, breathing, sleeping form of Cecilia beside me. I woke and began sobbing for Lizzy, missing her with a desperation that manifested in small, tearing animal sounds that emanated from me in discordant jerks. I sobbed for Lizzy, placing my hand on Cecilia’s abdomen, trying to be there for her while I grieve for her sister. I do not know what I am doing. I do not know how to carry this cross.
But I turned 33 today. So what do I do with this time? What do I do with the time in between now and when I die? My guess?
- Help the world remember Lizzy. Make sure that the world knows how much her little life mattered.
- Help Cecilia navigate the world, so that she will not be trapped by time when I enter eternity to be with Lizzy.
As for today, there is no “happy” to this birthday. There is only time passing and decisions to be made. And there is gratitude–gratitude even inside of the grief–that I got to have Lizzy, even for so short a time. And gratitude for Cecilia, who is with me in every second of my grief, and because of whom, I am never alone.