We went to Granny and Papaw Burkman’s on the 28th for a 55th anniversary party. (Burkman’s are Jane’s parents) It was a good time, yet bittersweet for me. Emma Rose, Jane’s great-niece, was there. She is a cute, 9 month old, blonde. Elizabeth and I were sitting on the floor holding her and loving on her. A pain hit me that hasn’t in a while. I horribly missed my Emma. So did Elizabeth. As Elizabeth sat there playing and smiling with precious Emma Rose, I held back tears. It made me hurt for Elizabeth as she has verbalized over the years, she misses her sister….. the one she never met. The one she got to feel kick her in utero. The one she knew was a girl because God told her so.
I asked her tonight, “Did playing with Emma Rose make you miss Emma Mae?” Her response….. “Yes, why? Are you and Daddy going to adopt a girl?” I can only pray God will someday bless Elizabeth with a daughter of her own.

Reading Karen’s post about Emma, I realized its been a while since I’ve thought about her and about that experience. I used to think about it several times a day but as we get further away from it, the easier it is to have days and weeks pass without thinking about it. I don’t know if I like that. I don’t want to forget that experience (I know that sounds weird but its true) and I don’t want to forget her.
It was surreal while we were going through it, almost like it really wasn’t happening to us, like I was observing it happen to someone else.

I remember holding her while she drew her last breath, I remember how tiny she was… how it seemed like she wasn’t in the blanket because she was so light. And I remember the most painful part. Coming home without her, that hurt but watching Elizabeth realize that she was not going to have a little sister at home with her was far worse. We got home and then had my parents bring her and Luke back home (Luke was just under 2 and doesn’t remember.) Elizabeth came running into the living room all excited to see her new sister. We had to tell her that Emma wouldn’t be coming home, that she was born too early and had died at the hospital. She didn’t believe us, ran to the bedroom, turned on the light and saw the empty crib. That’s when it hit her, her sister would not be coming home. She came  running back to us, Karen embraced her. She cried, Karen  cried, I cried…
I will never forget that scene.

Since we have moved to Arkansas we are continually asked how many children we have. (That is a common question, especially if people know we are on staff at FamilyLife. Four children around there is average) In the back of my mind I am always thinking five even though we only have four with us. On March 1, 2002 I went into preterm labor and delivered our third baby 16 weeks prematurely.  Emma Mae was born at 24 weeks gestation weighing 1 pound and 10 1/2 ounces. She was 12 1/2 inches long. Emma was with us for 35 1/2 hours. She died from a pulmonary hemmorage (a major vessel in her lung “popped”). 

From time to time the kids will ask about her and we explain (again) what happened.  Elizabeth was the most impacted and still longs for a baby sister.  I sometimes feel cheated when I look in the mirror and see all the stretch marks. I have been pregnant and given birth 5 times and have 4 to show for it. It is those times I recall the way God worked through our lives during that time and that His plan is perfect. There are times I still wonder what she would look like or how girlie would she be. She would have been 4 this year.  Then I look at my family and thank God for each and everyone of them.

Here is a link to the page Mike made in 2002.

http://mikeriley.freeservers.com/emma/emma.html

In one of the pictures you can see a normal sized syringe.  Also, my hand is next to her in one of them. It is really hard to grasp how tiny she was.  The diaper is about the size of a panty liner.  Her head was about the size of a large lemon. Her hands were so tiny that she could only grasp my pinky half way.

On her grave marker is the scripture: Psalm 18:32 It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.