Her Daddy's Love

My husband is my hero right now. 

Not the knight-in-shining-armor kind of hero.

He loved his Ella Belle in a way that I have not seen before - strong in a meek kind of way, gentle in a protective sort of way, doting in a way that I wish I could watch for years.

I'm pretty sure that Jason's Ella Belle knew his voice.  When we'd crash on the couch after the other kids were in bed, she would start moving around a little bit more when he started talking.  When he and I 'argued' over what to watch on tv, she kicked more when he talked about football. 

We both think she would have been a tomboy.  I might have been able to get some pink dresses on her for a while, but she'd have been in torn jeans and muddy t-shirts by the time she and Seth could have played together.  :-)

Jason talked to her often.  He kissed my belly.  During ultrasounds, he was able to recognize body parts faster than me.  He would ask the tech all kinds of questions.  He prayed for her.  He worried about her.  He loved her.

When we had to say goodbye to her in the hospital, Jason was the one who took her from my arms and placed her so gently in a basket.  A nurse didn't do it.  The funeral home man didn't do it.  Ella Belle's daddy did.

It took an immeasurable amount of love - for me and his Ella Belle - to do that.

On Monday, before we left the hospital, we had to finish filling out the information for her birth certificate.  We had not been able to settle on one of her middle names.  Jason did lots of searching after Elliana was born.  He searched names and meanings of names.  And finally, when it came down to the last minute and we had to pick something, Jason chose.  He didn't choose something spiritual and Hebrew and pastor-ish.  Which is basically what we've done with our other kids.  He chose something French... and really girlie.  'Belle'.  He chose it because it means 'beauty'.  And he chose it because he likes the nickname 'Ella Belle'.

I agonized over who the pallbearers would be at the funeral.  For days.  And we were told we really only needed one person to carry her tiny casket.  That felt awful.  For one person to bear the weight of carrying her.  I thought that it might not be quite so unbearable if two people carried her.

My dad and brothers - we couldn't ask them.  Couldn't ask my dad to carry his granddaughter.  Couldn't ask my brothers to carry their niece.

I thought of close friends, elders from our church.  Anyone who could take this burden.

I agonized.  Me.  Just me. 

Jason wasn't worrying about who was going to carry her.  Jason was in a different kind of agony.  A 'daddy' kind of agony.  Loving his baby girl so much that he wanted to carry her one last time, even if it broke his heart all over again.

I wanted a back-up plan, just in case he changed his mind at the last minute.  My sweet husband (somewhat reluctantly) did let his control-freak wife have a back-up plan.

But I think he knew we wouldn't need one. 

At the end of the service, I watched Jason walk over to Elliana's casket and pick it up.  It was probably the moment he felt his weakest as a daddy.  But he showed more strength and love and sacrifice in that moment than I have ever seen.  As awful as it was, there was beauty in that moment. 

Our time with her was so short.  It feels like we were robbed of a lifetime with her.  But I think one of the things I will miss the most is watching this daddy love his Ella Belle.