With Love for Maya Analise Will

On December 25, 2011, my son Adam and his wife Marisa informed Sherry and me that they were expecting their first child -- we were to become grandparents.

From that moment on, I had a grandchild.  From that moment on, my grandchild became a part of my future, part of our family, part of my plan for life.

A few weeks later, having just found out the sex of the baby, Adam & Marisa called home – from Target Center, where they were about to enjoy a Timberwolves basketball game – and informed us it was a girl.  We would be having a granddaughter.  And so, with even more specifics, my dreams and hopes and plans became even more real.  

In my mind, I was holding her just after her birth in mid-July.  I was rocking her in my arms, as I had done to her father twenty-eight years prior, trying to help her fall asleep as I had done for him.  I was anticipating a Christmas in 2012 with a baby surrounded by wrapping paper.  I had already begun creating my “Grandpa’s Reading List” – the books I looked forward to reading to her, using the silly voices I had put away for, oh I suppose almost 15 years, since Leah stopped having her Daddy read to her.

And I watched as my son – my Adam – who is never too high, and never too low – glowed and laughed and literally bounced with the joy of his fatherhood.

In every way, I was already a grandfather.  I already had a granddaughter.

Then, late in the evening a week ago – so late that it was already Monday in the very early morning, I received the phone call from Adam.  Their daughter, still 13 weeks from her due date, had died.  There was no warning.  There was no known reason.  Her heart had stopped.  Delivery would take place, but there was no chance that their daughter, our granddaughter, would live to see any of those things I had planned.

Maya Analise Will was delivered in the very early hours of April 17, 2012.  The family began gathering, and the pain was indescribable.  On Sunday, April 22, a memorial service was held for Maya, and her ashes were interred in the columbarium at Mount Olive Lutheran Church, where Adam and Marisa had joined Lucas, Leah, Sherry and myself as members less than a day before the terrible news.

The service was beautiful.  Simple and touching.  The message from Pastor Siri Strommen-Campbell spoke directly to Marisa and Adam, but also spoke to all of us who were sharing in grief and in love.  And by “all of us” I am speaking of many, many people.  Asked earlier in the week how many people they thought might come to the service -- so that the people planning the post-service snacks might prepare -- Marisa and Adam had estimated 100 at most.  We didn’t count, but the number of people in the sanctuary was well over that 100 mark.

The participation of such a large number of family, friends and colleagues at the service meant so much to the grieving parents, and to us as close family members, that words fail me again.  I thank each and every one of them, as well as those who expressed their sympathies but could not join us.

In the years to come, I suppose I will have more grandchildren.  My children all seem to want to become parents, and if they do, I am confident they will fill their roles admirably.  Adam and Marisa certainly already have. Consequently, I suppose I will one day look forward to another baby to bounce on my knee, to carry around, to read to.

Yet no matter how many other members we add to this family, my heart will always, always, have a special place for Maya.  Our faith tells us that, though she never got to breathe air, take steps, or say words, her life goes on.  Her life brings us joy, her life increases the love in our lives, and though it did not go according to our human plans, we are blessed that her life will always be a part of our shared story.

Goodbye, Maya.  You will be missed.  And you are loved.  Oh yes, you are so very loved.