A Rose by any other name....

...could never be as sweet as my Rose.

This moment, three years ago I was laboring. Hard. I was determined to bring that baby into the world on Thursday the 12th. Not even my will-power (which is considerable) could make her come any sooner than her destined Friday the 13th. But as soon as she came, in the wee hours of dawn, the date no longer mattered. Nine months of discomfort, hours of labor pain, moody rides of hope and anxiety, prayers uttered unceasing, all of it slid from me into the abyss of past.

She was now.

That night they took her from me. Her body temperature had dropped too low and they were worried. She was in an incubator with an IV when I went to her. Somehow in that setting she looked much more frail, just a little tiny bud vulnerable to frost. I went to my bed empty armed. The next morning we went to her again but her incubator was empty. Alarmed, we went to the desk, "Where's Rose?"

Unconcerned they answered, "Oh we moved her."

"Where?"

"Down the hall to the right. Room 13."

Dave and I looked at each other. He knew it was coming, "Don't tell me 13 is just another number!"

But it was, after all, just a number. For she is a song and a star and a rose all rolled up into one. A poem in a cherry dress and Pooh panties. And for us, she's the last dream we will ever give birth to.

May God increase your bloom little one and trim your thorns as you learn to love and follow Him.