My Story: Our Baby’s Funeral


On Thursday, just three days after Hadassah died, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Black. Never had the color of my clothes meant so much to me. Never had it mirrored my emotions so closely either.

I sighed heavily, as if a thousand stones weighed down my spirit. Kenny encircled me with his arms and pressed me into him. We both cried, silent sobs sending tremors through us.

“What a perfect day for a funeral,” I said. Gray clouds clung low to the ground and sheeted the sky in its drab haze. Rain spritzed the windshield as we pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot.

Our Last Moment

When Kenny pulled open the door and ushered me inside the building, I battled my tears back.

“Which party are you here with?” A lady from the funeral home asked.

“We’re here for the George funeral.” Kenny answered for us. A ball wedged in my throat and kept me from speaking.

“And who are you?”

“We’re the Georges.”

At this announcement, the lady paused. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

The director showed us the chapel where we could spend time with our baby privately. I burst into tears again as I approached our precious girl.

When we had left the hospital, a peachy tint still glowed in Hadassah’s contented face. We could flex her soft fingers as we held her close. Now, I stroked her pallid skin and caressed her hardened fingers. I resisted the urge to pick her up from her tiny casket.

“These are roses,” I said through a film of tears. I cried harder because that was Hadassah’s middle name. Hadassah Rose George.

I fingered the pale pink flowers, then gazed back at my baby. Could this really be happening? Maybe I would startle awake from my nightmare soon.

The Funeral

One by one, our families trickled into the chapel. Then, friends were welcomed inside. Each new arrival triggered another outburst of tears as we embraced the close friends and family we had invited.

Finally, the time had come. Everyone filed out, giving us one last moment with our baby. Our parting at the hospital had only been short. But this time, we knew we wouldn’t see her face again until we reached Heaven.

Crying, Kenny and I kissed our daughter’s sweet face. Then we made our way through the chapel door and to the graveside service.

I can’t tell you much of what Pastor said that day. I can tell you his words comforted me. As we drove away from the our baby’s funeral that day, I felt my soul flood with peace. I knew we would still struggle sometimes, but Hadassah lived with Jesus now. We would see her again someday soon.

by Sarah George


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