Jen MIller

Dear Friends and Family- 

It is with a heavy heart that I write this year’s message for our annual March for Babies Walk. As you know, my dad and Olivia’s Papa passed away last July. To say it's been hard would be a huge understatement. I even thought about not walking and fundraising this year because it would be too painful. But Olivia and I talked and decided that we had to keep going. And we both could imagine Dad yelling at us from Heaven, “ You had better keep fundraising and save the babies.” 

So here we are. Just weeks away from our 20th walk. Just weeks away from what may be the hardest of my “firsts” without my dad. So many years we would stop and get donuts and then help set up and tear down the Miami Township March for Babies. I remember one year getting the truck packed up and as we slammed the door shut there was the loudest clap of thunder. We laughed and ran to the car. 

I spoke at my dad’s funeral service last summer. I decided to include part of what I wrote here:

Fast forward to 2005 and you will find me pregnant with identical twin girls. It was June and I was on bedrest. Dad would come and get me for my appointments those last few weeks I was pregnant. We often stopped for ice cream. Those trips were the highlight of my week. And then, in one day, our relationship would change forever. On July 6th, dad and I went to an ultrasound appointment. We weren’t there long when we realized that something was very wrong. It didn’t take long for our fears to be  confirmed - Sweet Baby Julia had passed away. My dad drove me to the hospital from the doctor’s office. He made sure Jeff was with me and then he drove all the way home to tell my mom. The next nine days were filled with panic and chaos and grief. I never saw my dad panic though. At least not in front of me. Instead he sat with me. He talked with me. And he cried with me. And he did things I didn’t even know about like talking to the funeral home about Julia’s service. And then, on July 15th, our amazing Olivia was born. And no one was happier about her birth than my dad. Most of you know that a few days after her birth, Olivia would then need to spend almost a month in the NICU at Children’s Hospital. Again, more panic and chaos and grief. Again, my dad sat with me. And talked with me. And cried with me. That was the summer that changed everything for my Dad and I. We had a bond that I knew would never be broken. So we spent the next twenty years living. And loving. And raising Olivia. And wow- we had some amazing fun. And we experienced a lot of life. And we sat a lot. And talked a lot. And cried a lot. And then something happened and my dad was put into the hospital on July 3rd. Panic. Chaos. Grief. This time, Olivia and I sat with my dad. And we talked with my dad. And we cried with my dad. And on July 6th, the 20th anniversary of Julia’s death, my dad, Olivia and I sat and talked and cried about death. He told Olivia and I, “Don’t be sad. Don’t you dare be sad. And don’t let this change your life for the worse.” For the next four days, she and I sat with him and talked with him. We told him things like, “Go, go find Julia. Take her hand. We will be ok.” And we cried. And then, on July 9th at 10:32 pm, he took his last breaths with the two of us by his side. No more panic. No more chaos. Just peace. And then she and I sat. And we talked. And we cried. I can’t help but think that my dad, Olivia and I have been on a  journey that has come full circle. So many years ago he took care of me and saw me through a very terrible time. And then he and I saw Olivia through a very terrible time.  And now it has been our turn to see him through this very, very terrible time. And we did it with kindness. And compassion. And love. Just like “my dad” had taught us to. I will miss my dad everyday for the rest of my life. I will miss his calm during the chaos. I will miss sitting with him. And talking with him. And crying with him.

I wanted to also share this with all of you. Kyle wrote it the night before my dad passed away. He sent it to Liv and I to read as we prepared for night number two at Hospice. It seems fitting to share it here. 

A Goodnight Papa Tale (based on a true story)

Julia is an eager hand-holder, and pulls Papa by the arm to some of the places she has been impatiently waiting to show him. "Where have you BEEN, Papa? LET'S GO!!!" Papa pauses in the warm light and feels pure, blissful joy - all pain gone. Forgotten. He muses, "I have known this beloved girl forever. How are we just now meeting?"

Only now, there's time.

Time to make up time.

Time for laughter and wonder and lightness.

There is no fear. No worry.

Everything is love.

And love is everything.

Everything is pure.

And everything is just as it should be.

Exactly as it ever was.

Papa sends up two quick thank-you winks and flashes peace signs with both hands for those he loves who sent him on ahead, followed by a whispered message:

"I'm okay. Oh man, am I okay! And so are you."

He practically skips to catch up with Julia. He has left his old age behind. He is ageless. He is youthful and loose and spry and feels like he could fly. He is free.

A little later he asks himself, "I wonder what her nickname will be? Ah yes, well - we have time enough for that. Don't we, Butterfly?"

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading our message this year. We hope that you will continue to support our family team by walking with us or making a donation. Or both! Together, we have raised over $73,000 to help save babies. This One is For the Girls! And their Papa!

Peace, 

Jen