Baby Stuff 1: The joy and sorrow of a name

Eight years ago I lost my Oma. She died in her sleep crowned Valentine's Day Queen at her nursing home. She won the game a bingo that night she left for a better place. I'm Catholic so I believe she is either with God, or working on her way to his side.

I miss her dearly, but I know she gave up on life and let her sickness take her. I always saw a light and strength in her. Even though she was constantly sick, in and out of the hospital, there was never a time where she wasn't strong enough to fight it. She had been sick since I was a little girl and on February 15th 2008 she didn't wake up.

My Opa, her husband, had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer. My Aunt works (if I'm not terribly forgetful) in one of the top cancer hospitals in Houston, TX, so we knew it was a deadly and difficult cancer to treat.  My mother told him not to tell Oma until she had recovered from her latest trip into the hospital.

I remember he came up to visit us in Omaha to take a break from the stress and be around his oldest grand-kids. And she passed away while he was with us. He confessed in tears that he told her before he left.  I don't know if it was the news that broke her will or if God was just ready to take her. No one told me anything besides "she was sick and passed away in her sleep".  Oma was always sick, we joked that she played Cribbage with Death.

I think it was my Opa telling her he was die-ing, and that he had lost the will to survive through the cancer. He was just so tired. So I can understand why this last time she threw the game with Death. Mind you she never threw  a game of cribbage in her life, even to her 10 year old granddaughter who was just learning the game.

Her job as a Catholic wife was nearly complete, get your husband to heaven. (Technically it's the job of both spouses to get each other to heaven, to work together to better themselves but that's not the point of this blog.) She died first and left him to be a miserable grump with cancer.

Over some scotch as he sat in my Aunt's living room before the viewing I told him he wasn't allowed to die. He was going to fight the cancer and try to live. I don't remember my exact words but I remember telling him he wasn't allowed to die until I made him a Great-Grandpa. To me he seemed both upset and yet happy with this.

My Opa survived the treatment. His heart was broken but the hard to remove cancer was cleared up. He became morbid and more grumpy than before. Saying he wanted to die. No one was happy with this. However whenever I called I would remind him, not to give up until after he was a Great-Grandpa.

5 years after Oma passed away he came to my wedding he was smiling. I danced with him and again reminded him the promise I made Oma. My first daughter would be named after the wonderful child they lost. I reminded him he wasn't allowed to give up on life until after his great-grandchild was born.

It's been 3 years and he seems to me to be a happier person. Lonely and still the ole sour puss he always was, but he's going to be a great-grandpa. I don't know if I am pregnant with a boy or girl. But the name Lillian has always been and will be the name of my first baby girl.

I've treasured that name in secret because I know how much it hurts my mother and her sisters. My mother tried so much to get me to change the name. However Oma wanted there to be joy with that name. So for my Aunt Lillian, whom I never met, and for my Oma and Opa, to whom the death hurt the most, for my mother and aunt who get sad looks when they think of her. I will bring joy back to the name, Lillian.

I made a promise and I will keep it.