Dancing on the Waves by Bethel Music & We The Kingdom

The four of us were sitting at the invisible corners of the round table. Alex and I were huddled close together over the phone screen and Eddie’s mom was bent over to the right of us. Her husband (Eddie’s dad) was still sitting in his chair, but seemed to be running through by memory what we were seeing as it played on the phone screen in front of us. All four of us had steady tears loosely dripping down our cheeks. This song was playing as we watched the beautiful video for the even more beautiful little boy’s funeral. On the screen, a florist was on the bank of a lake in Minnesota, placing intentional flowers on a stand that would be at the front of the church when his parents, family and other loved ones would gather to mourn him. Flashes of his two older siblings and his parents clutching stuffed turtles and pointing attention to his Beads of Courage were also in this video. Watching their fingers roam over the familiar molds of Eddie’s hand and foot, incased in a white, chalky heart shape sent a pang of empathy through my chest. As I watched his mom touch her way down one of her late son’s outfits, I knew she understood how I felt about my William. And that broke my heart because I wouldn’t wish for understanding of the pain I carry around on anyone.

“I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the story of Jesus on the boat with his followers during a storm?” Eddie’s dad asked us and I nodded my head in response; I had absolutely heard this story.

Chapter 8 in the book of Matthew tells the story of Jesus getting on a boat along with his followers. A storm came up and the waves were surrounding them, “sweep[ing] over the boat, but Jesus was sleeping.” The others on the boat went to Him and were deeply scared. “We’re going to drown!” They yelled and Jesus just said, “Why are you afraid?” And then, Jesus calmed the storm with the wave of His hand.

“There is a painting of Jesus and a boy sleeping on the boat in that storm. We imagine it as Eddie.” his dad continued.

My heart swelled again with understanding and empathy. Hearing the words of this song and knowing that Eddie was dancing on the waves was profound for me. “You’re weary from it all, been running for too long. I’m here to bring you home. I’m reaching out… I dare you to believe how much I love you now. Don’t be afraid… we’ll be walking on the water, dancing on the waves.” Such a beautiful image- Jesus dancing on the waves with Eddie.

A little background on sweet Eddie… his parents found out at their 20-week ultrasound that their sweet boy had Total Anomalous Pulmonary Venous Return (TAPVR). From what his parents told us, their doctors weren’t too concerned about it during their pregnancy. They thought he would go home after birth for a few months and then go back to the hospital for the big surgery to fix his heart and then maybe another one further on in life. When Eddie was born though, it turned out what they could see in the prenatal imaging wasn’t what they saw when he was born and/or when he went in for his first surgery at less than 24 hours old. They didn’t get to snuggle him or look at him in awe of his perfect face without medical equipment attached. But man… as they were talking, the truth of their deep, unwavering love for their boy was the most obvious I’ve maybe ever seen.

They told us about how Eddie was more than his medical condition though. He, like William, happened to have a pretty dang good side eye. He was a fan of playing with his momma’s finger too. His eyes were big and beautiful and wise. He knew how he wanted things to go and that was at a slow and steady pace. When they learned this about him, they adopted turtles as his “mascot.” Eddie was STRONG; defying the odds his parents were prepared for, surprising his care team every step of his journey.

It turned out too, that Eddie was at the same hospital where William spent his life. He was at M Health Fairview Masonic Children’s Hospital only a few short weeks after William died there. Only about an hour after we got to Faith’s Lodge, the four of us were sitting by a fireplace talking and sharing about our favorite nurses and doctors. Sharing about our experiences with CHD babies. Sharing about our boys. It felt like for the first time, we could talk openly about William’s care team with someone who knew those people like we did. It felt serendipitous that we ended up being at that retreat the same weekend, especially since Alex and I planned to go in December, but the miscarriage interrupted that.

The day after we met each other, Eddie’s dad told us that he had realized something kind of wild- even further than what we had already figured out together. Eddie was almost exactly (to the hour) half of William’s age. I don’t think any of us know why that feels as significant as it does, but it struck us all on such a deep level.

There were seven babies being represented at that bereaved parents’ retreat and each and every one of them touched my heart. Hearing about them, learning their names, and getting to know their parents was such an honor. It was heartbreaking, eye-opening, and humbling to learn how their infant children went to Heaven. And I will always be grateful for the opportunity to meet them and learn about those sweet children.

I thought about all of them and the experience on our drive home from the retreat while listening to William’s Playlist. I had added this song to that playlist right after hearing it with Eddie’s parents and it started playing as I reminisced on the few days before.

The lyrics, “Can you see us dancing?” lovingly interrupted the peaceful memories. The lyrics from “Dancing in the Sky” (one of the songs we had at William’s funeral) came barreling back into me at that moment too.

“I hope you’re dancing in the sky and I hope… the angels know what they have.” The image of Eddie and William and all the other children from the weekend dancing was so sweet to see in my mind, but hit me in the gut. We miss them so much, but they are all dancing now. First, they danced on the waves and now they’re dancing in the sky.

My imagination zoomed in on two little boys in the group… next to each other were Eddie and William, who had similar human experiences, free of all the tubes and wires- dancing together. Their bodies perfect without scars, hopping around and giggling like healthy little kids do. The vision of this free-spirited interaction brought me peace while also bringing me another ache in my chest.

How sweet would it be if we could see it here and now.

The truth is though, where they are now- their restored hearts and their “past… dead and gone. [Their] healing has begun.” Now, it’s Alex, me, and Eddie’s mom and dad (and the other babies’ parents) who are on the waves. We’re the ones in the storm with fear and pain. But as the story says, we have to continue to ask ourselves “why are [we] afraid?”

There is calming to our storms too. Even if… actually, especially when the waves “sweep over the boat.” But it’s our storm to weather now. Not our sweet babies because they’re dancing in the sky with Jesus.