
I can still remember like it was yesterday the very first time I was confronted with the death of a baby. Some of you might remember, from the very first days of LWB. Her name was baby Kui, and she had been born with a fairly simple heart defect, but it had gone untreated for so long that the pressure in the main vessels to her lungs rose to a level that made surgery impossible. We didn’t know it at the time. We fundraised for her surgery, sent her off to a top surgeon with such hope, and then I got a phone call saying that nothing could be done. They were going to discharge her with the knowledge that she would soon pass away. I was stunned….I could hardly comprehend it. Surely there was something that could be done for her. Surely someone had made a mistake. But all the doctors we asked for second opinions gave the same tragic news. We were too late. There was nothing that could be done.

My mailbox was flooded with replies. I received hundreds of notes and cards for Kui, each one with the statement, “I believe Kui is important.” Some had letters, some had pictures drawn by children, others had the most beautiful prayers. I saved every one.
Tonight as I was thinking of baby Ethan, I went to the cabinet drawer and took out Kui’s letters. I read each of them once again, and cried for the newest baby who didn’t get his second chance here on earth. I think the hardest thing for me in knowing that an orphaned child has passed away is that there will be no grave, no marker, no family to lovingly save their photos and memories; nothing to really prove that he or she existed. How quickly they could be forgotten. That is why I treasure Kui’s letters so much. Because they are a permanent reminder that a beautiful little girl once lived in southern China, a little girl who left too soon….but who was most definitely loved and prayed over.

Amy