The last three days have been surreal. From the moment Esperanza left us until now seems like a fuzzy dream that I am still trying to comprehend. To help me do so, allow me to write and get it out.
The process of death, funeral and burial in Guatemala is very different than in the US. In the States there is a concerted effort to separate the family and loved ones from the deceased. When someone dies they are quickly whisked away and the family only sees them for brief periods after the body has been cleaned, embalmed and prepared. The opposite is true here. Esperanza never left our home until we walked to the cemetery for her burial.
For the first five hours after she passed away we simply took turns holding her. I took her and placed a fresh diaper on her and made sure she was clean. Then we chose to bury her in the beautiful sleeper she wore for her half-birthday celebration and wrap her in the extra soft purple blanket we bought her as one of her Christmas presents. Those hours were precious to us as we each said goodbye. We were even able to Skype with Brittney who is in the States completing her student teaching for her degree. This was important for us and for Brittney.
Our neighbor and landlord came over in the afternoon and offered to help us with arranging her grave. He walked us up to the cemetery and had us choose a spot. Then he, along with his brother and two nephews, dug the grave for us. We were so blessed and touched by their friendship and help.
Early that evening a man brought us the casket. It was covered in white satin with pink lace trim. It was placed in our living room and we placed her inside in front of our Christmas Tree. Then the visitors began to arrive. Countless people came through our door that evening to visit and simply sit in our home with us, the last of which left around midnight. There is a strong sense of community here, and we were deeply blessed and touched by each of those that supported us.
The next morning chairs were delivered and set-up in our courtyard and we carried the casket out. At 9 am the people began to arrive and simply sit to be present with us. The service followed at 10 am, with our pastor, Victor Barbella, officiating and the Beyer family and Daniel providing music. Together they all provided a beautiful tribute to our Esperanza. At the end, I stood up and shared the gospel from my point of view as her father. Once again, Brittney was able to share in the service via Skype and was able to even take the walk with us to the cemetery afterwards via remote internet and an I-pad.
Then, we all walked to the cemetery. Krishauna, Taryn, Jeremiah and Kristin Beyer carried the casket. I shared some scripture, we sang a song, and the casket was lowered into the ground. People threw in flowers and the hole was filled as we gathered around and watched. Then flowers were placed on top and we returned to our home to serve coffee and bread. We will be ordering a tombstone soon. Close friends hung around and ate lunch with us.
Then they left. And we are trying to figure out how to get back to normal…whatever that is. Late in the afternoon Wanda and, I along with our children, walked up to the cemetery again. With just us there we talked and cried and remember. And we reminded one another that Esperanza was with Jesus and that we would survive and move on in life and ministry while never forgetting her and always loving her.
But it is hard, because everything reminds us of her. Yesterday our little Kimmie was folding laundry and she began to cry. Wanda asked her what was wrong, and she said, “I just realized that this is the last time I will ever fold Esperanza’s laundry.” This afternoon I walked past the special pillow she used, and my heart broke and I began to weep. I can’t even begin to tell you how badly I want to kiss her cheek again and feel her little fingers grasping mine and playing with my goatee.
Esperanza was and is my daughter. I know the legal paperwork doesn’t acknowledge me as her dad, but I am. I love her every bit as much as my own children, both biological and adopted. And, if I could have, I would have adopted her as my own.
There is no way I can describe the depth of my love for her, but the way to come closest is to share this truth: I would have traded places with her. I spent many hours holding, feeding, changing and playing with her, and during that time I often prayed that God would let me take her place. If I could have, I would have taken her blindness on myself so that she could see. I would have taken her deafness so that she could hear. I would have taken her sickness so that she could live. If I could have had my own way, I would have been the one buried Tuesday and she would be playing happily in our living room right now. I so badly wish that I could have died so that she could live. That is a glimpse of my love for her, and still it is only a shadow.
I know that she is whole now. I know that she is seeing and hearing and dancing and running and loving and more full of joy than I could even imagine. And I do rejoice for her, as does our whole family. But, at the same time, our hearts are broken and grieving. I have never known pain this bad or this deep. I have to keep reminding myself to just breathe and that we will get through this. I have to make myself keep moving because I feel like if I stop I will never start again. So, I keep walking and crying out to God for help and strength. Right now I need Him so desperately that I could not function without His hand holding me up.
Yet, in the midst of this pain God still is teaching me. For the last few months, because of Esperanza’s influence on my life, I am beginning to understand the love of God in a deeper way.
He has taught me something that I have always known in my head, but now know in my heart: Just as I so desperately wanted to take Esperanza’s place, He took mine. He looked on my blindness, deafness and death-filled life and took that all on Himself. He died my death so that I could live and see and hear and know Him. And, suddenly, the love of God is very real to me. It is not just words on a page. It in not just facts I believe. It is passion, it is truth and it is real.
And it is true for each one of us. He looks at each one of us and begs to take our place. His heart breaks when we deny Him that. His heart soars when we embrace that offer. It is hard for me to believe, but as great as my love is for Esperanza, His love is far, far greater. It is so great that my fallen and feeble heart could not contain it. A tiny little girl that most of the world rejected has taught me far more than the world’s greatest theologians and all my years of education and study.
And so, because of that love, I will survive this pain and loss. Our family will survive and continue this ministry. Because our Jesus is so very good and His love is so very great.
For each of you that never had the chance to meet Esperanza, I am so very sorry. Heaven came to earth and lived in our home. I wish you could have experienced it first-hand. If you are a Christ follower, one day I will introduce you in heaven. But just to warn you, you will likely have to stand in line, because she will definitely be among the greatest there.
Thanks for your prayers. We need them now more than ever.
Below are two things that I have decided to share. One is a letter that I have written to Esperanza. The other is a video tribute put together by our friend, Amy Fraley, in Troy, Ohio.
Daryl, Wanda and Family
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A Letter to My Little Esperanza
Esperanza,
We love you so very much and miss you more than I could explain. God gave us the privilege of being your family, and it was one of the greatest gifts He could have given us. It is an honor to be your earthly daddy, mommy, sisters and brothers because you have filled our lives with so much joy, love and memories. You were only with us a short time, but it was so very precious to us.
I know that you are now with Jesus. I know that He has given you a new body free of blemish and illness. I know you can see and hear and run and dance. I know that you are beautiful, more beautiful than I could ever imagine. But I want you to know something…you were so very beautiful here as well. I loved the shape of your head and your perfect little face. I loved your tiny tongue and lips, your bony little knees and twisted feet. I loved your little belly and how you would sigh contentedly when I would rub it. All of these things made you who you were, our little Esperanza. You were beautiful on earth, and never let anyone tell you otherwise.
You are everywhere. You are all over our home and filling my heart. I see you on our sofa, on the love seat in our bedroom. You are in my office, where I last saw you and spoke to you and kissed you. You are in your special seat and on your special pillow. You are all around me and in me. And you are loved.
I held you a lot, but I wish I had held you more. There were times when I was responsible to care for you at night and I was tired. Instead of being excited about the time I would spend with you, I was disappointed in the sleep I would lose. Please forgive me. I wish I could have one more night on “Esperanza duty.” If I could, we wouldn’t sleep at all. We would play and talk all night. You would play with my goatee, and I would sing and you would be soothed by my rumbling chest. I would tell you again how beautiful you are and how deeply you are loved. Oh, for just one more night with you…one more hour…one more minute.
I told you a lot how much I love you, how much our family loves you, but if I could do it over again, I would tell you more. There has never been a child more loved than you.
You are no longer with us in body, but little Esperanza, you are and will always be in our hearts. Because of you, we will love better, forgive quicker and embrace more frequently. Because of you, we will see beauty where others miss it. Because of you, we will love God more and follow Him closer. And, because of you, we are richer and more blessed than most.
I know you are in our Daddy’s arms now, and I am so very happy for you. He is loving you far better than I ever could, and one day He will hold and love me in person as well. But I want you to know that for as long as I live you will have an earthly daddy, too. You have an earthly family that will always love you, remember you and miss you. And we will always be so grateful that God gave you to us for that short little while.
I love you, my little Esperanza! I will see you soon!
Your Earthly Daddy
