"It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah"

Today is the day we celebrate the baby's short life. I'm unable to attend the calling hours, but I'm thinking of the family all day.

It's an odd thing to think about, really, the death of an infant. It doesn't seem like death is supposed to be a part of an infant's life. Death is a part of life for someone older. Not even that old, even 20 years old. At least at 20, it seems like a natural progression. We grow and grow and grow until we're done growing, and then what's left? Death. But with a baby, he's just begun growing. His life started as one cell, joined with a second. And division and multiplication took place and now he's a million little cells. Little cells with years left of dividing and multiplying. Some of his bones aren't even hard yet. His hair isn't real hair yet. His eyes aren't even able to see further than a few inches away. The natural progression would be for his bones to form, his hair to coarsen, and his eyes to focus. Not for him to die without even experiencing the warmth of his own home.

It's fun to think about what Anthony's personality would be like. Would he be quiet and studious? Outgoing and a class clown? An athletic do-gooder? Or like his father, on a mission to spread the word of God? We'll never know, but I'm sure Christen and Anthony will always wonder what life would be like if their other children had an older brother. It's a shame he never got to grow up. I hope they heal quickly. And know they're lucky to have met such an amazing person; a person with, yes, a short life, but a strong one. Blessings to everyone who was touched by Anthony's story.