It’s all about Georgie

My nephew Georgie is never far from my mind, but especially at this time of year.

It was eight years ago when Georgie passed away in utero just a few weeks before we were planning to meet him. I still remember where I was when I heard the news. It was Halloween, and we had a whole evening of trick-or-treating ahead of us.

Each year, as we move into All Saints’ Day and then All Souls’ Day, Georgie is there—oh-so-close at every turn, never far from my thoughts.

During the month of November, we pray for souls. Around here, we also tell stories about the people we love who have passed away. My husband makes our boys laugh at tales of his grandfather—and others they’ll never know this side of heaven. It’s beautiful and wonderful and a gift to keep our loved ones’ memories alive.

With Georgie, you might think I wouldn’t have much to remember. But I have been thinking that I do have memories of Georgie’s short life on earth—and I treasure them.

I remember the day I discovered Treasa and George were expecting a baby. My sons and I met them for a spontaneous lunch out, and I saw that Treasa had a piece of cotton and a piece of tape on her arm, right where you have blood drawn. I noticed it right away, and I was so excited. I knew it had to be early days, and they weren’t telling people yet. But I felt sure there was a baby on the way.

A few weeks later, Treasa and I went shopping together, and I saw her admiring a rocking chair, sitting on a ledge. Mmm-hmm, I thought. “Let me get that down for you so you can try it out,” I said, knowing she shouldn’t lift anything. Our eyes met, and she knew I knew—but, of course, I wouldn’t ask. Because it was her news to share. But I knew she was having a baby.

When she and George started sharing their news, we were all so excited. Treasa and I laughed together about how I had already known. I loved that I had known almost from the start.

Treasa called me the night they found out Georgie was a boy, and she told us his beautiful name. My little preschooler—who was only 3—was in the room, and he took the phone from me and said sweetly as if his cousin could hear him, “Hi, Georgie.” And maybe he did hear.

We talked about Baby Georgie all the time. My boys were excited that they would have a little boy cousin, and we couldn’t wait to meet him. They loved hearing that when Aunt Treasa played the piano, Georgie tried to dance inside of her.

Treasa and Georgie (in utero) were with me when I presented our offer on our house directly to the owner, standing and chatting with him in what is now our driveway. We settled on the house just in time for me to throw a shower for Georgie—a joyful celebration, even though we had a huge plumbing issue right before the party started. The Roto-Rooter man arrived just as our guests were pulling up.

I prayed fervently for Georgie while he was alive. Since he passed away, I have asked him to pray for other intentions—for babies who are sick, for difficult pregnancies, for mothers who are grieving, and for challenges that are specific to my family.

I tell our boys they have a special friend in heaven, a saint few people know about. We know we can ask Georgie to whisper our intentions right into Jesus’ ear.

We will be praying for many people this November, but my mind will return again and again to Georgie. He might have had a short life by earthly standards, but he has had an extraordinary impact on mine. And I am thankful for the memories I have.

You might also be interested in:

Heaven is not so far away

Georgie’s Story: Choosing life when the prognosis is death

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