The truth about "kibbies"





Blankets. They were always so comforting when we were kids.

They kept you warm no matter where you were and gave you comfort when the storms rattled your windows in the dark. They seemed to become force fields to keep the monsters from getting you in the middle of the night. They lived through picnics, wrestling matches, spills and tears and forty-seven trips through the washing machine. They made great nets for catching little brothers and capes for rescuing kittens stuck in trees. They even served as makeshift sleeping bags when “camping” on the trampoline in the summertime. They turned you into mummies and burritos and “bugs in a rug” - and once in a while they would cover you while you slept.

I’d forgotten until recently how much a simple household accessory had meant. And I’d be willing to bet that when you read the previous paragraph, you had your own childhood memories running through your mind. I’ll admit that I, too, only had my younger years in mind when writing it out. Blankets and comfort and fun all wrapped up together are mostly referenced to kids and their fierce imaginations.

But in the past two months, I have realized that my adult side had been comforted by a blanket not to different from those of our pasts. A little crocheted afghan in white and pink and purple and green was given as a gift in probably the hardest time of my life.

In losing my daughter this past November, I have found crevices in my heart I never knew existed. I have found a style of hurt I had never experienced before and cried more tears than I ever imagined possible. But in the midst of all that pain, my little Lia’s life was remembered through one tiny blanket that a stranger had made and donated to the hospital.

She was so small, my Lia. Unbelievably tiny limbs curled up within the folds of this magnificent gift, her face with her mommy’s nose peeking out at the top of the little bundle. I held her for what felt like an eternity, sobbing and sniffling and saying so many sorry’s that I knew weren’t necessary. Kyle held his daughter and his unspoken love for her filled the room and moved my heart.

That memory is the only one I truly have of my daughter. The only image of her that stays in my mind is all thirteen ounces of her snuggled in that blanket like she was ready to nap after all the hard work it took being born. And on my hardest days, I have her “kibbie” to snuggle with and remember her face and thank God for the 23 weeks I was given with her.

In light of the healing brought by my daughter’s only earthly possession, it is a great joy to use this project to donate small blankets for hurting families who have lost a baby. I want other moms to be blessed by that simple gift, just as I was. So many people have been jumping on board with me on this fantastic journey - so much love and talent is being shared with others who need it deeply.

So next time you curl up under your own “kibbie” (because I know you have one, whether you’ll admit it or not), remember my Lia and the lives she has touched without breathing a single breath on this earth. Pray for those who are struggling through this season in their lives - and pray for me as I struggle through mine. Pray that all of us in this situation may find comfort in the Lord’s promise that “every tear shall be wiped away”.

And Lia… save me a seat around His throne, would you?