Four weeks after our daughter Malia’s death we decided to scatter her ashes at Beavertail, which is the park we went to on the night we found out about her anencephaly. This evening was similar to the night a few months back. We sat on the same cliff. It was cloudy. And the wind invited us to hold our coats a little tighter and speak a little louder than a calm day. We stood on the same rocks and although we were in a similar state of shock, this time we read Scripture, shared our lost hopes for our baby’s life and the tears flowed more freely. We threw our (biodegradable) lost hope lists into the crashing waves, I folded mine into the shape of a whale because we had planned on making Malia’s nursery whale-themed. Chris scattered her ashes and we threw dozens of mini-white roses into the waters as our final goodbye. Gungor’s “This is Not the End” echoed off the rocks and we stared off into the ocean allowing the reality of the moment set in. We will never be able to see our dreams for our little girl fulfilled in this life, but God has so much in store for her in these days with Him that we cannot imagine.