Our daughter’s name was Aria.
I’ll admit that my husband first heard the name from a tv show and fell in love with it shortly thereafter. I was slower to warm, thinking it was much too trendy and wanted to go with something more common and classic. My husband was so in love with the name that despite my indecision, it was officially hers within seconds of learning her gender.
Not long after our daughter’s CCAM diagnosis, we learned that Aria is the Italian word for air. It’s so strange that her name was a word for something her body couldn’t process independently. Her official cause of death was respiratory failure. Her damaged and immature little lungs just couldn’t process the air her body so desperately needed.
For a while, her name was such a cruel reminder of the battle we had lost. It was maddening at times. Why couldn’t her lungs just keep going? Why did she need oxygen to survive? But now it’s a reminder that her life was exactly as The Lord had written, long before we realized she wasn’t going to be able to stay. We had no way of knowing, yet somehow it all seemed to come together, and every piece of her story fit perfectly.
After Aria left this world and entered heaven, her name quickly found another meaning. One thing we have never questioned is that even after death, our daughter’s presence is still here. It surrounds us completely, and although we cannot see her, we still feel her warm embrace. She is just like the air, felt but not seen. She is so sweetly entwined with the air that gives me life. Every breath I take is infused with her love. Aria’s air will sustain me for the rest of my life.
Aria means air.
Aria is in the air.
Not seen, but always felt.