Two days ago, one of my closest friends found out her 25-week-old unborn baby had passed away. Yesterday, with her husband beside the bed, she delivered his body and named him Jonathan. When I and a few other people close to them went to visit and conduct a small prayer ceremony, they let us see him. Jonathan looked like a small, wrinkled doll, with his mother's lips and his father's nose, fingers perfectly formed (and incredibly tiny fingernails), and arms thinner than pencils. He was beautiful.
They'll go on to have many more children, but we will never forget their firstborn, their little saint, who is now in Heaven, watching over and praying for them.