There are a lot of songs out there that speak to painful places in each of us. Held, by Natalie Grant is one that I particularly like because it is honest isn't trite. Here's the song and the lyrics:
Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.
Who told us we’d be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We’re asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It’s unfair.
Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.
This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lillys of the valley and tomorrow.
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.
Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday
This past Tuesday, April 22 was Joshua's expected due date. It was a sad day for us in a lot of ways. Jeff and I both took the day off of work and spent time together at home and then went to visit his grave. The day was also an illustration of how badly Satan wants to tear us apart from one another and from God.
I went to the store to buy some flowers for Joshua's grave and my debit card was denied. I knew that couldn't be right. First of all, the flowers only cost ten dollars. Secondly, I had looked at our account two days earlier and we weren't close to being overdrawn. I went home and told Jeff what had happened and he got in touch with the bank to try to find out what was going on. We of course then got into an argument about money. I won't go into the details, mainly because it is so silly now looking back on it. Suffice it to say that on a day we should have been clinging to the only other person who might know how we felt, we pushed each other away, even if only for a short while. Turns out that the bank made a huge, huge mistake and they credited our account. After an hour or so, everything was fine financially speaking.
The picture was painted for me though when it came to the reality of the two vastly different trajectories we can take in each of the things we go through.
Will I let hurt and sin push me away into my own solitude? Will I stick close to those I love?
Will I doubt? Will I trust?
Will I protect myself? Will I love?
Living life in the former of each of those is tiring and difficult; it is a trap. Living life in the latter can be painful and difficult; but it is freeing.
In the title of my blog, I say that I know our story will be one of redemption. I am not sure I had any idea what that meant when I wrote it, nor do I now exactly how it will look in my life. I know what it does not look like though - I'll talk more about that soon - but one thing I've learned or been reminded of in the past week is what redemption truly is. It is not primarily about me or my life, but about Christ and His life, death, and resurrection. Paying the price so that I may know the joy of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. Even in the midst of tragedy.
This quote says it well for me: "Christ saves us neither by the mere exercise of power, nor by his doctrine, nor by his example, nor by the moral influence which he exerted, nor by any subjective influence on his people, whether natural or mystical, but as a satisfaction to divine justice, as an expiation for sin, and as a ransom from the curse and authority of the law, thus reconciling us to God by making it consistent with his perfection to exercise mercy toward sinners" Hodge's Systematic Theology.
UPDATE: After posting this, I read a blog post that explained so well many of the thoughts and prayers going on in me lately. I long for everything to be "made right", and I won't stop waiting for it, but life tells me that this side of Heaven things will not be right, even if for a moment they seem to be. You can read it here.
I went to the store to buy some flowers for Joshua's grave and my debit card was denied. I knew that couldn't be right. First of all, the flowers only cost ten dollars. Secondly, I had looked at our account two days earlier and we weren't close to being overdrawn. I went home and told Jeff what had happened and he got in touch with the bank to try to find out what was going on. We of course then got into an argument about money. I won't go into the details, mainly because it is so silly now looking back on it. Suffice it to say that on a day we should have been clinging to the only other person who might know how we felt, we pushed each other away, even if only for a short while. Turns out that the bank made a huge, huge mistake and they credited our account. After an hour or so, everything was fine financially speaking.
The picture was painted for me though when it came to the reality of the two vastly different trajectories we can take in each of the things we go through.
Will I let hurt and sin push me away into my own solitude? Will I stick close to those I love?
Will I doubt? Will I trust?
Will I protect myself? Will I love?
Living life in the former of each of those is tiring and difficult; it is a trap. Living life in the latter can be painful and difficult; but it is freeing.
In the title of my blog, I say that I know our story will be one of redemption. I am not sure I had any idea what that meant when I wrote it, nor do I now exactly how it will look in my life. I know what it does not look like though - I'll talk more about that soon - but one thing I've learned or been reminded of in the past week is what redemption truly is. It is not primarily about me or my life, but about Christ and His life, death, and resurrection. Paying the price so that I may know the joy of the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. Even in the midst of tragedy.
This quote says it well for me: "Christ saves us neither by the mere exercise of power, nor by his doctrine, nor by his example, nor by the moral influence which he exerted, nor by any subjective influence on his people, whether natural or mystical, but as a satisfaction to divine justice, as an expiation for sin, and as a ransom from the curse and authority of the law, thus reconciling us to God by making it consistent with his perfection to exercise mercy toward sinners" Hodge's Systematic Theology.
UPDATE: After posting this, I read a blog post that explained so well many of the thoughts and prayers going on in me lately. I long for everything to be "made right", and I won't stop waiting for it, but life tells me that this side of Heaven things will not be right, even if for a moment they seem to be. You can read it here.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Part 3
Well, so I suppose I lied. I said in my last post that I would post Part 3 soon, and it has been a couple of weeks. With apologies, here is Part 3 of our story . . .
Part 3
The nurses changed again. At about 2:30 in the afternoon of the 5th, I was totally exhausted. I hadn’t really slept in a couple of days and the toll of being in labor added to that exhaustion. The nurses had let me know that they could give me some drugs for pain or to help me sleep before I got an epidural, but I am not the biggest fan of pain medication, so I turned them down each time they offered. By 3:30 though, I decided to give in. The nurse told me they could give me a half dose to see how it made me feel and if all went well they could give me the rest of the dose. As she put the meds into my IV, I don’t think my eyes even stayed open to see her leave the room. I was out.
The next three hours were like a weird mix of hallucinating and sleeping. If people were in the room or outside in the hall, their voices were magnified. Jeff and my Dad were out in the hallway talking and it sounded to me like they were yelling. Jeff assured me later that they were whispering. I had these odd dreams full of childhood toys and the dishes we had when I was growing up. My grandmothers' houses were part of it in some indescribable way. I did appreciate the sleep, but that experience confirmed to me that I do not like pain medication, and also why I didn’t do drugs. Who would want to make themselves feel like that?
By 6:00 PM the drugs had worn off and I told the nurse I would certainly not be doing that again! We settled in for the night, all the while praying together and Jeff encouraging me with scripture and hugs and kind words. I’m sure we had visitors during that time too, but as I look back, really the only thing that marks the time for me is the nurse shift changes and the visitors and phone calls kind of slip in and out amongst the hours.
As the night dragged on, the contractions were getting stronger and closer together and my nurse assured me that that was a good sign and we were starting to speed things along. Finally at about 1:00 AM the pain hit the point at which I was ready to get the epidural. Our nurse called the anesthesiologist and he was there before I knew it and within minutes the pain had subsided. Even though I now remember it happening with Caroline, at the time I was surprised that as soon as the pain went away, uncontrollable shaking overtook me for the next ten minutes or so. The nurse told us that that happens because your body has been under so much stress and it is releasing it after you aren’t feeling the pain anymore.
After about an hour of calm and silence at 2:26 AM on December 6, 2007, our son Joshua was delivered – much too soon and much too late. He was gone before he arrived. After 22 hours of labor his body entered a world that his spirit will never know. 10 1/4 cm, 14.1 oz. He looked like a perfect, but very tiny baby. He could fit in your two hands cupped together.
The time that it would take scared me so much going into the hospital on December 5th, but as crazy as it may sound, I look back and appreciate that it took 22 hours and not two. Those hours were full of prayers and reflection and receiving and giving so much that I would not shorten that time if I could. Had Joshua been born alive and healthy, there would have been no limit on the time I would give to get him here, and for me the fact that he wasn’t doesn’t change that for me. Those hours were without question dark and hard at times, but also filled with love and healing.
Grace and peace.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
still pondering
Here's a link to a great series on helping friends who are grieving. I've been reading her series and hesitated to post a link because I don't want any of you to think I was posting it to *nudge* *nudge*, give you some passive sort of idea for how to talk to me. I changed my mind though when I recently spoke with an old friend, whom I hadn't seen in years, about our loss and found out she lost a baby a few years ago too. That conversation reminded me that all of us encounter people who are grieving and even when you've been through it recently, it helps to be reminded what those people need. So here's the link. It's on part 7 now and each post has a link to the previous installment.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
well said
I'm taking a little time to get the words "right" for part 3. As I am searching, I thought I'd share this; it is a post from a man with cancer. As my title for this post says: well said.
"My cancer has been promoted: I’m officially in stage 4. My doctors have found two cancerous nodules—a euphemism for “small tumors”—one on each of my lungs. I started chemo this week. Next week, I’ll see a thoracic surgeon who will, sometime this summer, cut those tumors out. Needless to say, this isn’t good news—though, thanks to medical advances (especially, thanks to those evil drug companies that politicians regularly attack), it isn’t disastrous news either. We’ll see what the future brings.
This is one of the biggest reasons I believe my faith is true: something deep within us expects, even demands moral order—in a world that shouts from the rooftops that no such order exists. Any good metaphysical theory must explain both of those phenomena: both the expectation and the lack of supporting evidence for the thing expected. The only persuasive way to get there, I think, is to begin with a world made good that was twisted, corrupted, bent. Buried deep in our hearts are hints of the way things ought to be; the ugliest reality can’t snuff them out. Still, that reality exists; it can’t be denied. Christianity sees that reality, recognizes it for what it is—but also sees the expectation, and recognizes where it comes from.
I do need to know some things. Three, to be precise: first, that I’m not alone; second, that my disease has not made me ugly to those I love and to the God who made me; and third, that somehow, something good can come from this." Less Than the Least (H/T: Professor Bainbridge)
"My cancer has been promoted: I’m officially in stage 4. My doctors have found two cancerous nodules—a euphemism for “small tumors”—one on each of my lungs. I started chemo this week. Next week, I’ll see a thoracic surgeon who will, sometime this summer, cut those tumors out. Needless to say, this isn’t good news—though, thanks to medical advances (especially, thanks to those evil drug companies that politicians regularly attack), it isn’t disastrous news either. We’ll see what the future brings.
This is one of the biggest reasons I believe my faith is true: something deep within us expects, even demands moral order—in a world that shouts from the rooftops that no such order exists. Any good metaphysical theory must explain both of those phenomena: both the expectation and the lack of supporting evidence for the thing expected. The only persuasive way to get there, I think, is to begin with a world made good that was twisted, corrupted, bent. Buried deep in our hearts are hints of the way things ought to be; the ugliest reality can’t snuff them out. Still, that reality exists; it can’t be denied. Christianity sees that reality, recognizes it for what it is—but also sees the expectation, and recognizes where it comes from.
I do need to know some things. Three, to be precise: first, that I’m not alone; second, that my disease has not made me ugly to those I love and to the God who made me; and third, that somehow, something good can come from this." Less Than the Least (H/T: Professor Bainbridge)
Friday, April 4, 2008
The story continuted
Part 2
I woke up (I think it might be more accurate to say "got up", because I slept very little that night) at around 1:30 am on December 5th, took a shower, got ready and made sure my bag was packed. Jeff and I left the house around 2:30 am. Somehow it seemed "right", if there can be such a thing in this situation, to be driving in the middle of the night, in complete darkness, to go do the unimaginable. The only car on the road, driving past empty parking lots, empty stores lit up for for the holidays, and houses with people sleeping soundly. Just three days ago I had been one of those who slept soundly; then on a Monday morning, one moment changed my life. Fear and dread and confusion now crashed over me in waves. It felt like my heart and mind and spirit were stuck in the sand just off shore; every time we thought the waves were over, they crashed in again. It felt like slowly drowning, bit by bit.
The last time I went to the hospital in the middle of the night it was to deliver Caroline, so even though I was scared then, I was also joyful; I was prepared to go home with a baby in my arms. This time it was so different, so wrong. The fear was only tinged with anxiety and the dark knowledge that I would not be leaving this hospital with my baby this time. One line kept running through my head, "I am here to deliver my dead child." Harsh and horrible, I know, but true. As we walked into the hospital, I prayed that no one would ask how I was doing or whether we knew whether we were having a boy or a girl. Those good natured questions normally open a window of opportunity for people to share your joy; to us though they were questions I wasn't prepared to answer.
We were admitted to the hospital and they got me set up in room by about 3:15 or so. The nurses were wonderful, they got my IV started on the first try (with Caroline they had to call in the anesthetist to get my IV going after sticking me four times)! They gave me my first does of Cytotec (sp??), which is the drug they use to induce labor. By 4:00 am our pastor and his wife were there to pray with us (what a blessing - they are truly such servants. They slipped in and slipped out many times over the next 24 hours. They have such a gift of being supportive without being intrusive). My Dad was there by 6:30 and before I knew it it was time for the new shift for the nurses.
At 7:00 am We got another wonderful nurse who encouraged me and prayed for me throughout her time with us. Those first few hours were filled with anxiety, the nurses try to prepare you for what might happen, but every delivery is so different that all of the "ifs" and "mights" clouded my mind. All I could do was wait. Jeff did great, he encouraged me and talked to me, made sure everything was okay. It is hard to put words on the feelings I was having, the thoughts going through my head. I'm sure I wasn't thinking clearly or rationally as it was and to think on what my body was doing was enough to make me truly crazy in those early hours.
At one point about twelve hours into labor, I asked my nurse why didn't they just do a C-Section - the agony and waiting were really getting to me. I had taken a few doses of Cytotec, I was tired, and I was terrified about what might lie ahead. I won't try to quote what she told me, but she shared that she had been through the same thing years earlier and she prayed over me and asked God to grant me peace and endurance. He answered. Although the next fourteen hours weren't easy, they were filled with an odd peace that the first twelve had been missing.
That's probably long enough for one reading . . . too long perhaps, but I'll add Part 3 soon.
grace and peace.
I woke up (I think it might be more accurate to say "got up", because I slept very little that night) at around 1:30 am on December 5th, took a shower, got ready and made sure my bag was packed. Jeff and I left the house around 2:30 am. Somehow it seemed "right", if there can be such a thing in this situation, to be driving in the middle of the night, in complete darkness, to go do the unimaginable. The only car on the road, driving past empty parking lots, empty stores lit up for for the holidays, and houses with people sleeping soundly. Just three days ago I had been one of those who slept soundly; then on a Monday morning, one moment changed my life. Fear and dread and confusion now crashed over me in waves. It felt like my heart and mind and spirit were stuck in the sand just off shore; every time we thought the waves were over, they crashed in again. It felt like slowly drowning, bit by bit.
The last time I went to the hospital in the middle of the night it was to deliver Caroline, so even though I was scared then, I was also joyful; I was prepared to go home with a baby in my arms. This time it was so different, so wrong. The fear was only tinged with anxiety and the dark knowledge that I would not be leaving this hospital with my baby this time. One line kept running through my head, "I am here to deliver my dead child." Harsh and horrible, I know, but true. As we walked into the hospital, I prayed that no one would ask how I was doing or whether we knew whether we were having a boy or a girl. Those good natured questions normally open a window of opportunity for people to share your joy; to us though they were questions I wasn't prepared to answer.
We were admitted to the hospital and they got me set up in room by about 3:15 or so. The nurses were wonderful, they got my IV started on the first try (with Caroline they had to call in the anesthetist to get my IV going after sticking me four times)! They gave me my first does of Cytotec (sp??), which is the drug they use to induce labor. By 4:00 am our pastor and his wife were there to pray with us (what a blessing - they are truly such servants. They slipped in and slipped out many times over the next 24 hours. They have such a gift of being supportive without being intrusive). My Dad was there by 6:30 and before I knew it it was time for the new shift for the nurses.
At 7:00 am We got another wonderful nurse who encouraged me and prayed for me throughout her time with us. Those first few hours were filled with anxiety, the nurses try to prepare you for what might happen, but every delivery is so different that all of the "ifs" and "mights" clouded my mind. All I could do was wait. Jeff did great, he encouraged me and talked to me, made sure everything was okay. It is hard to put words on the feelings I was having, the thoughts going through my head. I'm sure I wasn't thinking clearly or rationally as it was and to think on what my body was doing was enough to make me truly crazy in those early hours.
At one point about twelve hours into labor, I asked my nurse why didn't they just do a C-Section - the agony and waiting were really getting to me. I had taken a few doses of Cytotec, I was tired, and I was terrified about what might lie ahead. I won't try to quote what she told me, but she shared that she had been through the same thing years earlier and she prayed over me and asked God to grant me peace and endurance. He answered. Although the next fourteen hours weren't easy, they were filled with an odd peace that the first twelve had been missing.
That's probably long enough for one reading . . . too long perhaps, but I'll add Part 3 soon.
grace and peace.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
answers
I certainly do not have all the answers. I do have the answers to some things though. Here are some things I know: losing a child is the most difficult thing I've ever been through. God has walked through this with us and continues to do so. God is the same as He was on December 2, 2007. God loves me (and you). God is still about what He is always about, redeeming me and the rest of His Creation.
I've gotten some really interesting questions from people via email and in person in the past few days and so I thought maybe now would be a good time for me to post "the story". I hesitated to do that early on because I do not want these past few months to become just a story to me. It is my life; it has been part of my life; I want to allow God to show me how to keep it as part "of me" and not just something that happened "to me". Some of you know it well, you walked with us and continue to walk with us through it, some of you may know bits and pieces and some of you may be learning this for the first time. Please feel free to ask questions whether you are learning this for the first time, or reliving it through this blog. It is good for me to talk about it, it may make me cry, but that is okay too.
That being said, I think I'll do this in parts because who really has time to read my rambling story in one sitting? So, here's the beginning of the story of Joshua:
Part I
I left work on December 3, 2007 to go to my ultrasound and Jeff was meeting me at the doctor's office. I got there a little early, signed in, and sat down. Jeff came in about five minutes later and before long the ultrasound tech called us back. Honestly, I was somewhat nervous; I wanted everything to be okay, but I think consciously the only real worry I would have been able to articulate was whether we would find out whether we were having a girl or a boy. The ultrasound started, she asked how I had been feeling and whether I had felt the baby move lately. I told her that in the past two days I hadn't felt the baby move much, but I wasn't overly concerned because I was just over 20 weeks and sometimes those movements come and go (or so I thought). She didn't say anything for a few moments and I was a little nervous about her silence. The next thing that happened will stick in my mind and heart forever. She grabbed my hand and said, "Ashley, I can't get a heartbeat." I just started crying, Jeff started crying, and I felt like there was no way this could really be happening to me.
Dr. Moore came in a few minutes later and he and the tech looked at the pictures on the screen for a while and talked to each other about what they saw in words I didn't understand, words that seemed like they couldn't be about me or my baby. We have the best doctor in the world and Dr. Moore just hugged us both and told us that they weren't sure what happened, but his heart had probably stopped beating recently, probably just a day or two ago. He told us to go home and just be together. It would be too much for us to talk about all of the "what nexts" right now. I'm sure the people sitting in that waiting room wondered what in the world had just happened to us, a pregnant woman crying uncontrollably and her husband red-eyed and somber walking into a waiting room full of happy-faced pregnant women. We went home and the calls and visits started - the barrage of love over the telephone and in person, in gifts of flowers and food started within just a couple of hours.
Dr. Moore called an hour or so later and talked to Jeff and then to me. He told me that we'd have to schedule for me to go the hospital to deliver the baby. What? Excuse me? I have to go to the same place where I had Caroline and go through labor? Yes, that is exactly what had to happen. So, we scheduled to go in at 3:00AM on December 5. To say I was dreading what this meant, how this would play out, would be a tremendous understatement. I was terrified. I found out that delivering a still born baby can take anywhere from two to forty-eight hours. The prospect of that was more than I could bear. The next day is a blur, probably because I was filled with the questions and concerns about what December 5th would hold.
The words "stillborn" and "stillbirth" became normal parts of speech for me that day. Before then, I don't know if I had ever even said those words before. In my mind, those words described something that happened in my grandparents' generation, not me, not in 2007. How sadly wrong I was though. Stillbirth does happen today - it is actually more common than SIDS. One out of every 100 to 200 pregnant women will experience stillbirth (the fluctuation is because each state has a different definition of when "miscarriage" ends and "stillbirth" begins - I'm not sure how much that distinction really matters).
I am now one of those every "100 or 200".
See part 2 here.
And part 3 here.
I've gotten some really interesting questions from people via email and in person in the past few days and so I thought maybe now would be a good time for me to post "the story". I hesitated to do that early on because I do not want these past few months to become just a story to me. It is my life; it has been part of my life; I want to allow God to show me how to keep it as part "of me" and not just something that happened "to me". Some of you know it well, you walked with us and continue to walk with us through it, some of you may know bits and pieces and some of you may be learning this for the first time. Please feel free to ask questions whether you are learning this for the first time, or reliving it through this blog. It is good for me to talk about it, it may make me cry, but that is okay too.
That being said, I think I'll do this in parts because who really has time to read my rambling story in one sitting? So, here's the beginning of the story of Joshua:
Part I
I left work on December 3, 2007 to go to my ultrasound and Jeff was meeting me at the doctor's office. I got there a little early, signed in, and sat down. Jeff came in about five minutes later and before long the ultrasound tech called us back. Honestly, I was somewhat nervous; I wanted everything to be okay, but I think consciously the only real worry I would have been able to articulate was whether we would find out whether we were having a girl or a boy. The ultrasound started, she asked how I had been feeling and whether I had felt the baby move lately. I told her that in the past two days I hadn't felt the baby move much, but I wasn't overly concerned because I was just over 20 weeks and sometimes those movements come and go (or so I thought). She didn't say anything for a few moments and I was a little nervous about her silence. The next thing that happened will stick in my mind and heart forever. She grabbed my hand and said, "Ashley, I can't get a heartbeat." I just started crying, Jeff started crying, and I felt like there was no way this could really be happening to me.
Dr. Moore came in a few minutes later and he and the tech looked at the pictures on the screen for a while and talked to each other about what they saw in words I didn't understand, words that seemed like they couldn't be about me or my baby. We have the best doctor in the world and Dr. Moore just hugged us both and told us that they weren't sure what happened, but his heart had probably stopped beating recently, probably just a day or two ago. He told us to go home and just be together. It would be too much for us to talk about all of the "what nexts" right now. I'm sure the people sitting in that waiting room wondered what in the world had just happened to us, a pregnant woman crying uncontrollably and her husband red-eyed and somber walking into a waiting room full of happy-faced pregnant women. We went home and the calls and visits started - the barrage of love over the telephone and in person, in gifts of flowers and food started within just a couple of hours.
Dr. Moore called an hour or so later and talked to Jeff and then to me. He told me that we'd have to schedule for me to go the hospital to deliver the baby. What? Excuse me? I have to go to the same place where I had Caroline and go through labor? Yes, that is exactly what had to happen. So, we scheduled to go in at 3:00AM on December 5. To say I was dreading what this meant, how this would play out, would be a tremendous understatement. I was terrified. I found out that delivering a still born baby can take anywhere from two to forty-eight hours. The prospect of that was more than I could bear. The next day is a blur, probably because I was filled with the questions and concerns about what December 5th would hold.
The words "stillborn" and "stillbirth" became normal parts of speech for me that day. Before then, I don't know if I had ever even said those words before. In my mind, those words described something that happened in my grandparents' generation, not me, not in 2007. How sadly wrong I was though. Stillbirth does happen today - it is actually more common than SIDS. One out of every 100 to 200 pregnant women will experience stillbirth (the fluctuation is because each state has a different definition of when "miscarriage" ends and "stillbirth" begins - I'm not sure how much that distinction really matters).
I am now one of those every "100 or 200".
See part 2 here.
And part 3 here.
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