Once I had a little rose closed up inside my womb
But Jesus called her to come home before my rose could bloom

Friday, October 28, 2016

6 Years

Dear Donna Rose,

How is it possible that time has gone by so quickly? I feel like such a bad mommy to you sometimes. I meant to make you a cake for your 6th birthday, but somehow I didn't have the energy to do it, especially since your daddy wasn't going to be here tonight. Tony and I talk about you sometime. I think of you every time I cuddle your littlest sister. I'm very sad as I sit here tonight remembering your stillbirthday. Most of the time, though, I am just grateful for God's blessings. I am grateful that you will never know heartache. I am glad that you will never know fear or pain or any of the things that we have to go through to be purified so that someday we can see you again. In church this last weekend your brother and both your sisters wanted to sit on my lap and I remembered how empty my lap used to feel and now God has filled it to overflowing. Our family is so very blessed. But we still miss you and there is still a Donna Rose shaped hole in my heart. I hope you're having a wonderful birthday with Jesus. I sure miss you.



Saturday, September 17, 2016


Here we are approaching October once again and as usual at this time of year, my thoughts are full of Donna Rose. Every time I look at Marjorie Grace, I see little hints of what I believe Donna Rose would look like if she'd survived.

I was thinking about how easy it would have been to blame God for Donna Rose's death. But I've never blamed God. I've blamed myself and my sin. No one knows what causes incompetent cervix yet, but I suspect that my past actions may have played a role.

Ben doesn't place any blame on me. His anger is for the doctors who would have done nothing to support Donna Rose if she'd been born alive. That thought makes me a little angry too.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016


My brother asked me recently how I felt about fourth children. It was his way of announcing that he and his wife are expecting their fourth child. He asked me this before our youngest, Marjorie Grace, was born. It didn't occur to me until after I'd hung up with him that Margie is our fourth, and then I felt guilty because while I didn't exactly forget Donna Rose, I didn't automatically include her in my mental list of my children. 

Monday, October 28, 2013

Three Years

Today marks the three year anniversary of Donna Rose's death and birth. Some of the details fade, but some remain so clear in my mind. I remember walking down the stairs the evening before and telling Ben that our plans for the evening were changing, that I needed to go to the hospital rather than bible study. I remember how worried the ultrasound tech seemed, even though I wasn't shown the ultrasound until after the doctor arrived. I remember how truly AWFUL it seemed to me that the hospital would offer to "terminate" my baby. And that was a decision I was given, not once but twice. I remember how difficult it was for me when I had been flown down to Denver and Ben was still on the road, how the doctors wanted me to make life and death decisions and I wanted to talk to Ben, but couldn't reach him because I didn't know his phone number and he had MY phone and wasn't answering it. I remember picking the option with the best mathematical odds. I remember the doctor telling me that if I went into labor, they wouldn't do anything to stop it. I remember calling my parents and hearing my mother's voice for the first time since I told my dad that I was pregnant. I remember the awful peace I had when I knew that I was having contractions and that my baby was not going to live beyond the day. I remember feeling so helpless and being so grateful for the pain because it was easier to deal with the physical hurt than the emotional hurt of losing my little girl. I remember someone telling me they could see my little girl kick as she was being born (she was breach) though I don't remember who. I remember being told she was stillborn because her heart wasn't beating and I would never get to hold her in my arms while she was alive. I remember the wonderful nurse (I wish I knew her name) who took pictures of Donna Rose for Ben and me so that we would always have precious memories.  She posed Donna Rose so that she looked like she was sleeping. I remember getting a call from Medicaid telling me that I had finally been approved, and having to tell them that I was losing the baby. I remember holding Donna Rose for the last time, how cold she was. I remember going to the funeral home and how compassionate the gentleman was when we explained our situation. I remember Ben making the decision to have our daughter cremated. I hated the idea of having my daughter burnt and knowing that I could never hold her again, but we couldn't stand the thought of leaving her behind if we moved. There are so many other memories, but I will save them for another time. Happy Angelversary, my dear daughter! Daddy and I miss you very much.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Due Date take three

Dear Donna Rose,

Today marks the second anniversary of your due date, so you should have been turning two around this time. I wonder what you would have been like. I wonder if your hair would have been long and if you would have had curls like me or straight hair. I wonder what words you would be saying now. I wonder what you would think of your baby brother and what tricks you would be teaching him. Dad and I miss you terribly.

I wonder what life would have been like if we had not lost you. Maybe Dad and I would have stayed in Colorado. Maybe you would have gotten to meet your Grandpa Tim down here. I hope you are having a good time with him in heaven and showing him all your favorite spots. Someday you will show your daddy and me what we need to know about heaven.

I love you very much my dear.



Saturday, October 27, 2012

Once more

My Dear Daughter,

Here we are coming up on the second anniversary of your birth and death. It's still very painful for your daddy and me. Two years ago today, I went into the ER in Greeley, a little bit worried because of spotting, but never dreaming that it could mean your death. I remember the worried looks from the nurses and doctors. I remember the cold helicopter ride to Denver. And I remember the pain of everything that happened the next day there. In a couple of years, we will have to explain to your little brother why October 28 is such a special day. I remember so many things about that day clearly. I remember talking to your Grandma Donna on the phone. I remember the sheer exhaustion from being up all night. I remember the pain and the mental numbness of that night. I remember the sense of dread, knowing that I wouldn't get to take my baby home with me. I remember holding you for the first time and how very tiny you were. I remember marveling over how perfectly formed you were. I remember your body heaving in my hands as though you were trying to breathe, but the doctors said your heart had stopped before you were born. I remember dressing you in the little clothes they gave us and wrapping you in the blanket someone had made for you. What a blessing to us was the care that someone took to make clothes and blankets for an angel they would never meet. I remember crying with your daddy. I remember talking to your Aunt Miranda on the phone and the heartbreak in her voice when I told her you wouldn't make it. I remember feeling like I had to comfort her because she sounded so much sadder than I did, but the finality of your death hadn't hit yet. And I remember talking to your Aunt Beth, though I don't remember what she had to say.

I think your daddy and I are learning to live around our grief pretty well. Fewer things make us sad and we can rejoice in the miracle of your short life now. However, we miss you deeply and your absence causes us both a deep pain. As long as we live, you will never be forgotten.

Love always,


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Turning 2

Dear Donna Rose,

It's less than a week until we reach the date when you will have been gone 2 years. You've been gone so much longer than you were here. I get a little bit sadder each day as the anniversary of your stillbirth approaches. I miss you so very much. You were so small and helpless.