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,

Mommy

Dear Donna Rose

My dearest Donna Rose,

Oh how I miss you. It hardly seems possible that it has been more than a year since I carried you inside me. Now, with your little brother or sister living there, I am reminded of what it was like to have you inside me, to feel you move.

I picked up my copy of "Oh Baby, the places you'll go!" yesterday to read to your sibling. I remember reading it to you with so much love. I had no idea the place you would go included heaven and that the wonderful friends you would meet would not include your daddy and me. I wept through the last pages.

I find that I can't sing to your sibling without a tremor in my voice because I remember the songs I sang to you. Your song was "Lida Rose" from The Music Man, but I always sang it as Donna Rose. That used to be one of my favorite movies, but now I can't watch it without crying.

My life is very different from what it was before you came. There are some very good changes, but also some things that I wish weren't so. I'm so glad I have your daddy. He's the very best part of my life. Your grandpa and grandma (my mommy and daddy) are so good to us too and you have lots of loving aunts and uncles who are sad they never got to meet you.

I'm a lot more fearful than I used to be. When I carried you, I didn't worry very much about the aches and pains. My body was changing for the first time. It was stretching to fit you inside. I worried about school, I worried about the future, but I never worried about you until the day we lost you. With your brother/sister, every ache scares me. Every pain screams "you could lose this baby too!" I am not so innocent anymore. It bothers me to see clueless, happy pregnant women. I want to warn them that you're never safe from losing your baby. Sometimes I really have to bite my tongue. I'm getting better at that, though. People get very offended if you suggest that pregnancy isn't just a walk in the park and a joyful thing.

I am hoping that I continue to grow this year. I hope it gets easier to be joyful and less easy to be terrified. I am hoping that your brother/sister will grow to full term and have a chance to live outside my womb. I still have so much growing to do.

I love you, Donna Rose. I wish I could watch you grow and live.

Love,

Mommy

A Valentine Letter

Dear Donna Rose,

Happy Valentine's Day, my tiny. I hope heaven is treating you well. I'm sure you're making lots of friends with the other angel babies up there. Your father and I miss you very much. We only had you here for a very short time, but you are always in our hearts.

Daddy was so excited for Valentine's Day three weeks ago that he gave me two Valentine cards right away. They made us both laugh. Then this morning, he woke me up before he went to class, telling me he needed help with something downstairs and gave me a big box of chocolates. I nearly cried. Your daddy is a very generous man, my dear.

Both of us have a lot of sad days right now. We try to keep each other happy, but songs, movies, TV shows, and pictures on FaceBook have a way of needling at us until all we can do is cry. We are trying to be strong and heal because we know that you're happy where you are and that Jesus is taking very good care of you, but we miss you, Donna Bear.

Last Saturday your daddy and I renewed our wedding vows. I think we wanted everyone to see that we REALLY meant what we said on the day we were married. My grandma and uncle came out for the ceremony and your Grandpa Tim was there. The church was very kind in welcoming them all and I think they felt very loved.

I miss you, my little rose.

Love,

Mommy

Week 5

Ben and I have been working through our grieving process as best we can. It isn't easy. There are days when all I want to do is cry. Ben has his moments of anguish as well. We'll be doing just fine and then a song will come on the radio, and we find ourselves weeping, missing our girl and feeling so helpless.

Both of us have experienced some anger, some need to blame someone. Me, I tend to blame myself, my body, for rejecting my darling little one. Ben's anger is more that the doctors didn't try to do something. They told us there was nothing they could do, but sometimes we wonder what would have happened if they had tried.

I was thinking about Donna today. Ben and I were shopping for clothing and we were having trouble finding a suit jacket to fit his long arms. It reminded me of how long Donna's arms and legs were in proportion to her body. She takes after her daddy. And she was so perfect to us, so beautiful.

Week 3

I'm so blessed in the people I know, especially my family and fiance. Ben insisted that we go visit my family. He felt I needed them. It was nice to have a little snuggle time with my niece and nephew. I don't know of anything more healing than unconditional love, and particularly unconditional love from children. I think Ben needed them as much (or more) than I did. Ben has been comfort enough for me.

I know I've scared him a couple times over the last month. It's really hard not to get angry and blame my body for not protecting my little girl. I know I couldn't have done anything to prevent her being born, but I can't help but feel a little defective. My body didn't do what it was supposed to and she's gone. I couldn't keep her safe. I feel helpless and hurt and guilty. There was a day this last week when it took huge effort to do anything. Ben made me get up and go shopping (grr on him for making me go alone). And I worry that this will happen again. I know I could not handle losing another baby and with the odds being so high (1 out of every 3 pregnancies ends because of infection.) it's frightening to think of trying again someday.

And then there's the grief Ben doesn't know about. I can't shower without crying. That was where I sang to baby and shared my dreams for her with her. Every shower brings with it a shower of pain. Every time I lay down, a wave of grief sweeps over me because I can feel that she is not tucked safe away inside mommy. Ben's seen me cry at night, but I doubt he knows what sparks it. Any time alone is questionable. Sometimes I manage just fine, but there are times when all I can do is cry because the only thing besides me in the room is a feeling of loss. It does get easier with time. But the ache for my baby will never entirely disappear.

To Donna Rose

My dear daughter,

It has now been a week since you were born and your father and I held your lifeless body in our arms. I can't tell you how much we miss you. It's hard for your mommy to know that she can never hold you again. But you are with Jesus and he will hold you as much as you need holding. And he will hold your hand when it needs holding.

I looked yesterday for some bible verses to be used at your memorial service next week. You know, Jesus has a special place in his heart for little children. And I know that he prizes your innocence and purity. I know that he weeps for the pain your father and I are in. We are finding comfort in each other, but we miss you. You are a part of both of us and we will never forget what you have meant to us.

Love,

Mommy

“As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” Ecclesiastes 11:5

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart. Do not be afraid… for I am with you… declares the Lord.“ Jeremiah 1:5,8

“For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother's womb. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully [and] wonderfully made: marvellous [are] thy works; and [that] my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, [and] curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all [my members] were written, [which] in continuance were fashioned, when [as yet there was] none of them.” Psalms 139: 13-16

“But Jesus called them to him, saying, ‘Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.’” Luke18:16

“For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39

Keith Green – Psalm 23

Mercy Me – Jesus Bring the Rain

It is well with my soul

Amazing Grace

Jeremy Camp – There will be a day

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

In my hometown, there is a free theme park for kids called Storybook Land. Storybook Land has all sorts of things for kids to do. It’s a wonderful place. Everything there is based off of nursery rhymes, fables, and fairy tales. One of the exhibits illustrates the story of Goldilocks and the three bears. There’s something funny about the exhibit though. Laying in a small bed is a little blond girl. Standing over her in shock are Mama Bear and Papa Bear, but Baby Bear is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps the bear family is like my own. When I learned I was pregnant, Ben was extremely delighted, immediately calling friends to tell them he was going to be a daddy. I was a little more nervous, knowing that my parents would be disappointed that I’d chosen to start my family outside the bans of marriage. Ben immediately decided that we were the three bears. He was Papa Bear, I was Mama Bear, and our little one was our little cub, our little baby bear. “Cubby” became our nickname for our little one.

My pregnancy seemed very normal. For the first three months, I felt ill every day. I had to adjust my diet both for nutritional reasons and to keep food down. Month four hit, and the illness magically stopped. We were thrilled, we’d hit the golden period of pregnancy and we would soon be able to see our beautiful baby. We entered week 19 and I went in for my ultrasound. They told us she was a girl and we were thrilled. She was beautiful and everything was perfect.

And then in week 21, for unknown reasons, I gave birth and delivered our daughter. She was beautiful and tiny, and the doctors said, when I went into labor, that she could not live outside my womb. Ben and I held our lifeless little girl as long as we could. So now, the bear house is a lot like the one in Storybook land. Papa Bear and Mama Bear stand over Baby Bear’s bed in shock and Baby Bear is nowhere to be seen. But someday, a little stranger will fill that bed. And if the stranger just happens to be a little blond haired girl, this Mama Bear and Papa Bear won’t complain.

Sympathy

Neither Ben nor I realized how very hard it would be for us to go to church today. We got there, and I'm pretty sure we cried for a full half hour with all the hugs and sympathy from people. We are grateful for our church. We felt very loved, but it was incredibly difficult to be there. We stayed through the music. Wednesday I am certain we'll be a little more up to staying longer. Today it was just difficult. We know the people there love us and were excited for us to be getting married and have a little one. And we know they share our grief.

But grief is a somewhat selfish thing, and I think I have a tendency to want to cling to mine, to cradle it as I did my little girl just a few days ago. I don't mind sharing with Ben, holding him and having him hold me. Crying together, remembering together, just being together. But he and I are pretty much part of each other, so grieving together is natural.

It seems so ungrateful of us NOT to want to share our grieving with anyone else, I guess. Our situation generates sympathy from complete strangers. The shortness of a human life, the loss to new parents, her tiny perfection are all things that generate sadness. In some ways I feel like I need to provide comfort to those who are expressing sympathy to us.

To our little Donna Rose

Your mother and I love you very much. We miss you more than we could possibly say. You were only in our lives a short time and taught us so much. I won't say we aren't sad you're gone. We're devastated. But we're so happy you were with us the short time. You brought your mother and I closer together. We thank you for that. You brought us closer to God. We thank you for that too. We take consolation in the fact that you'll never know heartache , you'll never know pain. You're be happy and healthy for all eternity. You'll never know sickness. We'll never get to see you take your fist steps, but we'll never have to console you after getting your heart broken.

We honor your memory, We love you, and we'll celebrate your short life. We miss you already, so very much. And we love you, more than I could ever say.

Love,

DAD.

Losing Her

She is a piece of me, a long dreamt dream so close to fruition. And she is perfect in every way. She has teeny tiny fingers and toes, perfectly formed and beautiful. But her lungs are not yet developed and the chances of her living are none. Oh how I love her. and how sad it makes me that I will not get to hold her longer, that I will not get to nurture her beyond a few more days. Her father is devastated. She a piece of him too.

As I sit here, feeling contractions that make it more and more evident that God has a different calling for our little angel, I can't help but feel that the physical pain is so much easier to bear than the heartbreak. God has made me strong, and I am grateful that he has given me the ability to get through this. But I so wish that his will would allow me to know my daughter, to love my daughter into adulthood.

The test I failed last week pales in comparison. The emotional pain I felt in the dissolution of what I had hoped were promising relationships can't even come close to the measure of the grief my Ben and I feel. We are stricken to the core.

But we both believe that God would not allow this for no reason. And our only grasp on sanity right now is a belief that he knows what is best and that his will is perfect. We do not know all the what ifs.