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Merry Christmas 2020
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March 28, 2021: The Sun behind the storm
I'd like to begin by saying that I write this and share this not for attention, praise, or anything directed towards me. It is therapeutic and healing to share my story. Most of all I write to declare God's doing in my life and to make mention His name. He truly hath done excellent things and we would like to shout it out, that perhaps someone else may find peace and comfort knowing He is so aware, and so full of love for them.
On Sunday night my sister Tara requested a belly photo and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't feel right. I had been feeling low, dark even. I hadn't been feeling baby move as I had previously and I was really discouraged and at times I even thought, "I don't feel pregnant anymore." It was as if my body was trying to convince my mind of the truth it had already accepted. My dark feeling peaked and I was praying for peace. Then, I woke up in the middle of the night Wednesday and the phrase, "God hath not given us the spirit of fear" came clearly to my mind. This 2 Timothy scripture was not one I often repeated to myself, and was in the deep-down files of my brain, so I know it didn't just come from me. So, I took a deep breath and decided, "that's right, I do believe that." Our family theme this year is "Look unto me in every thought, doubt not, fear not" so I rolled up my sleeves and said to myself, "THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT low feeling!"
Wednesday was a busy day and my friend, Cheryl, knowing nothing of this, gifted me a heart doppler she enjoyed using with her babies while pregnant. I looked at her wide eyed and expressed how this was a tender mercy to me because I had been worried about my baby! The boys and I came home and tried it, but I couldn't find anything. That night Perris helped me and still nothing even after being as thorough as we knew how (and after clearly hearing my heartbeat and the fluid movement). We looked right into each other's eyes and exchanged the question, "are you prepared for the worst outcome here?" I cannot tell you how merciful a blessing to have felt as prepared as you can for this kind of news. Thursday went by, and I felt calm. As I went to sleep I told my parents and sisters, "I do feel nervous. I don't feel fearful, but there has been a decrease in movement. so I am going cautiously. I have to prepare myself..." I wanted them to have a hint of the worst for their own preparation.
Friday I woke up feeling rested, feeling calm. Around 7:10am I hopped in the car and headed straight east. The sky was dark, thunderstorms expected through the day. But ahead, a cluster of clouds opened up and the big, round, bright, FULL sun rising burst through. I said aloud, “I see you Heavenly Father. Thank you for being here.” Then the sun faded behind the grey storminess and I turned south and then west, straight into the black storm. This metaphor was not lost on me - the message was “I am here, even behind this storm.” And I thought, if what I think could happen really is happening, there is not a more perfect setting of what I am heading into.
The medical staff all reassured me as I told each one I hadn't been feeling her, so I just waited. Then they couldn't find her heartbeat either. After they used the small ultrasound to look for her heartbeat and I peeked on the tiny screen and saw that cute profile, but no movement in the heart region. Nor did the doctor, so when they informed me they would prep the big ultrasound room to see better, I knew. I sent Perris a text. I was calm until he responded, "I am praying for you." By the time they met me in the ultrasound room I was openly weeping. I didn't want or need to look at the screen and a minute later she said, "I am so sorry. There is nothing."
Then my hero, the huge, stranger-to-me, gray haired grandpa OB walks confidently into the room straight to my side and looks me right in the eyes and says, “I am so sorry” as he rubs my arm lovingly. Thank you for that kind man! He stayed right there and kept rubbing my arm as I sobbed and asked questions of “what next.”
After many questions answered and protocols revealed, all the medical people left and for a moment I was alone. I bowed my head and said in a whisper between sobs, “Thank you Heavenly Father for telling me.” And then in walked my second hero, a tiny Latina grandma angel named Janet - the social worker. She asked me how I am doing and I said through my tears, “I am okay. I knew.” She asked "How?" and I explained simply that I was a spiritual person and had been prepared for this news. She sat with me for a long time, asking about my family, my emotions, and supporting me as the Dr continued to come in with updates from the hospital. I sat with her for at least 30 minutes. Once I said I felt ready to go, she said, “Would you like to say a prayer together?” Yes! And she began a beautiful prayer of love for God and comfort for me and my family. Was there a better person to meet with me?
I called Perris as I drove away from the hospital and when I couldn't respond to his inquiries, he understood. He gathered our children together to tell them and quickly arranged his work needs so that he could be home. I then called my Mom, who immediately understood what my crying meant. She and my Dad offered a cemetery plot they had purchased just last year for their own future burial. They offered their love and I continued on my 25 minute drive home hypnotically. Jami called me, having been notified by Mom, just before I arrived home and we cried together, her offering whatever assistance needed.
Perris was standing at the door waiting for me as I pulled up and those set of arms held me lovingly as I wept. Thomas and Davey sat playing at the kitchen table and hollered things to me in their 5-year-old understanding, cheerfully unaffected ("The baby died, Mom!"), and Thomas came and hugged my legs. Perris and I sat on the couch and decided on her name, and started making calls. Hank and Wade meandered in and I called them over to me and spoke to them softly as we embraced. They stayed close enough to touch me the rest of the day, especially Hank. He was full of questions and thoughtfulness.
Because I had imagined this possible outcome, I had many ideas swirling in my mind to remember our daughter and honor her. A couple of days prior Wade had gone to the fabric store with me to choose quilt fabric for a baby blanket and after a few hours of sitting on the couch, I decided today was the best day to begin. They helped me layer the fabrics and pin, and we began embroidering her name. I knew when I called Perris leaving the hospital I wanted to spend the day together, and that included watching my favorite movie, Coco. What better movie to illustrate that family ties may continue forever? Thomas wanted to write Lennie's name, so I invited anyone to draw a picture or write a note. My heart burst with sadness and pride when I read Wade's note. Wade, my son for whom articulating emotions is not easy, quickly and unaided wrote these beautiful words:
I stop here to insert: my heart was broken, but my spirit was not. From the moment I began calling and informing family and friends through tears and sobs, I was literally being lifted up by the love given me. Lunch and dinner and flowers arrived. Within 12 hours my sister, Lyndsey, and her family were in my home. 24 hrs later and Perris' sister, Maddy, and husband, Stu, were in our home from across the country. We sat and talked and cried. They cared for my sons with love and tenderness while Perris and I were gone.
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March 27/28, 2021: Celebrating our one day with you.
I'm sure I cried myself to sleep in Perris' arms Friday night. I felt very achy in my back and wondered if my body was preparing. I slept terrible. We woke and there was a flutter of activity in the kitchen. We moved slowly, and I soon made way to my bed to write down every detail of the day before. It was a beautiful spring day and we eventually made it to a riverwalk to pass the time before our 4pm hospital appointment.
On our walk Wade was physically demonstrating sadness and despair, shoulders slumped, head down. I kept inquiring if he was alright, and he assured me he was. His mind hadn't caught up to his body yet, either. Our bodies are very wise, I say. Once we were home he met me on the couch and started to sob. That beautiful 9 year old body heaved heavy sobs as he lay on my lap. His heart was broken for this sister he wanted so badly. I will never forget that sacred moment together.
4pm was approaching and I was starting to feel a lot of anxiety. The hospital called and delayed our arrival until 8pm. It was relieving, actually. A few more hours together.
The time came to depart and Perris offered to give me a priesthood blessing. I asked that we kneel for a family prayer first. Realizing no one would want to be the one to say this prayer, I offered to do it myself. We all cried as I prayed and I remember specifically choking out the words, "We are so sorry she can't stay..." Perris then gave me a blessing that I would have spiritual strength. Our brothers-in-law then blessed Perris. I stood up from those blessings, calm, ready for the battle. I felt like a warrior woman, I was ready to go, fully armored with the love and strength of God. We kissed everyone goodbye and off we went.
We had to enter the hospital through the ER. The woman ahead of us checking in was largely pregnant and I heard her say she was 37 weeks, here for her induction. My turn came and I said I was here for labor and delivery but had to explain to 2 different people I was here for a stillbirth and their uncomfortable response was obvious as they sent us back to sit and wait for the L&D nurse to arrive. Bless this nurse who knew who we were and quickly whisked us away from all other patients and employees, clearly trying to protect us from having to answer too many questions. We had a quiet room in the corner.
The plan: induction through cytotec, a pill placed on your cervix. A dose 6 hrs apart until she comes. My first dose was at 11:30pm and it was a long night. Second dose at 5:30am. The morning was a peaceful silence. As Perris showered and shaved in the bathroom I was left in that holy stillness. Since it was Sunday, and Palm Sunday at that, I decided to put on the music my sister had recommended the week before: "The Lamb Of God" by Rob Gardner. My emotions may have been numb and I didn't listen closely to the words, but they sunk into my spirit.
Contractions were okay and I could breathe through them easily until about 10:45am when the hard, hard labor came on strong. I told Perris I was going to lose it and there was no way I could handle doing this for much longer. I finally found it to be more comfortable with my legs hanging off the side of the bed and Perris pressing hard on my lower back as the pains came. Around 11:30 I said "I feel like I'm going to pop!" and Perris paged the nurse and she and the Dr arrived with one extra women we hadn't yet met. Perris swung my legs up onto the bed and she was coming. The Dr commented that she was coming out breech, so I could push if I wanted to. She was about 1/2 way out and my contractions completely disappeared, I felt total relief. They helped me gently get her the rest of the way out as I peeked as far forward as I could to see. She was born in the sac, placenta completely intact, "best case scenario," they explained. The Dr took her over to the table and said she'd cut open the sac and then bring her to me. I motioned for Perris to get closer to watch, and we were all eyes for that table. The 3rd woman we did not know then commented, as the doctor apparently opened the sac, "Well there's your problem." She was completely tangled in the cord.
Our nurse put her in a blanket and brought her over to me. Obvious were affects from having been gone for a week or so, and her little leg was a bit twisted from being tangled for that time but when I saw her I knew: This is Lennie. Her little fingernails and fingers were perfect. Her feet were tiny and darling, her little nose so sweet. That curve on her upper arm that all babies have...she looked just like she was supposed to, just so small. I held her and reality rushed over us like the strong current of a river, and Perris joined me, both of us weeping. Here she was, the beautiful perfect body of our dear daughter. And to lose her!
I was in enough sense of mind that I knew I had to record everything I could about this and in a pause of our tears I turned and asked Jen to take our photo. This is a beautiful and sad capture of a sacred moment of love and deep pain.
Friday after I had spoken to family, I knew the next person to call was Ashley. Mischievous, silly, dramatic, best of friends through high school in Nebraska, Ashley married a man from Delaware and now lives 2 hours from us. We gather as often as we can and she, a photographer, often takes our family photo. I knew she'd be willing to come and take photos of our birth day. What I had not remembered was that in the very recent past Ashley became a certified photographer for a nation organization, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, providing photographs to parents experiencing the death of a baby. Unimportant to me then, this smacked me in the face as a bright beam of "Miracle" as she explained to me later she had arranged with the hospital to come and take photos already. The pandemic caused this organization to not be in full function currently, but here I am with a friend who 20 years ago we could scarcely have imagined what God would arrange for us. She did not count as a visitor, and she captured this day that now seems like a far away dream. How can God love us so much to have perfectly arranged this?
Ashley arrived and was so gentle and loving as she quietly took photos and listened to us, watched us cry. We waited for our most important visitors for the next photos: our 4 handsome sons.
The night before we had explained we have 4 children and "could they come and see the baby?" Again, pandemic rules are tight and "no one under the age of 12 is allowed in the hospital." The nurse assured us she'd ask. The new shift arrived, and we hadn't heard so we asked our new nurse. She explained the same and I sincerely looked her in the eyes and choked out the words, "But they are heartbroken too." May God bless this woman forever. She came right over to me and stroked my head as I wept, the heaviness of a mother knowing her children may not be able to see their sibling streaming in tears down my face. They are so young, pregnancy is so mysterious as it is, and then suddenly for them to be told they have a sister but never have any connection that she actually was and is! Sometime later she returned and told us they could come. We thanked her over and over throughout her shift and after the boys left and she said, "Some things are just right." I will never stop praying for her to be blessed for this great, great, miracle she offered us.
The boys arrived, all with big smiles on their faces. After Lennie was born we decided we'd not show them her face, as it was a little "squishy", that they'd not be afraid. We showed them her hands and feet, the umbilical cord. Everyone wanted to hold her, and took turns doing so. We took several family photos and after the boys ate some pudding, our nurse escorted them back downstairs to our waiting sisters and brothers-in-law. Soon after, Ashley left and we were there, waiting.
Waiting to go home, not wanting to go home, stuck in this crossroads of what "should have been" and what was. We were told we could go 8 hours after birth, 7:30pm. We continued holding her, called family, and cried on and off. As I anticipated leaving I kept reassuring myself "she isn't here anyway, and there is nothing I can do for her fragile, delicate body" but the symbol of what it meant was squeezing my tender heart. 7:30 was approaching and I decided to put her in the bassinet; a freezing cold, preserve the body bassinet that I avoided all day.
The new shift had begun and our nurse entered and asked, "Do you want to leave first, or do you want me to take her first?" My stunned mind didn't know what to say. How could I choose? As much as either one would hurt I decided it would be worse to watch her go, and let the nurse know we would leave first. The night was dark, I got dressed and re-checked my things for the fifth time, got my tissues stocked, and fidgeted and cried... Waiting for the awful, needful deed of leaving my child. The nurse reappeared in the doorway and I grabbed my things and quickly walked over to my sweet Lennie's' body, kissed her on the head, locking her image into my mind forever, and walked straight out the door. Perris followed behind, having given her the same goodbye, and we walked, eyes straight forward, cheeks flowing with our rivers of tears. I heard the nurses laughing together, one of them shushed the others. We went down the elevator and continued in the quiet halls. On the main level, in the corner of my eye I saw those beautiful, big bellied mamas sitting in their wheelchairs, surrounded by breastfeeding pillows and carseats and told myself, "Don't look!" I imagined them watching us. Did they know what we'd just had to do? Did they know that even though they may have noticed I was wearing jeans, I'd much rather have been walking out of that hospital with a baby, 50 pounds heavier? Our hearts broke all over again as we left that night. It may be the hardest thing I've yet had to do in life.
Coming home to our family was sweet. To have them there, guarding our children and loving them was the greatest gift. They embraced us, cried with us as we recounted pieces of our experience, and loved us.
I made the mistake of listening to "Dear Theodosia" on Friday (sob fest). But the words "I'm dedicating everyday to you" echoed in my head and automatically became, "I'm celebrating our one day with you" without any forethought. And we are. Forever celebrating our one day with Lennie's precious body.
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Flecks of Gold, provided by God through YOU
I stood on the front porch and watched my friend wipe tears off her face, as I did mine.
She had come to bring me a beautiful pink potted flower bush. "I am witnessing the love of God all around me - friends and family mourning with us, comforting us, truly lifting us up with their love and with their faithful prayers. It is miraculous. I started a "Lennie List" today of all the kindnesses offered us and it goes on and on..." I wrote in my journal.
Logistics followed us through the next week: how to transfer her body to Utah for the burial, choosing a casket, buying airline tickets, arranging with the PA and UT funeral homes. Perris took care of the bulk of it, with many angel family members and friends helping and accelerating this processes. We were informed our friends had called to foot the bill for the casket and flight to Utah. A beautiful gold necklace with Lennie's name arrived for me, gifted by my sisters and dear girlfriends.
I worked to occupy my mind and we worked on a few puzzles that week. As we sat after the boys' bedtime assembling, I'd say aloud, "This is so surreal. We have a daughter and she died." The reality of the Sunday of her birth plateaued and decreased. But as we started our travel to Utah the Monday after Easter, it started to build again, unbeknownst to my conscious mind. By Wednesday afternoon everyone had arrived - every immediate family member we have - arrived. I sat on the couch surrounded by most of them and thought "I don't want to do this! Should I go to the basement? I don't think I can go and hide..." and right at that moment, my Dad across from me says, "How are you doing, Al?" The dam of emotions broke and I could not stop sobbing. Immediately, Jami is at my side, holding and rubbing my legs. Cami moves to sit in front of me, and Perris comes up from behind. I joke not when I say I was lifted up! As I lay on a pillow, watching my sweet niece make everyone giggle, I tried to stifle my heaving, great sobs. Perris whispered in my ear the offer to go on a walk, and I conceded. I put on sunglasses, as to not worry any passers-by and we walked the the Payson temple, 2 blocks from my parents home. I lay in the grass in front of that great, beautiful building that symbolizes all I hope for and believe, and stared into the huge blue sky. Reality had arrived again - this had all, in fact, really happened, and tomorrow we would bury our daughter.
The great release of emotions was wonderful, and I returned home and explained to all that I always want to talk about everything, don't be afraid to ask me questions or mention things. I am always game. I just might cry, and that is okay.
Thursday arrived. The day of her burial. I felt calm. I felt peace. I was ready. I got all the boys ready, and did they ever look handsome for their sister! I listened to "Risen" and my other "Lennie Songs" as I got ready. Sisters, brother and Mothers moving around upstairs, getting things ready for our luncheon afterward. We took the boys with us to the funeral home to pick up Lennie's casket and flowers. They were beautiful. I felt great peace in my heart. I held her casket on my lap as we rode to the cemetery, noting how lovely a day it was, talking about all those who would be joining us, and watching the boys divide amongst themselves candy they were given at the funeral home. We set up the table and white tablecloths and set her casket atop, that beautiful box representing our pure and beautiful daughter, and everyone trickled in. My dear roommate of many years past arrived to photograph our morning. My Dad began by sharing the scripture that says, "I love little children with a perfect love" and the Spirit immediately infused our hearts. Perris stood behind me, hands lovingly placed on my shoulders while my Mom and Katie held my hands.
Then three angels stood up and sang that beautiful hymn of praise to our Savior for giving us the gift of binding up every broken heart and conquering death and sin. May our nieces be blessed greatly for using their voices to bring the Spirit there. My oldest sisters Cami and Tara felt Lennie's presence strongly. Perris had moved back so others could see and soon his older brother, Beau, had his arms wrapped around him in support and love. Perris then stood in front and offered a prayer and dedication of Lennie's grave. It was beautiful. Again and again, we cannot but confirm the divinity of this whole plan.
The morning after Lennie was born I prayed and read scriptures and I felt it strongly: Lennie is so thrilled to have received her body. She loved her time on earth even in just the womb. She gets to move on to her next project. My job as a disciple of Christ is to accept any alterations to plans willingly (plans that dropped out of Heaven and altered the original, original plans!), trusting that I have a God not with a wristwatch like me, but "who oversees cosmic clocks and calendars" (N.A. Maxwell). Feeling full of gratitude for every mercy and fleck of gold swirling around me like snowflakes.
Few of the countless miraculous flecks of gold:
- We gathered in Utah on the exact days we were previously to meet in Texas for a fun trip. Childcare was arranged, flights were easily switched.
Lennie Pam is buried in Pam's plot, and will remain buried with her after my Mom passes.
- Lennie's grave is 3 houses down and around the corner from my sister Jami's house.
- Lennie was born in what I thought was Easton, but her death certificate names her place of death Bethlehem.
- It poured rain the day she was born. Bright sunshine on the day of her burial.
- Lyndsey lives 3 hours away from me. To have a sister near at this time was completely priceless.
6 weeks later, here I am. Waiting. Honoring this time so new and so uncharted. Believing that through Christ I will really gain my fondest dream: to be together as a whole family. Wobbling still from this proverbial rug that was pulled out from underneath me. Stopping to hear the birds singing to me as often as possible. Waiting and listening for God's voice to speak to me as I walk forward. It is an honor to know that I am His daughter and trust in Him.
I love you, my little Lennie Pam.
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Merry Christmas 2021
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