The Significant Life

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Celebrating the Significance of a Life Lost throughMiscarriage, Stillbirth or Early Infant Death

The Significant Life


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Celebrating the Significance of a Life Lost throughMiscarriage, Stillbirth or Early Infant Death


Amy Burton

Signifcant Publishing

Colorado Springs, Colorado


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THE SIGNIFICANT LIFE

Copyright 00

Amy Burton

ISBN 0--79-

Cover design by John Burton

www.johnburtondesign.com

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public Domain.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, photocopy-

ing, recording or otherwise- without the prior written permission of the publisher and

copyright owners.

Signicant Publishing

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Printed in the United States of America


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TO ALL WHO HAVE LOVED AND LOST

A SIGNIFICANT LIFE


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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was made possible not only by those who aided in

honing my craft but also by those who assisted in healing my

heart. Here are some of those people:

Mr. Kurtz-Your passion for writing inspired mine. Did I use

too many passive verbs?

Penrose Hospital-Thank you for treating my babies with re-

spect. Give Rosemary a raise. Shes an amazing woman!

All my friends at Pikes Peak Share- I knew I could always

turn to you for support. We journeyed through grief together.

Thank you for walking with me.

My many prayer warriors-You never gave up, and thanks to

you, neither did I.

Dr. Weary-Thanks for always offering a listening ear and com-

passionate heart and for facilitating my miracle (the safe arrival

of Jet).

Mom and Dad-You are my pillars! Thank you for including

my heavenly babies in the grandchildren count.


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PREFACE

I delivered the lifeless body of my baby girl on December 7,

00, after a routine ultrasound on Christmas Eve revealed

that her heart was no longer beating. If you are reading this

book, chances are that you have been affected by the tragic loss

of a child through miscarriage, stillbirth or early infant death.

While each of our situations is unique, we share a common

bond. We have been touched by a life that, although brief, has

made an eternal impact.

As you journey through this book, you will read my ac-

count of loss, grief, hope and restoration. Each chapter begins

with a poem reecting my emotions during a particular stage of

my experience, follows with a piece of my story and concludes

with thoughts to you, the reader. It is my intent that this book

points you toward healing, grants you the comfort of shared

backgrounds and, most of all, celebrates the signicant life of

your little one.


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A DAUGHTER

She stretches forth a tiny hand

As I cradle her in my arms.

I love the way she looks and smells

And all her little baby charms.

She takes my hand and walks beside,

For she trusts me like no other.

Although she is a toddler now,

She still clings tightly to mother.

I wait beside her for the bus

And give a kiss and hug goodbye.

She is starting school today.

I wipe a small tear from my eye.

I help her dress and smile at her.

I tell her, Honey, you look great.

Im nervous and a little sad

That shes going on her rst date.


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She looks so beautiful in white

As shes given to another.

I tell her shes a gorgeous bride

And Im proud to be her mother.

She stretches forth a tiny hand

As she cradles her in her arms.

She loves the way she looks and smells

And all her little baby charms.


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MY JOURNEY

The summer of 00 was full of new life. Revolution Church, of

which my husband, John, was the senior pastor, was experienc-

ing conversions, baptisms and nancial and numerical growth.

Spiritual vitality was not the only new life that surround-

ed me that summer. It seemed that everywhere I looked, some-

one was recently pregnant. Two of my closest friends Sarah and

Carolyn, who also happened to be part of our church staff, had

just announced their pregnancies, and several other members of

our small congregation were reveling in the joyous news of their

newly discovered expectancy.

Nearly four years had passed since the birth of my young-

est son, Parker. Since then, John had stood rm in his decision

to have no more children. I yearned for another baby but refused

to press the issue. During times of prayer, I asked God to change

Johns heart if it was His plan for us to have another child or, if

not, to change mine.

In late July John came to me with unexpected news.

God has been telling me recently that He wants us to start try-

ing to have another baby.

I was ecstatic. Lets get started, I said.

I downloaded an ovulation calendar and plotted the days

when I would be most likely to conceive. I even researched


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ways in which I would more probably conceive a girl, as we

already had two boys and I had always wanted a daughter. I

then waited, somewhat impatiently, for a positive pregnancy test

result.

In early September I stared in disbelief at the second line

on the pregnancy test strip that I held in my hand. I had started

testing much too early and several days before had obtained a

negative result. This is too good to be true, I thought. I have

a positive result, and my period isnt due for another week.

Still, the second line, although faded, was denitely there. We

had been trying to conceive for just one month, and already, I

was pregnant. I knew this child was meant to be.

I paced around the house with nervous anticipation, won-

dering how to tell John and our two boys that we were expecting

a baby. I assumed that this would be my last pregnancy and

wanted the announcement to be special. When everyone awoke

that Saturday morning, I said, Lets have a special family day

together. Get dressed. Were going to The Royal Gorge.

I could hardly contain my excitement during the hour

or so drive. When we arrived at the gorge, we bought some ice

cream and then walked to the middle of the suspension bridge,

overlooking the river below. I videotaped John and the boys, the

beautiful, tree-covered mountains and the rushing, foam-capped

river as their backdrop. Then, with the lm still rolling, I pro-

claimed, John, I brought you out here to tell you that youre

going to be a daddy again.

Johns eyes opened wide in amazement as he continued

licking the chocolate ice cream that was dripping down his n-

gers. Holy crap! he said. Im excited. I just didnt expect it

to happen so quickly.


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I later wrote in my pregnancy journal about that day:

I took John and the boys to The Royal Gorge and videotaped

Johns reaction when I told him on the bridge. He was shocked

but very happy. We spent the day basking in the great news.

Since my period was not due for another week, we de-

cided to keep my pregnancy a secret. The next day was Sunday,

and we arrived at the church early to prepare for the service. I

was speaking with our childrens minister, Carolyn, who was

also pregnant.

How are you? she asked.

Oh, ne, I responded, determined not to share the

news, no matter how badly I wanted.

My ve-year-old, Skylar, interrupted us, declaring, My

mom has a baby in her tummy!

Congratulations! Carolyn said, and she hugged me.

After swearing Carolyn to secrecy, I updated Sarah, who

had overheard Skylars announcement while preparing her Sun-

day-school lesson in the next room.

Thinking I had everything under control, I resumed my

Sunday-morning mingling. Skylar had seated himself at our

churchs coffee bar, the proverbial watering-hole of our place

of worship, where rst-time-visitors, friends and acquaintances

gathered to help themselves to coffee, tea and pastries. Before

I could stop him, he told the crowd, Im going to have a baby

brother or sister.

We had been at church only a few minutes, and already,

the word was out. We gave up trying to keep our news under

wraps and announced my pregnancy to our congregation, friends

and family. During the service that morning, John welcomed me

to the stage and said, There are not two people here, referring


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to him and me. There are three. Everyone clapped.

We called our parents soon after. I wrote in my preg-

nancy journal concerning their reactions: All the grandparents

are very happy. I told my mom over the phone since she and my

dad were just returning from Germany. Shed had a dream so

had expected it.

Summer concluded and fall dawned, the changing colors

of the season reecting the transformation I felt within me. Sar-

ah, Carolyn and I spent many staff meetings discussing breast

pumps, maternity clothing and Lamaze classes. On one occasion

we took pictures of the three of us standing together sideways,

showing off our expanding bellies. We dreamed of the day when

we would be able to photograph our three babies together.

I interviewed several midwives. A home birth seemed

reasonable, as my previous pregnancies and deliveries had been

problem-free. I selected a competent, considerate woman but

was unable to continue seeing her due to a glitch in my health

insurance coverage.

A friend referred me to a superb, Christian doctor, and

weeks into my pregnancy, I visited my obstetrician for the

rst time. John and I heard our babys heartbeat, pounding at

170 beats per minute. That beautiful sound established the rm

realization that there was a life growing and thriving inside of

me.

John and I brainstormed possible names, including Ken-

nedy, Macy and Katrie. Skylar insisted on Princess, while

Parker suggested Jet Fusion. The pregnancy was a family

event. Skylar would hand me the bookYour Pregnancy Week by

Weekand ask about the babys size and appearance. The boys

called the child Our Baby.


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I began collecting infant clothing, mostly in pink and

lavender, as I was certain I was having a girl. I daydreamed

of ribbons and bows, her rst date and even the day when she

would become a mother herself. I believed that I nally had the

daughter for whom I had long hoped and prayed. I greatly an-

ticipated the ultrasound, scheduled for Christmas Eve. What a

wonderful Christmas present, I thought, a dream come true.

I had no idea what that day would hold. I will always remember

Christmas Eve 00 as the day that forever changed my life and

dreams.


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TO THE READER

You had dreams for your child. Whether or not your pregnancy

was intended, you began envisioning plans for your baby from

the moment you knew of his impending arrival. Perhaps you

were disappointed or fearful when you discovered that you were

pregnant. Nevertheless, as the reality dawned so did the dreams

of caring for a baby, raising a son or daughter and experiencing

the many blessings of parenthood. Maybe you were unaware of

your hopes for your child until you lost him.

It makes no difference whether you carried your baby

for nine days or nine months. The impact of losing a child is the

same. You experienced more than a pregnancy loss or fetal de-

mise; you lost a child, a son or daughter, and your dreams have

been forever altered.

I could easily write of vanished hopes and shattered

dreams. Instead, I speak of altered dreams. Why? Something

that is shattered or vanished is usually forever lost, useless and

unproductive. Something altered, on the other hand, has en-

countered change, growth and perhaps, increased effectiveness.

I am not suggesting that you should not grieve for your

former hopes and dreams. The grieving process is a journey.

You have lost someone of unspeakable value. Change is not

easy, and modifying the dreams that you had for your child will


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be one of the hardest things that you will ever do. However, let-

ting your grief point you toward new expectation will be helpful,

and in the long run, needed.

As you seek a new reality following the death of your

baby, ask yourself how the hopes that you had for him can be

altered, instead of shattered, to t your new situation. You

dreamed of holding him. Now, with Jesus as your Savior, you

look forward to a heavenly reunion. You dreamed that his life

would be effective, make an impact. Now, you realize that he

has eternally transformed your life and that of those around you.

My daughter, for example, taught me more in a short 9 weeks

than I had learned in my previous 7 years. You dreamed of in-

troducing him to friends and family. Now, by telling them your

story, they understand his signicance.

Your life need not be void of hope. The expectation will

be more difcult to discover. Nonetheless, it is there. In what

ways have your dreams been altered since the loss of your child?

How can your hopes be changed instead of shattered?


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LOSS

Tears pooled in my eyes,Demanding attention.

I anguished.

My resentment simmered,

Erupting into fury.

With survival hanging in the balance,

I surrendered.Then came a clear impression.

I sensed God.


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MY JOURNEY

I clasped my hands and tried not to scream as every second, the

elevator brought me closer to my destination. Surrounded by

John, my two sons and my parents, our entire family had gath-

ered to discover the gender of our unborn baby.

Strangely, I had awoken that Christmas Eve morning

with a disconcerting sense of dread. How shallow I am, I had

reasoned. I should be excited to know whether were expecting

a boy or a girl. Do I want a girl so badly that Im dreading the

ultrasound?

Instinctively, I must have known that something was ter-

ribly wrong. I had begun sensing movement on Thanksgiving

Day and had since felt jabs, twists and turns from my growing

babe almost daily, until a week or two before. I had wondered

once or twice if there was a problem but had told myself that I

was being paranoid. After all, the movements at this point in

pregnancy are so slight that I often wonder if Im just imagin-

ing them, I had thought. In bed at night, I had tried intently to

notice any kicking. Upon feeling nothing, I had reasoned that it

was just too early and that the movements that I had previously

felt were only pretended.

I had also been aware that my stomach had recently

ceased expanding. In fact, it had almost seemed to have shrunk.


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Assuming that I had reached some sort of pregnancy growth pla-

teau, I had dismissed my concerns as illogical.

I signed my name on the roster at the big circular in the

middle of the waiting room. Theyre running a bit behind,

said the girl at the counter. They had an emergency, so theyll

get to you as soon as they can.

I spent the next hour chatting with my family and trying

to ignore my full bladder. When, at last, the ultrasound techni-

cian called my name, I jumped to my feet, anxious to complete

the sonogram and have the surprise revealed. Skylar and Parker

remained in the lobby with my dad, but I assured them that they

would soon see the baby on the ultrasound screen.

The technician led me into a small, dark room and in-

structed me to lie down on the paper-covered examination table

and unbutton my pants. John and my mom seated themselves to

my left in hard, plastic chairs.

This will be cold, said the sonographer, applying a

clear gel to my belly. She began moving the transducer over my

abdomen, as I watched the monitor to my right.

I saw my babys head on the screen, and, as the techni-

cian adjusted the transducer, I saw her arms and legs. Hmmm.

The babys not moving, I thought. She must be sleeping.

The sonographer continued the exam in silence. Having

been told earlier not to ask her questions, I waited quietly for her

to point out my babys various body parts, heartbeat and gen-

der.

She set the transducer on a shelf and stood to her feet.

Im going to see if the on-call doctor is still here, she said.

Most of the obstetricians and staff had left early to begin their

Christmas holiday. She left the room in a hurry.


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It concerns me a little that she wants to go nd a doc-

tor, I told John and my mom. I had had several ultrasounds dur-

ing my previous pregnancies, and had never experienced such a

thing. And, I didnt see the baby moving on the screen.

The sonographer returned with a tall, dark-haired physi-

cian, an associate of my primary obstetrician. She briey intro-

duced the man in blue scrubs. Hi, I muttered, sure, by now,

that something was wrong.

The technician resumed her position at the scanner and

began shifting the transducer over my stomach. The reason I

asked the doctor to come is that I cant nd a heartbeat.

My mind whirled as I tried to make sense of what was

happening. I watched as the doctor and sonographer examined

the ultrasound screen, taking measurements. I felt a hundred

emotions at once: shock, disbelief, anger, guilt, dismay and so

many more. But I want this baby, I said, sobbing.

The doctor patted my leg. Im so sorry, he said.

I just heard the heartbeat at my last appointment, I

said, referring to my -week examination.

I know. The fetus is measuring 7 weeks or so.

You mean my babys been dead for two weeks?

It looks that way.

John patted my head and smoothed my hair. Its okay,

he said. Its going to be okay. My mom was crying.

The question is, What do we do now? the physician

said. We could induce you today, but then, youd be in the hos-

pital on Christmas. If youd like, you can wait until you go into

labor on your own. At this point, there is no risk of infection.

Or, I can make an appointment for induction on Friday morning,

so you can spend Christmas with your family.


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What should I do? I asked John and my mom. They

stared at me blankly and shrugged.

I somehow determined to arrive at the birthing wing

of the hospital at 7:00 a.m. on Friday, the day after Christmas,

to have my labor induced. Ill make sure the hospital knows

youre coming, said the doctor.

Well leave you all alone now, the technician said.

You can stay here as long as youd like. She and the physi-

cian exited the room, leaving the three of us in silence.

Would you like me to go get Dad? my mom nally

asked.

Im ready to go, I said, hopping from the examination

table and buttoning my jeans. I just want to leave.

We rejoined my dad and the boys in the now-empty wait-

ing room. John sat beside my dad and whispered the news. My

father lowered his head, pursing his lips as he digested the infor-

mation.

Is it time for us to see the baby now? Skylar asked

excitedly. Can we go back now?

I looked at John. You have to tell him something.

Were not going to be having a baby anymore, John

told our ve-year-old. The baby died.

Skylar threw himself to the oor, kicking and screaming

hysterically. Its not fair, he yelled. Its not fair!

Hes right, I thought.

Parker, who was too young to understand the ramica-

tions of what had just happened, repeatedly asked, Grandma,

why are you crying?

I longed to scoop my children into my arms, comfort

them and tell them that everything would be all right, but I sud-


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denly felt numb and unsure of myself. Willeverything be all

right? I wondered.

The six of us sat in the waiting room for some time, cry-

ing and conversing in hushed tones. We nally boarded the el-

evator to take the short ride back to our cars, homes and lives

that, in a few short minutes, had been so drastically changed.

Shock and disbelief had substituted the excitement that we had

experienced that morning. The hopeful expectation that we had

previously felt had been replaced by the nervous anticipation of

our babys delivery.


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TO THE READER

Take a moment to review your story. During the moments, days

and months following the discovery that you had lost or were

losing your child, what emotions did you experience? Dismay,

horror, disbelief, shock, anger, resentment, guilt are all common

reactions.

On Christmas Eve, prior to our ultrasound, John was

aware of a seemingly awkward, even inappropriate feeling:

peace. Just minutes before stepping into the examination room,

He was overwhelmed by the presence of God and knew instinc-

tively that God was preparing him for a crisis. Upon learning

that our baby had died, he attempted to resist that feeling of

calm, thinking it improper. However, he was unable to shake

the sensation that God was there, upholding him, quieting him.

During the weeks following our daughters delivery, I

pondered countless questions, many of which will remain un-

answered until I reach the Place where I see clearly. Why did

this happen to us? Why didnt God, in His sovereignty, prevent

it? Did we do something wrong? While my search for answers

proved futile, I did nd something much more valuable. Sur-

rounded by a gamut of emotions, there was one I sensed more

clearly than all the others: Gods comfort. I felt His presence

more poignantly then than at any other time of my life. I under-


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stood that He, too, was heartbroken, grieving with me for my

lost child, whose life was signicant to Him.

How about you? Rummage through your array of emo-

tions. Do you sense the peace of God? Have you, like John,

been attempting to resist His presence? He longs to comfort

you. He knows how you feel, for He, too, lost a Child. Will you

surrender? Will you allow His peace to permeate you? Will you

let Him grieve with you?


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STILLBORN

I cradle your tiny body, gently nestled in a hospital receivingblanket.

I explore your tranquil face, your full lips resembling your

older brothers.

I hold your delicate hand, so small, yet each ngernail so intri-cately detailed.

I capture a nal likeness, your image forever imprinted on lm

and on my heart.

I whisper sweet confessions of my love, knowing my wordsreach heaven.

For a eeting moment, I am simply a mother proudly examin-

ing her newborn,

And through the smiles and tears, I marvel at the magnicentcreation of you.


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MY JOURNEY

I arrived at the birthing center of our local hospital early Friday

morning, feeling apprehensive. I had been in such a state of

shock on Christmas Eve that I had neglected to obtain answers

to my many concerns. Will I be able to see and hold my baby?

I wondered. Will I be conscious during the delivery? Will I

deliver her vaginally or will I have surgery? What will happen

to her body afterwards?

My mind raced as John announced our entrance to the

hospital staff. We have an appointment.

Are you here for an induction? a nurse asked, eyeing

me.

We had a miscarriage, John said, and I burst into

tears.

Another nurse rushed to my side and escorted me into

a nearby birthing suite. She helped me change into a hospital

gown. I dont know what to expect, I told her. Does the baby

come out whole?

My question must have sounded brash, but the young,

dark-haired attendant only nodded. Usually, she said. Ill

give you medication to soften your cervix. Then, after delivery

you can spend as much time with your baby as youd like. The

hospital will take pictures, free of charge, and we have a certi-


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cate for hand and footprints. Ill explain more later. She led me

to the adjustable bed and pulled back the sheets. How far along

are you?

Nineteen-and-a-half weeks, I said, breathing a sigh of

relief. I desperately wanted to see my baby but had been afraid

that the hospital would not allow it. How wonderful to know

that I could take pictures and footprints!

My mother joined us. I was there for the births of my

other grandchildren, she had said. I want to be there for this

one, too.

The nurse helped me into bed and stepped me through

some routine paperwork. She left to prepare my medication, and

shortly after, the hospital chaplain entered. He handed me read-

ing materials on miscarriage and stillbirth as I apologized for my

tears. He then explained the burial options available. You can

arrange your own, private burial, if youd like. He handed me a

sheet of paper. Here is a list of funeral homes that offer infant

cremation at no charge. If you choose hospital disposition, the

Catholic Archdiocese has donated two plots, where we will bury

your baby with the others who have been lost this quarter. Well

hold a memorial service in January, and then, you can visit the

grave site.

I thanked him and said I would make a decision after

discussing the options with my family.

The nurse returned and administered my medication.

Shortly after, my father arrived, and my family settled into a

waiting pattern. All the hospital personnel who entered my

room conveyed their condolences and expressed sympathy for

my loss. The postcard on the door depicting a teardrop falling

onto a leaf, a symbol of bereavement, alerted them to my situa-


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tion.

My body reacted negatively to the medication, and I en-

dured a fever and upset stomach. By early evening the contrac-

tions had become unbearable, and I requested an epidural. At

9:0 that night, my nurse informed me that my cervix was only

one centimeter dilated. John and my dad left to attend a city-

wide prayer meeting that assembled weekly, Friday nights, from

ten until midnight. My mom and I tried to rest, while every few

minutes, the nurse returned to adjust the beeping machine that

alerted her to my dropping blood pressure.

The men had just returned from the prayer gathering,

when I called the nurse to report that my epidural was no longer

effective. I can really feel the contractions, I said.

She stated that before she called the anesthesiologist, she

wanted to check to see if I had made any progress. I think Im

only feeling your bag of waters, she said. Let me get my su-

pervisor to conrm.

The older nurse agreed. You have no cervix.

I have no cervix?

Youre dilated to ten. Its time to push.

I have been feeling pressure, I said.

Let me call the doctor and get a couple of things

ready.

After the women left, I was impressed by the reality of

the circumstances, and I began to weep uncontrollably. Dur-

ing my previous deliveries, the announcement that its time to

push had brought feelings of elation and joyous expectation.

This time, I felt scared and overwhelmed by the fact that I was

about to deliver a dead baby.

The nurse bustled about the room, carrying blankets and


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supplies. Will you want to hold your baby? she asked.

Yes.

Okay. I have the receiving blankets ready.

The on-call physician, entered and checked me. What

you want to do is hold your knees, put your head on your chest

and push, he said. I did, and our daughter, Elizabeth Hope, was

born on December 7, 00, at : a.m., measuring 9 inches

and weighing 7. ounces.

The doctor removed her from the surrounding amniotic

sac and proceeded to unwrap the umbilical cord that encircled

her neck several times. He stated the obvious: This looks like

a cord accident.

The obstetrician placed Elizabeth in a hospital receiving

blanket and handed her to me. At that instant, a serenity, which

I cannot explain, engulfed me. It was as if the anguish of the

previous few days temporarily dissolved. Although for only a

moment, my daughter was in my arms, mine to hold, love and

admire.

I stared at the body of my baby girl. At nine inches long,

she was much bigger than I had imagined. She had ten ngers

and ten toes, complete with ten tiny ngernails and ten tiny toe-

nails. Her full lips so closely resembled Parkers that I could

picture how she would look as a smiling four-year-old. I took

her little hand in mine, and John took a picture.

After a few minutes, I passed Elizabeth to her daddy and

grandparents. We prayed over her, dedicating her back to God,

who had formed her so beautifully and magnicently. We all

said goodbye, telling her how much we loved her. Afterwards,

I handed Elizabeth to the nurse, who left to take pictures and

handprints and footprints.


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I held my daughter once more before my hospital dis-

missal on Saturday morning, memorizing her face as tears

streamed down mine. I then did the most difcult thing that I

have ever had to do: I left the hospital without her.


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TO THE READER

My child was one of Gods superlative creations, and so was

yours.

Perhaps you never had the opportunity to hold your baby

as I did, or perhaps your child was too small to see with your

physical eyes. Regardless, your son or daughter was a portrait

of Gods handiwork.

From the moment of conception, the spirit of your baby

was wholly viable and his body began to take form. If you were

unable to see your child after your miscarriage or delivery, pur-

chase a book that tells of your babys growth at his particular

stage of development. You will be amazed at the miracle that

was taking place within your womb even before you discovered

your pregnancy.While examining the body of my stillborn daughter, I

became keenly aware of Gods amazing ability to create. Eliza-

beth was perfect, not a blob of tissue or cells, but a fully-formed

little girl. Before He opened His arms and received my child,

Almighty God, the Creator of the universe, took the time and

energy to mold her into a magnicent, unique creation. He didthe same for your precious one. How awesome!


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THE SIGNIFICANT LIFE

Some have said and meant it wellThat you werent meant to be

And the reason for your tiny life

Remains a mystery.

But seeing the nality

And knowing what I do,Id happily accept the pain

And still give life to you.

Your grave existence, I esteem,

Though it was just a while.

The great reward of your brief lifeWas surely worth this trial.

The moments spent together,

I appreciate them all,

For you left footprints on my heart,

Though they are very small.


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MY JOURNEY

I arrived home late Saturday morning feeling numb and exhaust-

ed from the events of the previous few days. John and I lay in

bed, and he held me until I cried myself to sleep.

I awoke several hours later, anxious to get out of the

house and do anything that would take my mind off the searing

pain that overwhelmed me. Our children staying with friends,

John and I decided to go to dinner and then visit the mall for the

after-Christmas sales. We sat in the Italian restaurant, holding

hands across the table and crying.

I found it disturbing to see life continuing as normal

around me. I wanted to scream, Stop chatting and eating as if

nothing has happened! Dont you know that my baby died? I

felt as though the whole world should halt and grieve with me,

but it did not.

At the mall I returned a bundle of maternity clothing that

John had purchased for me for Christmas. I walked aimlessly

around the stores. My back ached at the point where the anes-

thesiologist had inserted the needle for the epidural, and I want-

ed to go home. On a clearance table, I chanced upon a little doll,

about the size of Elizabeth, wearing a green nightie like the one

she had worn at the hospital. I was greatly tempted to purchase

the doll, hold her in my arms and rock her. Feeling as though I


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was going crazy, I ed to the van and wept.

The next morning I stayed home while John directed the

Sunday-morning church service. I had asked him to announce

our loss to the congregation, so that I could avoid questions such

as, Why are you skinny now? or Hows the baby?

While telling of Elizabeths death, John broke into tears.

Members of our congregation gathered around him and prayed.

After the service we were amazed at the outpouring of love and

concern. My friend Sarah coordinated meals for our family for

the following week. Another friend gave us a gift certicate for

a dinner and one-nights stay at a nearby luxury hotel. We were

showered with owers, cards and gifts.

Friends and family members joined John and me for the

hospital memorial service, during which we lighted candles and

remembered Elizabeths brief life. They then accompanied us

to a nearby cemetery, where Elizabeth had been buried in ac-

cordance with our wishes for hospital disposition. There, we

viewed the communal grave marker that read: IN LOVING

MEMORY OF OUR BABIES I will never forget you. I have

written your name in the palm of my hand (Isaiah 9:).

Several weeks passed, and the sympathetic words and

gestures ceased. Afraid to upset me, friends and acquaintances

rarely mentioned Elizabeth. But I wanted to talk about her. I

had spent months preparing for her, happily discussing my plans

for her, shopping for her and proudly telling others about her.

How am I supposed to act as though she never existed? I won-

dered.

Much of the well-meant advice served only to further

distress me. You can have another baby. I did not want an-

other baby. I wanted Elizabeth. There was probably something


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wrong with it. I would not have loved or wanted her any less.

You should be happy that shes in heaven now. I was thankful

that I would see her again, but I desired her with me.

What is wrong with me? I thought. Am I making

too big of a deal about this? Should I have gotten over it by

now?

I simply smiled at the hurtful comments, knowing that

the contributors were speaking from a desire to ease my pain.

Why are their remarks so upsetting? I questioned.

One evening I was reading a devotional companion on

the topic of neonatal and perinatal death in which the author

explained the difference between minimizing and validating. At

that moment I understood the reason for my offended reactions

to the well-intentioned comments of others. Those remarks were

minimizing Elizabeths existence, telling me that she was insig-

nicant, replaceable. I longed for anything that would validate

her life and prove her reality meaningful. With tears owing, I

penned the poem The Signicant Life.

I gave a copy to my mom, who sent it to many of my

relatives. Some of my aunts shared it with their Bible-study

groups or emailed it to their friends. People were beginning to

understand Elizabeths signicant impact.

In late January a bereavement counselor phoned, saying

that I could pick up Elizabeths rst photos at the hospital.

She told me to call her when I arrived, so that she could accom-

pany me as I viewed the pictures.

I had been so impressed by the concern and support of

the hospital, doctors, nurses and staff that I purchased a thank-

you card and a box of chocolates on my way. I entered the hos-

pital lobby and called the counselor, who promptly joined me.


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She escorted me into a nearby room and handed me an envelope.

I cried as I examined the photos of Elizabeth, and the counselor

listened as I explained my emotions of the previous few weeks.

I handed her a copy of The Signicant Life, and she

read the poem in silence. Afterwards, she asked, May I keep

this?

Yes, I said. I have other copies.

Is this something I could share or is it personal?

If youd like to share it, I dont mind.

She set the paper on the table and covered it with her

palm. Id like to put a copy of this in all the packets we give

to parents experiencing a miscarriage or stillbirth. That way,

theyll know the feelings of someone who has been there and

experienced what they are.

I would like that, I said, realizing that even I had just

begun to understand the signicance of Elizabeths life and the

critical way in which her existence would impact others.


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TO THE READER

Have the comments of others ever made you feel as though your

child was irrelevant? I have found that the earlier the loss oc-

curred the more often it is minimized. The age at which your

baby died has no impact on his eternal signicance.

Help others understand the value of your lost child.

Name him. If you are unsure of your childs gender, you may

have a sense of whether your baby was a boy or a girl. Nam-

ing your child will give you a way to relate to him and will en-

able others to more easily recognize his worth. Refer to him by

name. Instead of telling people of yourmiscarriage orstillbirth,

tell them ofCaleb orEmily, etc.

Do not be afraid to correct the inappropriate comments

of others. If someone tells you, There was probably something

wrong with it. Its for the best. Politely say, If there were

something wrong with her, I would not have loved Elizabeth any

less. Again, be sure to use your childs name. Recognize that

most badly chosen remarks are coming from a desire to make

you feel better. There is no need to be mean or hateful. Simply

assist the person in understanding that you want them to authen-

ticate the life of your child.

When I wrote the poem The Signicant Life, I wanted

people to comprehend that I was thankful to have conceived and


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carried Elizabeth. Yes, having her with me also meant that I had

to bear extreme pain when she was gone. However, the great

joy that her brief life brought was worth the hurt that I later en-

dured.

John and I have three children. It is true that, in this

lifetime, we will never see our daughter run and play, smile or

laugh, but we look forward to an eternity spent with her. I am so

pleased that God used my husband and me to create an undying

spirit, who exists in heaven with Him. I would much rather have

known Elizabeth for a short while and look forward to seeing

her again than to have never known her at all.

Take comfort in the knowledge of your babys relevance.

Your grief is appropriate because you have lost someone of great

worth. Although his stay was brief, your child left very denite

footprints. Compare your life following your loss to your life

before. Perhaps, now, you more fully understand the fragility of

life. Your child left a footprint. Maybe, now, you place greater

value on time spent with loved ones. Your child left a footprint.

Possibly, now, you can further empathize with the losses of oth-

ers. Your child left a footprint. Take some time to identify some

of your childs footprints.


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A SIBLINGS PRAYER

Please, tell me, God,Why did our baby have to die?

And why, at night, when Im in bed,

Do I hear Mommy cry?

Please, tell me, God,

What did I do to make her go away?Please tell me was it something

That I did or didnt say?


Why wont I have the chance to hear her talk?

Or hold her hand and help herWhile shes learning how to walk?


My sister is so pretty, isnt she?

Can You tell her that I love her

And give her a kiss for me?


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MY JOURNEY

Days after delivering Elizabeth, I woke early and decided to take

advantage of the early-morning silence. I picked up a book en-

titled Supernatural Childbirth. The cover featured a beautiful,

baby girl, comfortably cradled in a white bassinet. After thumb-

ing through it, I set the book on the coffee table and bustled

around the house, attending to various chores and household du-

ties.

When John awoke half-an-hour later, he found Skylar

sitting on the couch, looking morose. What is it? he asked.

He received no response. Skylar, are you okay?

Our ve-year-old buried his face in Johns lap and wept.

Its Mommys baby book, he said, pointing to the book on the

coffee table.

Soon after, on a Sunday morning, a childrens ministry

volunteer found Skylar crying in the corner. Whats wrong?

she asked.

Im sad that our baby died, he whimpered.

She explained that one of her bunnies had recently died

and suggested that Elizabeth was playing with it in heaven. Sat-

ised, Skylar left the corner to play with his friends.

Later that day I gathered him onto my lap and asked,

How are you feeling about the baby?


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Okay, he answered, squirming in an attempt to escape

my embrace.

You know, its okay to talk about her, and its okay to

cry.

Skylar nodded, scooting from my lap. Choking back

tears, he picked up a basketball and aimed at our over-the-door

basketball hoop. He pursed his lips to keep from crying but

turned his back to me, pretending to be engrossed in his play.

Several days after my talk with Skylar, Parker announced,

Im going to be a big brother.

No! Skylar screamed at his younger sibling. Thats

not happening any more!

I realized at that moment that John and I had made a

mistake. Initially, we had tried to shield the boys from the pain

we were experiencing. We had left them with friends during the

delivery and following my release from the hospital. We had

accepted baby-sitting offers and had declined to take them to the

memorial service.

I suddenly understood that the boys had lost someone,

too. Our sons had greatly anticipated the birth of Our Baby.

I had written in my pregnancy journal: Skylar and Parker are

very excited, Skylar especially. We were going to keep the news

a secret for a while, but he had told half the church before I could

stop him. His teacher says he talks about the baby often. I had

been so consumed with my own grief over losing a daughter that

I had forgotten that Skylar and Parker were mourning the loss of

a sister.

John and I beckoned the boys to the couch beside us. I

want to show you something, I said. But rst I want to tell

you that Parker is a big brother. You do have a little sister. Its


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just that shes in heaven instead of here with us. I pulled out a

decorative box that the hospital had given me. I opened it and

showed Skylar and Parker the outt that Elizabeth had worn, a

miniature, crocheted hat, hospital bracelets, a tape measure and

the certicate with her hand and footprints.

Our sons delicately handled the items, exclaiming over

each one.

Look at that little hat! She was so tiny!

They measured her with this! How long was she?

I had been concerned that recalling Elizabeth would up-

set them, but the boys talked excitedly, smiling at each memen-

to.

On my next visit to the cemetery, John and the boys ac-

companied me. Skylar and Parker placed owers next to the

grave marker as John read the inscription on the headstone. We

had lost a member of our family, and grieving as a family was

important. I knew that Elizabeth would always have a place in

my heart and cherished the fact that her father and brothers had

a place for her, too.


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TO THE READER

To whom was your child signicant? Your baby mattered to

you, of course, and to God. How about your spouse, your chil-

dren, your parents, your friends? You may be surprised at the

impact that your son or daughter had on those around you.

Many families suffer strain following the loss of a child.

It is true that men and women grieve differently. Perhaps your

spouse is not mourning in the same way that you are. You should

not assume that the life of your baby was any less important to

him or her. Men tend to grieve through doing, while women

often grieve through being. A man may throw himself into his

work, accomplish formerly neglected household tasks or engross

himself in his hobbies. A woman may cry often or become irri-

table, angry or emotional. Both are expressing sorrow over their

loss, simply in different ways.

Purpose to develop a stronger marriage during your pe-

riod of bereavement. Respect your spouses feelings and emo-

tions. Understand that his or her way of grieving may be dif-

ferent than yours and should not be interpreted as indifference.

Spend time with one another and pursue intimacy.

If you have living children, consider that your baby mat-

tered to them. Even very small children may sense their parents

sorrow. Work through your grief together. Let mourning be a


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family event. Find ways to enable your children to express their

emotions and remember their sibling.

Children should be reminded that they are in no way re-

sponsible for the loss. If a child felt envious or jealous of the

new baby, he may feel that he somehow caused the death of his

sibling. Insist that it was a result of nothing he did or did not do

or said or did not say.

Include your parents, friends and relatives in honoring

your baby. Invite them to a memorial service or offer them keep-

sakes. After Elizabeths delivery, I mailed announcements to my

friends and family that read: We have sad news to share. Our

daughter, Elizabeth Hope, was stillborn on December 7, 00,

at : a.m., measuring 9 inches, weighing 7. ounces. The

response was surprising. My aunts, parents and in-laws proudly

displayed their announcements and the picture of Elizabeths

tiny hand in mine.

Perhaps you had not previously considered the grief of

others. Your children lost a sibling; your parents lost a grand-

child. Take this opportunity to strengthen your family and mourn

the loss together.


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FADED ROSE

Perfectly framed in the hands of God,

The rose, so vivacious, so full of life,

Springs into full bloom.

Why must we enjoy this gift for so short a time?

For the rose, soon after its appearance,

Suddenly fades.

We grieve

Because something so magnicently unique is gone.

This rose was like no other.

Yet we accept the frailty of life,

Even viewing it as something beautiful,

For fragile things are those which are most precious.

Perhaps the joy we discover in a rose blossom

Is just a taste of the ecstasy well nd

In a heavenly garden full of faded roses.


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MY JOURNEY

On Christmas Eve after receiving the shocking news of our ba-

bys death, John and I studied several books, intent on selecting

a name for our child. We chose Elizabeth for a girl, meaning

consecrated to God, andJoshua for a boy, meaning God is my

Salvation. Unable to decide on middle names, I determined that

in our situation, a middle name was unnecessary.

I cried myself to sleep, dozing tfully, tossing, turning

and dreaming. Sometime past midnight I awoke suddenly and

opened my eyes. The details of my darkened bedroom were vis-

ible only by the glare of the digital time on our VCR. The word

hope was racing through my mind, along with the phrase found

in Proverbs :: Hope deferred makes the heart sick. I

knew immediately that we were having a baby girl and that we

were to give her the middle nameHope.

The next morning I looked up Jeremiah 9:, which

seemed to complement our daughters newly chosen middle

name: For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the

Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and

a hope.

Over the next weeks and months, I wondered why I had

dreamed of hope deferred. A sick heart seemed to contradict the

assurance of a hopeful future. Yet I recognized that God was


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promising me something and that He had willed the naming of

my daughterElizabeth Hope.

A couple months after Elizabeths delivery, I received

a sympathy card from a family friend. To my amazement she

quoted Proverbs :, explaining, Hope has been deferred and

your hearts must be sick with grief, and God knows all about it.

I felt as though I had been given the rst piece of the puzzle. My

sorrow was appropriate, even expected. God recognized that I

had had hopes and dreams for Elizabeth, and He understood and

shared my sadness over her loss.

The second piece of the puzzle came when I opened my

Bible to Proverbs : and read: Hope deferred makes the

heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life. There

I read the promise of God. He was granting the assurance of

a tree of life, a desire that in its maturity would be productive,

bearing much fruit. I set out to nd the third piece of the puzzle:

dening desire.

In late February I ew to Michigan to attend my grand-

mothers ninetieth birthday party. After a day surrounded by

pregnant women and new babies, I returned to my hotel room,

feeling exhausted and somewhat discouraged. I began to con-

sider Elizabeths middle name. Why did I name herHope? I

wondered. In what ways am I hopeful?

It was as if the answer ooded over me, providing the -

nal piece of the puzzle and calming my heart and mind. In a rush

of thoughts and emotions, I identied four avenues of hope.

First, I hoped in the character of God. I knew that my

relationship with Him was worth pursuing as never before. I

determined to trust my Heavenly Father, Who is so good that

because of His love for me, He provided the hope of Salvation.


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Second, I hoped in the promise of a future. According to

Romans :, God has guaranteed to work things for my good

if I love Him and am called by Him. While I was unsure of my

future, I knew that it rested in the hands of a sovereign, loving

God, Who desired the best for me. My future would be great!

Third, I hoped in the prospect of mentoring others. As

God healed me I hoped to facilitate His healing to others. I had

a new understanding of grief and loss, but, more importantly, of

the love, compassion and healing power of my Heavenly Father.

I longed for the day when my situation would bring hope to

someone experiencing the loss of their child.

Fourth, I hoped in a heavenly reunion. Heaven became

a reality, not a fanciful, out-of-reach vision. It became the place

of elated reacquainting, where I would hold my daughter again.

I could imagine us hand-in-hand, walking along streets of gold

and worshipping our Savior together. I could hardly wait!

I closed my eyes, lled with a renewed sense of expecta-

tion. I slept peacefully for the rst time in months.


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TO THE READER

God, in His great love, has granted you the hope of an eternity

spent with your child. Imagine your son or daughter running

along streets of gold, sharing your heavenly mansion or dining

with you at a celestial banquet table.

God, according to His magnicent character, has offered

you the expectation of heaven through His gift of Salvation.

Take a glimpse into the heart of God. Envision His anguish as

He watched His only Son suffer and die. Picture the tears of a

Heavenly Father mourning the loss of His Child.

He did it for you. He so desired a relationship with you

that He endured the most horrible pain imaginable-one with

which you are too familiar: the death of a child. His Son, Jesus,

forged the path from earth to heaven.

I Thessalonians :- reads: But I do not want you to

be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep,

lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe

that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him

those who sleep in Jesus.

God has issued an invitation to a grand heavenly re-

union. Imagine the ecstatic hugs and kisses from formerly de-

parted friends and family. Picture a small child, running to you,

arms outstretched, squealing, Ive missed you and I love you!


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Envision a face-to-face meeting with the Creator of the universe,

Who lovingly arranged this party of all parties.

Jesus is the only way to the Heavenly Fathers celestial

celebration. When your life is complete, God desires an eternity

spent with you. Will you accept His free gift of Salvation?


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7

RESTORATION

When the questions dont have answersAnd the griefs too much to bear,

I can rest in the great comfort

That my Savior lingers there.

When it seems that hope has faded

And I cannot see the dawn,He gives promise of a future

And the grace to carry on.

When my abdomen is empty

And my cradled arms are void,

He turns mourning into dancingAnd my sorrow into joy.


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MY JOURNEY

I sat in a padded chair in the waiting room of my doctors of-

ce, feeling weepy and emotional. Surrounded by newborns

and expectant mothers, I was there for my postpartum checkup

following the delivery of my stillborn daughter.

The nurse called my name, weighed me and escorted me

and my mother to an examining room. The doctor will be in in

a minute, she said.

The doctor entered and placed his chair directly across

from me. He expressed his sympathy for my loss and for requir-

ing me to visit his ofce, which he knew must be painful. As

you know, our best guess is that this was a cord accident, he

said. There is no reason to believe that this will ever happen to

you again. I dont know if you and your husband want to have

another baby.

We do, I interrupted.

Let a couple cycles come and go, the doctor said.

Then, you can try again.

I returned home feeling that I had just commenced an

extended waiting period. It seemed as though my life were sus-

pended in limbo until I could conceive again. I took comfort in

shopping for baby and maternity clothes, preparing for another

child. I knew that no one could replace Elizabeth, but I longed


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to ll my empty arms.

I assumed that God would grant me another baby by

the following December. Surely He would not require me to

face the anniversary of Elizabeths delivery date without a babe

in arms. In late February I purchased several home pregnancy

tests, all of which produced faintly positive results. To my dis-

may, my period came several days later. In late March I faced

several negative pregnancy test results and again in early May.

What is going on? I questioned. Doesnt God want to restore

what I have lost?

It was then that I realized that perhaps Gods denition

of restoration differed from mine. Perhaps His promise of a

future and a hope did not necessarily hinge on whether or not I

had another baby. Is it possible that God can heal me without

immediately awarding the one thing that I feel I need? I deter-

mined that the answer was most certainly, Yes!

I had presumed that God would receive glory by giving

me another baby. I had imagined dedicating a newborn, telling

of how God had turned our sorrow into joy. Maybe a more

excellent testimony would be that I have a life full of joy in spite

of my circumstances, I thought.

One evening while driving home from work, I was pray-

ing about a future child. I was sincerely impressed to release

the timing of the next pregnancy to God. Trying to conceive

had become stressful. John and my sex life had lost its intimacy

and appeal, becoming more of a chore. I determined that for my

health and the health of my marriage, I would let God decide

when I should have another baby. I would stop assuming that

God should immediately give me what I want and start trusting

in his promise to work all things together for my good.


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With tears streaming down my cheeks, I released my

life and my future baby to God. I understood that that decision

could delay the arrival of my next child, but I was sure that it

would advance Gods healing process. I felt relief wash over

me. I knew that I was no longer in control, but God was, and I

could live with that. At that moment I started down a new road,

one that would take me through sorrow and grief, past comfort

and hope and, ultimately, to joy, healing and restoration.


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TO THE READER

Healing and restoration are obtainable. The decision to pursue

them or not is yours.

Many days, I felt as though I wanted to be miserable

and depressed. I assumed that feeling joy or happiness would

somehow tarnish Elizabeths memory. I had already recognized

her importance, but I began to consider the kind of result that

I wanted her life to have. Deciding that I wanted her effect to

be positive, I used her remembrance to spur me toward growth

and health. At some point, I began recalling her with fondness

instead of sadness.

What has been your denition of restoration? Does it

differ from Gods? Allow Him to restore you in His way. That

may mean releasing your desires to Him, letting Him ll your

empty arms and heart with His Spirit.

God promises in Psalm 0:b: Weeping may endure for

a night, but joy comes in the morning. Journey through the

darkness with Him, for light resides on the other side. You can

do it! Pick up your walking stick and take the rst step. Do you

see it? At rst, it is a just a faint glimmer, but you feel drawn to

it. As you walk, it becomes larger, a comforting glow, beckon-

ing you closer. At last, the light looms before you, and you drop

your staff and RUN! It is hard to imagine that darkness once


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encompassed you. Dawn has come, and you dance in the light

of restoration.

Blessings on your journey!


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EPILOGUE

My story contains additional chapters. One is entitled Disil-

lusionment and details my feelings of doubt and confusion

following the loss of our second baby girl, Abigail Grace, on

August 9, 00. Another is called Acceptance. It tells of

the miscarriage of a third daughter, Rebecca Faith, on May 7,

00, after which I chose to relinquish my many questions and,

once again, trust in the sovereignty of God. A different section

is named Challenge and speaks of Johns and my process of

deciding whether or not to try again, subsequent to the loss of

yet another baby, Gabriel Promise, on October , 00.

These chapters remain to be written, projects for a future

time, as I am currently preoccupied with the joys and demands

of my miracle baby, Jet. His pregnancy and delivery are a chap-

ter unto themselves, a chapter that has many names: Fear,

Faith, Anxiety, Anticipation and, of course, Miracle.

Although the sections of my journey possess different

titles, their underlying theme is the same. Written beneath every

heading, woven throughout each paragraph and inherent in each

and every word is one thing and only one thing: the faithfulness

of God! My Heavenly Father continues to work all things for

my good, a fact at which I am truly amazed.


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Documents

The Significant Life