God's Gracious Gift

“I’m not finding any heart tones, Shari. You and I both know that’s not good.” I heard the words my midwife spoke, but I did not believe them. No heart tones? This baby was due to be born in 3 weeks. Everything seemed to be progressing so well for this pregnancy. My blood pressure, iron, weight and measurements were all normal. What was this silence? What was happening?
I stayed on the examining table while she checked again for any sound -- hoping for life as the tears quietly streamed down the sides of my face.
I remembered laying in bed at night feeling our baby move and watching my active abdomen. Sharing those special times with my son knowing that soon the world would see. Soon they would be able to feel him too as he squirmed in their arms. What would happen to him now?
My midwife called my husband Eric, told him the news and explained she wanted to meet at the hospital. She then excused herself for a minute to give us some privacy. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to break down and sob right there. The thoughts were safer in my mind. Better not to speak the truth I already knew -- my baby was dead.
At the hospital they wheeled me downstairs for an ultrasound. A nurse in the elevator asked if we were excited. How could she know the baby was dead? I looked like I was about to deliver, and I would -- only this child would not come home with me. He would never cry, or open his eyes or move his little fingers. He would need no milk, no diaper, no mother’s arms to soothe him in the night. It felt like more pain than I could bear.
The ultrasound was quick. I thought I saw his head, then she quickly moved to his mid-section, looking for heart movement. Nothing. The silent heart was also still.
We left the hospital and began the long wait for labor to begin. The weather changed, matching my inner turmoil-- it became dark and gray and started to snow.
My sister, Mel joined me longing to bring comfort any way she could. Looking at my sister was like looking in a mirror. In her dark eyes, I saw my pain. Her tears were my tears. She hugged me and we cried together.
Mel had ideas to induce labor and that night we returned to the hospital. So began the almost forty hours of pitocin, contractions and waiting. I had monitors around my stomach measuring the frequency of contractions and then displaying the results on the computer beside my hospital bed. I ached as I looked at the single gray line on the screen. Mothers with live babies had a gray and a red line. It was almost deceiving. For a brief moment I would feel excitement with the start of each contraction. We are going to have a baby! Then just as quickly I would remember -- no, my baby is dead. Anticipation and joy would be replaced by grief. During this time Mel sat with me for hours, listening and talking. When she wasn’t in the hospital with me, she helped watch our three older boys. One time she came in with snacks for Eric and a soft, powder blue outfit for our son.
Sunday afternoon, our silent treasure, Ian Jonathan entered the world.
The nurses treated Ian so tenderly; like he was alive. They weighed and measured him and dressed him in the clothes from his aunt Mel. Eric put a hat on his head and carried him to me. We sat there quietly crying, holding our son. Ian Jonathan -- God’s gracious gift.
Many friends came to visit. Many pictures were taken. Many tears shed and then it was time to say good bye. The nurse came and wheeled the cart carrying Ian away.
The next week we planned Ian‘s funeral. Our home and office swirled with activity, and I was unable to keep up. I laid on the couch in our living room, chilled from fever, aching, while Mel cleaned my house and cared for my older boys.
In the weeks that followed I hungered for encouragement. I frequently checked my e-mail or mailbox hoping to hear from someone. The pain was fresh and I longed for a fresh word. Sometimes people felt awkward, not knowing what to say. Mel taught me that it doesn’t matter so much what you say or do, but that you do something. I cannot count all the times Mel left cards, flowers, e-mail or thoughtful presents.
One day Mel gave me a journal full of poetry she had written for me. Her words seemed to echo the sorrow I was feeling inside that I couldn’t express. As I read her poem, “O God, You are There“, I kept thinking that God was there -- in her hands, in her words -- comforting me through my sister. She was God’s gracious gift.


“O God, You are There”

I’ve shed a thousand tears,
You caught each one in your hand.
You wiped away the wetness on my cheeks.
Dried my eyes.
My heart is hurting.
My body trembles.
You place your hand on my shoulder to let me know…

That you are there
To catch me when I fall
From the pain that overwhelms me
You are there
When I tremble and cry out
You are there.

I’m dependent upon you now,
Never felt so much pain before,
But by your grace I keep pressing on,
I look to you for strength
To help me through this dark valley.
And I know…

That you are there
I feel your presence now
You are there
I feel your arms reaching out,
You are there
To wipe my tears away
To let me know that its ok to cry…

O God, You are there.