Planning the Memorial Service

As the time drew nearer in anticipation of receiving the phone call from Vanderbilt telling us that Grace's remains were ready, I began to rethink our decision of not having a public memorial service or funeral for her. It was eating me up inside. I kept asking myself why we were treating her as though she wasn't real. That might not have been what we were doing, but it sure felt that way. If any of our other 3 daughters died, we'd absolutely have a service for them. So, why didn't we do this for Grace? We didn't even write an obituary. The things that we did or didn't do weren't going to change anything. The only thing that mattered was that Grace was living in heaven.

Looking back, I'm glad that we took the time those first 2 ½ months to hibernate, process, and get through the initial shock and numbness. It was still overwhelming, but having a service for her only days after her death wasn’t even a coherent thought for us as we sat there in the hospital room wondering "What is going on here?" Our gracious Lord carried us through and continues to be faithful today.

After bringing her home, we knew that it was time to share her with our family and friends. Our pastor helped us plan a memorial service. Together, Bob and I picked out special hymns, and we asked our pastor to include a couple of Bible passages in the Scripture readings that brought us comfort and continue to today. We asked our choir and Sunday School children to sing during the service. The Sunday School children sang “I am Jesus' Little Lamb”. Heather knew all of the words. It was one of her favorite songs that she would sing while swinging outside. I told Heather that she needed to sing really loud so Grace could hear her. Heather asked, “If I sing loud, will Grace come back home?” I said, “No. Grace is already home in heaven with Jesus.”

Bob and I went clothes shopping a couple of days before the service. He never bought a suit for himself in our 18 years of marriage, and now we were going to buy one for our baby's memorial service. We picked out a black and white dress for me. We call them our funeral clothes. Since her service, we've worn them to at least 7 funerals ~ 3 of them were for children. When Bob hears, "You've really gotten alot of use out of that suit," I'm sure that he'd like to reply, "You have no idea ~ no idea why I bought it and no idea where it has been." Every time I see him wearing it, it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

We wanted to keep things simple for the service. We decided to include Grace's plaster casts of her feet and praying hands, her baptismal certificate, the framed 'Precious Feet' poem that Bob had written, and the box that held her earthly remains.

A collage was also going to be displayed. We only had a few pictures of her from the hospital. I've never enjoyed having my picture taken, so I only had about 4 of them when I was pregnant with Grace. Those pictures were saved on our computer ~ the computer that crashed 4 days before the service. We took it in to try to have those pictures retrieved but were told that everything was lost...a little bit of a meltdown followed. Thankfully, Bob was able to somehow come up with those 4 precious pictures and all was wonderful in our home once again. The collage included:

• A family picture at Brittany's Confirmation ~ 7 months along with Grace
• Heather and me on Good Friday ~ 8 months pregnant with Grace
• Ultrasound picture of Grace taken on her birthday ~ May 20
• Bob and me holding her in her room in the NICU
• Grace ~ hooked up to machines to help her live
• Me holding Grace after she went to heaven

When we let some of our family know about the service, I heard the word “closure”. People mean well, they just don't realize what some words mean to me. When I hear “closure,” I immediately feel that people think we will magically be “over it and back to normal” the day after. For me, the following day was going to be a day that felt as though Grace died yesterday. Sunday, the day of her service, would bring back so many emotions, but I was hoping that it would help to have the support of our family and friends who were able to attend. I don't want "closure" of this. To me, that would mean that we close the door on what happened...on what changed our lives...on what changed each of us. If I do that, I won't begin my day spending time with Him ~ reading His comforting words in my "Grace" Bible. I'll go back to reading the Bible whenever...when I feel like it, or when I find the time to do it. I don't ever want to go back to that. 

There was one more hurdle that I needed to jump before the memorial service. For most, it wouldn't seem like a big deal. I needed to get my hair cut. The last time I saw my stylist, I was 8 months pregnant. After Grace died, I anticipated conversations with others who didn't know about her yet. "How would they react?" "What would they say?" "Would they even remember that I was pregnant?" "Would they change the subject or completely avoid the subject like most were doing when they saw me?"

I journaled the following after I returned home from my haircut...

August 6, 2010  Friday  11 weeks

I continue to be reminded of how insignificant losing a baby is. I finally got up the nerve to get my haircut today. My last haircut was in April. Today's visit was even worse than I had anticipated. When I walked in, Kristin stood up and said, “Let's go to the back.” The other hair stylist saw me and said, “Wow! You're tiny!” The last time she saw me, I was huge. I gave her my straight, closed-mouth smile and kept on walking. As I followed Kristin down the hall, I said, “I was a lot bigger the last time I was here.” When I sat down she asked, “So...how are the babies?” She really didn't remember if I was having 1 or 2 or maybe she was just guessing. It was very awkward. I said, “Our baby died,” and started fighting back tears.

She said, “Oh.” It sounded more like “Eeeeew!” Like something you'd say after squishing a bug. Her next question was, “How would you like your hair cut today?” I couldn't even talk. More awkward moments. She continued on with meaningless small talk and I barely responded. Then she asked, “Have you been doing anything fun this summer?” I quietly said, “No.” I can't believe how insensitive people are. Why didn't I tell her that my excitement included having an emergency C-section and delivering our 4^th daughter who died 11 hours later?

After more awkward silence, I finally said that we had our 4^th daughter in May. She lived for 11 hours. Kristin asked one of my most hated questions, “What was wrong with her?” I just said that she was born with many difficulties. Then she gave me every cliché in the book. These are all of the things you're not supposed to say to someone's who's suffering with loss:

“At least you have 3 other children.”

“She's in a better place.”

“At least it's not suffering.”

“You'll just have to love your other kids even more.”

“You can't keep dwelling on it.” She said this several times.

She didn't even ask what Grace's name was. I'll never go back there again!

...and I never did.

There comes a point during this process that one realizes that it's necessary to avoid certain situations. We need to do what we feel is "safe". There may be only a handful of people that we feel "safe" around. For me, our home was my refuge. Nobody's well-meaning words were going to unintentionally hurt me when I was in my own home (as long as I didn't answer the phone). If I avoided others, the store, eye contact, then I could control my emotions...or so I thought. I eventually came to a point where I realized that there's absolutely no way that the pain or triggers can be avoided. I've learned to let them come, process them, and continue on...with God's help.

“The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in him.” Nahum 1:7

A few family members attended her service. They came into town the day before and spent most of that day at our home. No one said a word about Grace. "Isn't that why they're here?" I thought. As we sat and talked about nothing, I would need to go to our bedroom every 10 minutes to cry, because I had to somehow release all of the tension. After I had some more time to process that day, I realized that there were just too many different personalities in one room. I know that everyone would have talked about what happened, but they just didn't know how to or when. For me, one-on-one usually works best and that day just wasn't the day to do it. I also laugh when I think about how all of us probably just needed to have a good cry, but when you come from my family, we refuse to show emotion in front of one another.