Dear Grace

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Dear Grace,

On May 20, the day you were born and went to heaven, we decided to have a private memorial service for you at home with your 3 sisters. We made so many unimaginable decisions that day. We were planning to bring you home with us, not for God to take you home to heaven so soon.

We believe now that God gave us this time to rethink our decision. After bringing your earthly remains home on July 23, we knew that it was necessary to remember you and let our family and friends see you by having a memorial service at church.

Pastor came out to our home 2 weeks ago and helped us plan your service. We chose some of our favorite hymns: Children of the Heavenly Father, In Christ Alone, Amazing Grace, and Go My Children with My Blessing. The choir sang In Christ Alone and Day by Day.

We asked the Sunday School children to sing “I am Jesus' Little Lamb”. This is Heather's favorite song, and we wanted your sisters to be a part of your memorial service. The day that dad brought me home from the hospital, Angie said that Heather was swinging and singing this song at the top of her lungs. Heather told Angie that she wanted to hold you in her arms, and she cradled her arms as if she was holding you. Angie said that Jesus was holding you in His arms up in heaven. When Heather heard this, she clapped her hands and was so happy. Last week before the Sunday School children practiced their song, I told Heather that she needed to sing really loud so that you would hear her. She said, “If I sing really loud, will Grace come home?” I told her that you were already home.

We found a picture of Jesus holding a baby against His chest and had it put on the front of the service folder. This picture brings me so much comfort. In the front of church, we displayed a picture of your feet with the poem that dad wrote shortly after you went to heaven. We included pictures of you when I was still carrying you, pictures of you before you went to heaven, and a picture of you and me when you were with Jesus. Your baptismal certificate, a plaque that has your name on it, and the plaster castings of your praying hands and feet were also displayed. In the center of everything was the wooden box that holds your earthly remains.

We invited all of our family, friends, and neighbors. It was time to share you with everyone.

Today, August 8, has been a day that I've been anxiously anticipating for a few weeks now. I had no idea what to expect. I wasn't sure that I'd even be able to make it through the service. Dad and I felt all of the prayers coming from everyone. We were given amazing strength today.

Pastor had a comforting message for all of us. We knew that he would. I feel that because of you, Grace, some of our friends that we haven't seen in church since Easter came to church today. Everyone struggles with something. Hopefully, they were able to realize that even through their trials, we must continue to praise God. We pray that everyone's faith was strengthened, because of you, by the Holy Spirit.

Many of our friends said that your service was perfect—from the Scripture passages to the hymns we sang. Our friends also thanked us for sharing you with them. I never imagined how important this service would be to us and to so many others.

After leaving church today, dad and I agreed that this was absolutely the right thing to do. We feel a sense of peace. This doesn't mean that we'll feel better tomorrow. Tomorrow and the days to follow will be just as difficult as yesterday and today, but we know that we'll make it through this and we'll be with you again.

Love,

Mom

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.

White Paper Bag

Nine weeks after Grace died, we received the phonecall from Vanderbilt saying that Grace's remains were ready to be picked up ~ a day that we were anticipating and dreading. I'll take you back to that day.It was Friday, July 23, 2010. Bob just got off shift from the fire department. To get home, he has to drive through Nashville and decided to stop at the County Clerk's office to see if he could get a copy of Grace's birth and death certificates. Bob was the self-appointed one who got to do the difficult tasks. (Although, I'm pretty sure that I was the one who appointed him to do those things. After all, he's the "strong one", right?) Obviously, I wasn't with him that day, so I don't know what he felt or experienced. I know that he had to drive to 2 different places for each certificate...really? Talk about dragging things out and making them even more difficult.

(The following was written later that day.) "I'm glad that Bob picked up these certificates, but it has to be wearing on him as well. Maybe it didn't seem to be at first. I think that Bob was able to, or trying to, block May 20 from his mind. At the time, this bothered me. Now looking back, I see that it was necessary. I couldn't have him falling apart when I couldn't control myself."

When he arrived home that morning, he handed me the certificates. The "slap in the face" came when I saw her birth certificate. The word DECEASED was stamped across it in big, bold, black letters. I wished that it didn't say that. Isn't that what her death certificate is for? Thankfully, I had already been made aware of this by a friend who also left the hospital without her newborn son. This was actually one thing that I was expecting and somewhat prepared for, but WOW! It still stung! At the moment, I can't recall what is printed on her death certificate for her cause of death.

Shortly after Bob arrived home with the certificates, we received the call. Thankfully, he answered the phone. It was Vanderbilt calling to tell us that Grace's remains were ready. He needed to schedule an appointment to "pick her up". Could we do it today or Monday? We decided, "Let's just do it today." After Bob hung up, he said that he had a feeling that they were going to call that day. He almost drove to Vanderbilt after picking up the certificates to see if "she was ready". We loaded up the girls in the van ~ the van we bought because we were outgrowing our car ~ and we headed to Nashville.

The last time I rode to Nashville was for my 6 week post-partum check...

It still makes me feel sick to my stomach each time I hear the word "Vanderbilt". Bob drives past the clinic where the doctor told us that we'd be having our baby "today" each time he goes to work. Four days after Grace was born, he drove me back there so I could have my staples removed. Six weeks later, he drove me to the same clinic for my post-partum check. The check-up where you are feeling on top of the world, carrying your 6 week old infant in his or her carseat. Except this time, our arms were empty. The waiting room had other parents with their newborns in tow. It was such a different experience for us this time. The doctor didn't even give me the usual examination that I had after our other 3 girls were born. All she asked me was, "Is your incision healing o.k.?" and "How is your mood?" I was dumb-founded and thought to myself as I cried, "So this is what this is...just a mood?"

This is what I wrote in my journal that day...July 23, 2010

We went to Vanderbilt this afternoon, together, as a family. We both cried on the way there. While we were driving in the van, I was watching all of the cars going by and wondering where they were going. We were going to bring our daughter's remains home from the hospital. Grace would get to ride in the van that we bought in December because we would be outgrowing the car in June. I'm not sure what Bob was thinking about, and I don't remember what I was thinking about either. We've been waiting for this day since they told us in the NICU that cremations are done every 3 months.

I wonder why we didn't decide to have a funeral for Grace right away in May. Were we just in complete shock and didn't know what to do? Was I thinking that if we had a funeral, we'd have to bury her in the ground in some cemetery in TN? Maybe God was just telling us to wait until we thought things through and a bit of the numbness and shock had worn off. Maybe our family and friends needed to see her body in a tiny coffin so they would believe that she was real. It doesn't pay to think about the “What ifs” and “If onlys”. We did what we felt was right for us at that moment.

There was nothing comforting about the experience of picking up Grace's remains. We all went to the basement of the hospital and we asked someone where we go to pick up remains. She wasn't sure. Then she stopped someone and asked where “cremains” are. Then they both said “cremains” a couple of more times. "This is our baby you're talking about." Eventually, we found our way to medical records down in a cold basement.

Bob told the receptionist that we were there to pick up some remains. I shouldn't keep making him do all of the hard things that I don't want to do. It was difficult for him to get the words out. There was no reaction from the receptionist. She called someone and had us wait. A lady took us back to her office. Bob signed a form, and she handed him a white gift bag and said, “Have a good night.” It was literally that quick. I couldn't look at her and walked away.

As our family walked through the hospital, Bob and I wondered if people knew. Did the employees know what we were carrying in this white paper gift bag? I couldn't make eye contact with anyone, but when Bob did, he felt as though some of them knew.

When we got in the van, Bob gave me the bag. I held it in my lap for a little while, then I took the dark, wooden, rectangular box out. Bob looked at me and I said that it felt better holding the box. 9 weeks and 1 day after God carried Grace to heaven, we carried her earthly remains out of the hospital in a white gift bag.

Our loss seems to be taking its toll on both of us. There are more tears coming from Bob. Tears are good to see, but it hurts me to see him sad and hurting. Lately, I think that I've been feeling worse. I'm having more dreams and not sleeping well. I wake up feeling sad, anxious, and uneasy. I don't remember details of my dreams, but I know that they involve my pregnancy, a baby, and  death.  July 23, 2010

Happy Belated Father's Day

I can remember the song "Lead Me" being played so often two years ago...almost to the point of "O.K., enough already." When we finally took the time to listen to the words, we realized what a beautiful prayer this is for fathers. Being the head of the household has to be the toughest job. So many of my friends who are moms are taking on both roles as a parent with their children. There are no words to express how difficult that must be. Thankfully, we can always turn to our Heavenly Father for guidance.

The following poem was sent to me a few months after Grace died. It has given me a different perspective on the grief of a father.

It must be very difficult to be a man in grief,
since "men don't cry" and "men are strong",

no tears can bring relief.
It must be very difficult to stand up to the test
 and field the calls and visitors, so she can get some rest.
They always ask if she's alright and what she's going through,

but seldom take his hand and ask, "My friend, what about you?"
He hears her cry in the night and thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her, but "stays strong" for her sake.
It must be very difficult to start each day anew
 and try to be so very brave - He lost his baby, too.

Author unknown

Bob is away this week, and I have him on my mind. I wrote the following thoughts 6 or 7 months into this...around October or November of 2010. It was titled "Bob".
As Bob and I were eating breakfast this morning, I asked him if he missed me while he was at work. He said that he misses me every day. Hearing that, you'd think that he's gone all the time. He works 1 day and has 2 days off. I started laughing when he said that, because as innocently as he meant this, I thought of how true it is that he misses me. To him, it probably feels like I've been gone for months.

I’ve often wondered how we would have handled this if it happened years ago, when we were first married. Of course with God’s help. Marriage can be difficult on a “normal day”, but when something life-changing is thrown into your ideal little world, things become so different. We have become different. For us, I feel that God has strengthened an already good marriage. For that, I am so thankful.

Many have told us that losing a child is the most difficult thing that will ever happen. As a couple, I agree. It could be the worst thing, if we let it. Personally, I think that the most difficult cross I'd be chosen to carry would be losing Bob. Who would be there with his comforting arm around me while sitting in church? Who'd be here listening to me “vent”, once again, about something that I've talked about 100 times already? I already know the answer to that question…the One who never leaves or forsakes us.

I know that Bob gets frustrated with me. Our feelings are different. That's what's been so difficult about losing Grace. I've always felt as though I'm alone in this...God is here, but I still feel alone. Bob has listened to and witnessed the meltdowns and tears...more tears in the last 6 months than he's seen in almost 19 years of marriage. This is what it finally took to get me to open up and talk...to really talk to Bob. So many blessings continue to come from this.

There were, and still are, times that I’d just start crying. Bob would ask why and I would just shrug my shoulders, because I didn't know why. Now if I do, I just say, “Because I can.” I remember back to a day in August when Bob and I were sobbing in the kitchen. (Sorry for sharing that, Bob.) I said, “It's o.k. if I cry. I'll feel better.” He said, “You always say that, but I don't think that you believe it.” I said, “I believe it, because God promises that we'll see joy again,”...and we have, so many times. In our lifetime, we've been blessed with so much taken-for-granted joy, happiness, and contentment. Those things far outweigh our grief and sadness. Thankfully, the sadness only lasts for a little while…even if that ‘little while’ is the rest of my earthly life…it’s temporary.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.    2 Corinthians 4:17,18

(I’m so glad that I kept a journal, or the following words of comfort would have been forgotten…2 years later.) “Though you will always think of Grace, you will also be filled with the underlying joy of knowing where she is now...in the glories of heaven, and in time, that joy will 'trump' the sorrow you now feel.”

We absolutely believe this and continue to experience joy…temporary joy that is ‘seen’ and the sure hope of eternal joy that is ‘unseen’.

We have t-shirts that say on the front "Always thankful for Grace". The Wendt girls are just as thankful for Bob and dad.

Happy Father's Day!

Strength

I wrote down these thoughts in November of 2010...6 months later.

"Grief is not a sign of weakness or a loss of faith but the price of love." author unknown

When you hear the word “strength,” what do you think about? How does it make you feel when people tell you things such as “You can get through this! You are strong! You are much stronger than I am. I could never make it through (in our case) the death of our baby.” Do you feel as if you are being strong when you go through the motions and carry on with your life like nothing ever happened...like our baby didn't die or never existed? Do I feel as though I'm being strong when I smile and say, “Fine,” or “Great,” whenever someone asks how I'm doing?

Ever since Bob and I were blessed 6 months ago to hold Grace, kiss her, tell her “We'll see you in heaven,” and watch her take her last breath as Jesus carried her to heaven, I've felt like we've needed to be strong. We're Christians ~ We shouldn't be sad...our baby's in heaven ~ We shouldn't cry ~ We should paint on a smile in spite of the pain that we carry inside. Is this strength or weakness?

Last night, I read about what it means to be strong. It's given me yet another perspective on things, in this case, on the word “strength”. I pray that it helps all of us who have been blessed with what many would call “a tragedy, trial, punishment, suffering, or 'sad' thing.” Thankfully, as Christians, we can say that God has blessed us with an opportunity.

When coping with death, grief, or any God-given test, many feel that they need to immediately jump with both feet back into their lives and/or act like everything's o.k. We’re made to feel that way in society. After all, how many days does one get to take off work when there’s a death? 3 days? We hear things like, “Well, you can’t dwell on it…You need to move on…You have other children at home that need you…” At home, I did my best to “move on”. I went through the motions of being a mom. I couldn't let the girls see me cry and was embarrassed if I cried in front of Bob when he wasn't crying. I spent the summer with my back turned, working alone outside, doing anything to try to hide my feelings. Did it work? No! Was I protecting our daughters from something? I thought so. I thought that it would be damaging for them if they saw their mom cry. The damaging part was teaching them that we shouldn't show our emotions. That's how we were raised and that's all I knew.

About 3 months after Grace died, I found out that Britt didn't even want to come home after spending the day with friends at a water park. She said, “I don't want to go home. My mom is so sad, and I don't know how to help her.” So...when I thought that I was appearing to be strong, I was really teaching them what it means to be weak. If only there was a grief class I could have taken in school.

Being strong is not pushing your feelings aside and going on with life as if nothing happened. Real strength is facing the scary, hard feelings you have, and dealing with them...with God's help. At times, I was pushing my feelings aside and trying to act as if nothing happened after Grace died. I hid my feelings as best as I could, because it seemed as though no one around me showed any sadness. I needed to see people cry. Those were some confusing days and months. I realize that no one wants to see their friends sad or crying, so what do we do? We approach them with overwhelming joy, a bunch of thoughtless chatter...saying anything to avoid “the elephant”...in our case, Grace. Up until May 20, I was the elephant...literally. For the first couple of months after her death, I felt as though she wasn't real...like she never existed. I don't remember anyone bringing up her name. If they didn't, then I couldn't either. I wanted to talk about her, and I still need to talk about her. I never know how to start the conversation but just need others to ask me questions. I can't tell you how awkward it has been since our lives changed. Awkward probably isn't the right word. I was reminded for the last 3 months of our pregnancy that I was huge. Did I need a reminder? After Grace died, there was this overwhelming, deafening silence.

Some (probably unintentionally) cause us to think that when we cry, go to the cemetery, or do other things in memory of a loved one, we are dwelling in our sadness, that we have a weak faith, or that we are stuck in the past. I call it remembering someone we love. I heard a grieving dad, Alan Pedersen, say “We weren’t meant to love our children for as long as they lived but for as long as we live.” Our family imagined spending our lives with another baby. God's plans were so different. Thankfully, He continues to help us realize that He is the One we can depend on. He truly understands.

It takes courage and strength to be real, to bare your soul, and to share your innermost feelings with others. You might wonder, “Will they judge me? Will they think that I need help? Do they even have a clue how this feels?” It takes even more strength to tell someone, “I'm really struggling today,” than it does to say, “I'm fine,” when someone asks how you are. It takes great strength to say to a friend or family member, “What you said really hurt me.”

How many of us smile when we'd rather cry? Do we say that we're fine when we're anything but fine? I'm one of those people, but I'm working on being more honest.

For about the first 3 months, I knew how many weeks it was that Grace had been in heaven. Many Thursdays made me sad. Not anymore. One Thursday someone said, “I know that you don't like Thursdays, but...” Without even realizing it, I no longer thought about them as 'sad' days. Time had helped. Now, if I cry on a Thursday, it's because I need to. It’s not like Thursdays are the only difficult day. If it's Sunday in church, so be it. I can't remember ever crying in church...o.k. I did for a few weeks when Uncle Ronnie was dying and after he died. Now I cry because every word means so much more to me. Have you noticed how many times the word “grace” is mentioned during the service? We do. Some might think that Grace’s birthday will become the one day out of the year that we’ll “be sad”. Every day is different now.

Would we change anything if we could? Never! We have a child in heaven. We pray that our other 3 girls will remain faithful to God so they can meet their sister one day, too. Yes, missing Grace is painful at times. I don't enjoy the uncontrollable emotions that creep up on me, but we truly feel blessed that God has chosen us to help carry out His will.

Remembering the hospital experience brings tears, and that's o.k. I cry when writing out another bill to Vanderbilt. In Grace's short life, she's received more mail than her sisters combined. Yesterday, as I looked for a receipt for Bob, I came across the bill for the flowers we put in church out of thankfulness to God for blessing us with our 4^th daughter and loving us so much that He wanted her in heaven. So, as I've been realizing these last few months, anything can bring the pain and tears back. There's no need to walk on your tiptoes around me. There's no possible way of avoiding a memory of Grace. She’s always with us. We shouldn't try to avoid her...she's a part of our life...let the tears come if they need to.

So, I'm going to try my hardest to start being stronger…to somehow find a way to let others know that it’s o.k. to talk about her.

“I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”  Philippians 4:13

Feeling a little stronger today...

So...was this a surprise?

I wrote this about 5 months after Grace was born and died...around October 2010.

“So...was this a surprise?”  “This was an accident then.”
“This was obviously a mistake!”

These were common things we heard when making the exciting announcement that we were expecting another child, especially when we were expecting Heather and Grace. Why do people say such things? Was it because of my age? Was it because there are 9 years between Madelyn and Heather? We could have lost babies during that stretch. In March of 2010 at Brittany's confirmation, an adult asked Britt if this baby was an accident. (I was 7 months pregnant with Grace at that time.) Brittany, being only 14 years old, had no idea what this person meant. She came to me so upset and wondered why someone would ask such a question. “Mom, how could a baby be an accident?”

My first OB appointment with Grace began with these questions, “Let me get this straight...you're 39 and you're pregnant? Do you plan on keeping this baby?” We did, but God had other plans.

From the moment Bob and I knew that we wanted a baby in the summer of '09, we began to imagine life with another little Wendt. We began to imagine what we might be doing a year from now, next Thanksgiving, next Christmas, etc. From the moment we found out that we were expecting...even before that...from the moment we began to pray for a child, we made plans to spend the rest of our lives with a child that we expected to be carrying. (Notice how "we wanted a baby...we made plans...we expected..." I can't speak for Bob, but I know that I wasn't considering what God's plans were for us. After our 2nd ultrasound, I was beginning to realize that His plans might be different. It was easy for me to put my trust in Him then...telling Him to "Bring it on!" Little did I know what was about to happen to our content family.)

For some, finding out that they're expecting might be a surprise...but not to God. With God, there are no accidents or mistakes. He may be testing someone with a pregnancy...getting them to rely on Him...possibly to bring them to repentance. In our case, I feel that He's drawing us closer to Him by taking Grace to heaven...getting us to depend on Him for strength and comfort, and reminding us that we live in a sinful world where the crosses that we are chosen to carry are a consequence of sin. (This is where I have to remind myself that we're not being punished no matter how much it feels like we are.)

How many of us ask others, “So when are you going to give 'Susie' a brother or sister? Why do you only have one child? Why don't you have any children? Why did you wait so many years to have another child? When are you going to give me a grandchild?”

Just by looking at someone we don't know what silent grief they're carrying. Someone may have just suffered a miscarriage and never had the chance to share the exciting news of a pregnancy. Some may have been praying for a child for years, but God's answer might be something different. Just because a family has several children doesn't mean that they haven't lost a child. The day we left the hospital and had to walk around Wal-mart waiting for a prescription to be filled, no one knew what had just happened to us. I was just praying that no one would ask me, “So when are you due?” Obviously, I still looked pregnant.

We don't know if the mom walking around the grocery store with her children, who appears to be healthy and looks “put together”, is wearing a wig because she's battling cancer again. I have a friend whose son came up to me 3 months after Grace died and tried to pull the hair off my head. His mom wears a wig, because she's battling cancer again. He thinks that all moms wear wigs. Heather thinks that all babies die and is confused, at times, when she sees a baby in a car seat. She continues to say, “Mom, look...there's a baby. It didn't die.”

Since Grace died, my eyes have really been opened to so many things that I never really thought about or truly understood. When I heard about someone suffering a miscarriage, a stillbirth, or death of a loved one, I felt sad for them. I cried for them when I was alone (never in front of them), maybe sent them a card, prayed for them, thought about them occasionally and that's about it. I felt sad for them. SAD? It's so much more than just “sad”. Until I experienced it, I had no clue.

After telling others that Grace died, I can't tell you how many times we heard, “Oh,” or “Oh, that's sad.” (Then quickly, they would change the subject, because that's what we do.) We had someone say that they knew exactly how we felt, “Our neighbor's dog died, and that was sad.” Or the family member that sent a well-meaning card that said, “Because we're family, we know exactly how you feel...” Nice try!

So...Was this a surprise? Our only surprise was leaving the hospital without our baby. Although we were aware that there could be a heart issue, never in a million years did we imagine that Grace would die, but God knew. We are so thankful that we have a child in heaven. As parents, that's what we pray for. We continue to pray that Brittany, Madelyn, and Heather remain faithful to God so they can meet their sister in heaven one day.

Another surprise is all that we continue to learn about our loving God and what we're learning about ourselves.

I know that this experience has already made our daughters more compassionate, aware, loving, and sympathetic toward others. I pray that they continue to be, so that they don't ask questions that are probably meant with the best of intentions, yet so painful. I look forward to seeing what will continue to come from this.

This is a little bit of a rambling vent, but it's also meant to remind us all to be aware of what we say to others. Just by looking at someone, we have no idea what path the Lord has chosen for them to walk.

The Hurt & The Healer

I chose this video with no pictures...just the words. Everyone has a different story...



Our family photo at Grace's memorial service

August 8, 2010