Mother's Day

The next two weekends are significant for babylost moms everywhere. Sunday, May 6th is International Bereaved Mother's Day, and Sunday, May 13th is, of course, Mother's Day.

My friend Beth wrote a lovely blog post today, and rather than try to rewrite what she did, I want to share it with you.
http://bethmorey.blogspot.com/2012/05/what-to-say-to-bereaved-mother-on.html

Aware

"Gratitude in its deepest sense means to live life as a gift to be received thankfully. And true gratitude embraces all of life: the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not-so-holy. We do this because we become aware of God's life, God's presence in the middle of all that happens."

Henri Nouwen

Good company

Our whole family went to a baby shower tonight.

Now, normally a baby shower wouldn't be a super exciting event for us. For one, I don't know that baby showers are EVER super exciting for men. :) And besides, we should have our own newborn baby right now, and I don't particularly enjoy being reminded of the fact that we don't at an event that is celebrating someone else's baby.

HOWEVER, this baby shower was different. The family of honor welcomed a sweet baby girl last month after losing their son at 20 weeks in the fall of 2010. This is the mama friend who cried with me on the phone the night before we were induced with sweet Hannah and told me about the Missing Grace Foundation.

Not only was this family familiar with the pain of pregnancy loss. Every other family at the shower knew the same pain. This group of friends met while attending the support groups at Missing Grace and they've so wonderfully taken us under their wings in the last five months.

There's something very humbling and comforting about being with people who have been where you've been. And, frankly, it's a really crappy thing that we all have in common. But once you are in this "club," you're so glad that the club exists. Because, heaven help us if we had to get through this mess of grief and pain without someone there to say, "I know what this is like. I know how much this sucks. I know how you feel."

Even when this exhausted new mama tells of her sleepless nights and possibly colicky baby's fussiness, you know it's still from a place of knowing how incredibly lucky she is to be holding this precious life. And of wishing she'd had the chance to spend sleepless nights rocking her fussy baby boy a year and a half ago.

So, welcome to the world, Adeline Beatrice. We're so glad you're here!

Samuel Evan

My sweet Hannah has a new friend in heaven. I was connected with RaeAnne through a former co-worker and I've followed her story since December. It's an amazing, beautiful story of strength and faith. Samuel was born on Saturday and went home to Jesus a few hours later.
If you'd like to read their story, RaeAnne has been blogging at Nothing Without You and has a wonderful way with words.
RaeAnne, I'm so sorry you have to join so many of us on this journey as a bereaved mother. <3

Wisdom from "Sacred Marriage"

"What I am saying is not simply the old Puritan truism that 'suffering teaches.' I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable."
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

"If we live without an eternal perspective, earthly trials become larger than life. Without the hope of heaven or the sense of the importance of growing character and refinement, there is nothing to prepare for, nothing to look forward to; it is like practicing and practicing, but never getting to actually play a game."
-Gary Thomas

Gratitude

Our lives are full of losses—losses of dreams and losses of friends and losses of family and losses of hopes. Over time, there are more and more things we can be negative about. Resentment makes us cling to our failures or disappointments and complain about the losses in our lives. Resentment gives us a hardened heart, and we become resentful people.

Gratitude in its deepest sense means to live life as a gift to be received gratefully. But gratitude as the gospel speaks about it embraces all of life: the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not so holy.

Jesus calls us to gratitude. He calls us to recognize that gladness and sadness are never separate, that joy and sorrow really belong together, and that mourning and dancing are part of the same movement. That is why Jesus calls us to be grateful for every moment that we have lived and to claim our unique journey as God's way to mold our hearts to greater conformity with God's own.

Henri Nouwen

Not a funny joke

Thank you, Carly Marie, for this.

"Where Mourning and Dancing Touch Each Other"

Based on the title of my blog, I thought yesterday's Bread for the Journey reading from Henri Nouwen was appropriate. :)

"[There is] a time for mourning, a time for dancing" (Ecclesiastes 3:4). But mourning and dancing are never fully separated. Their times do not necessarily follow each other. In fact, their times may become one time. Mourning may turn into dancing and dancing into mourning without showing a clear point where one ends and the other starts.
Often our grief allows us to choreograph our dance while our dance creates the space for our grief. We lose a beloved friend, and in the midst of our tears we discover an unknown joy. We celebrate a success, and in the midst of the party we feel deep sadness. Mourning and dancing, grief and laughter, sadness and gladness--they belong together as the sad-faced clown and the happy-faced clown, who make us both cry and laugh. Let's trust that the beauty of our lives become visible where mourning and dancing touch each other.

Great is thy faithfulness

Strength for today
And bright hope for tomorrow

Those are my prayers this week.

six years

My dear Jackson boy,

SIX YEARS OLD???? Impossible. But it's true! You have been blessing us with your life for six whole years. And WHAT did we ever do without you in our family? I'm not really sure.

Six years ago, at 1:36 in the morning, you FINALLY entered the world and made me a mom. And we have SO enjoyed what you have added to our family. You are funny, and artistic, and so sweet and sensitive. You always have the most witty comeback or a hug at the perfect moment.

And MY, you are a tall drink of water. :) You're a kindergartner now, but I'm pretty sure you're the tallest in your class. It's pretty awesome! And speaking of kindergarten, you are so smart. It's just amazing to watch you learning how to read and telling us all about the new things you're learning. The other day in Michaels, you picked up a wooden ball and said, "I know what shape this is." Expecting to hear "circle," I said, "Cool, what is it?" And you said, "A sphere." :) You went on to tell me all about cubes and cones and cylinders. Smarty pants.

This year was your first "friend" birthday party. On Saturday, you and seven friends celebrated outside on the deck (thank you, unseasonably warm Minnesota March) with pizza, games, crafts, and cake. It was awesome, and it is so cool to watch you with your friends. You can be quite the comedian!

I adore your sensitive side and I hope it never goes away. You care so deeply about others. Your heart is so beautiful and I love the way you love. Your sister, who is definitely your biggest fan, also appreciates your tender heart. :) That's not to say you never argue, but you really are great friends and it's so fun to watch.

So, my dear boy, here's to another year. Twelve months to watch you continue to grow and mature. We love you SO much and are so grateful that you are in our family. Happy SIXTH birthday, buddy!

Love,
Mom

The (almost) Birthday Boy!

Could someone please tell my BABY boy to stop posing next to a cake with a SIX on it? Because if he thinks he's actually SIX years old, well, that's just impossible.

Right?

The Audacity of Hope

I've had hope on the brain since I posted the song yesterday. And then I visited Angie Smith's blog this morning and I just have to share her most recent post with you.

http://angiesmithonline.com/2012/03/the-audacity-of-hope/

Our Hope Endures

Ah, spring

Just a week after that glorious snowfall, we've had a couple of lovely warm days. Today got into the mid-60s and this is the 5-day forecast:



Heavenly, right? My mom and I were talking about it today--it's days like these that promise hope. Usually it's after a long, hard winter. But even after this "fake" winter we've had, the hope of spring is still a magical thing.

Nichole Nordeman has a song called "Every Season" and the spring verse is so wonderful and hopeful:

"And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green"

I feel like this verse. Bravely surfacing after four months of a frozen, buried state. Learning to breathe.

So, I got a tattoo

I've actually wanted to get a tattoo for a while, and I knew I wanted it to be something to do with peace. "Erin" is actually derived from the Greek word for peace (Eirene) and I've always loved that. When I decided that I wanted a "peace" tattoo, I felt like I had to wait for the perfect time in my life when I felt at complete peace and all was well in my world. Well, THAT never happened. ;)

Then we lost Hannah. And even though it was one of the most tragic events in our lives, there was an overriding feeling of peace. The moment the ultrasound tech left the room and Dan prayed for peace, peace came. And it truly was the peace that passes understanding. Because there was no logical reason that I should have felt anything but sadness and despair and anger. And we still felt those things. But God always brought us back to peace. To a promise that he is in control and is a big God who knows our hearts and faithfully carries us.

Then Carly Marie, the woman who writes lost babies' names in the sand, created the peace dove sand drawing (as seen on the memorial service invitation). And I loved it. So I took the picture to an appointment at Beloved Studios a couple of weeks ago and my artist Sarah drew a couple of possibilities for me, incorporating the kids' initials. So when I got there on Thursday, she showed me a couple of things and made a few adjustments and it was perfect! It was also really important to me to have this done on Hannah's due date. It's obviously a very significant date and I felt like I needed to do something big on (or around, because I certainly don't birth babies on their due dates) this date.

That's my story. And here's my ink. :) (It's on my inner forearm).

letter to Hannah

I read this at Hannah's memorial service this morning.


My dear Hannah girl,

Your due date was this week. The day that I have anticipated since we knew you were growing inside me. As soon as we knew you were on your way, I wondered about a lot—like how close you’d come to Jack’s birthday. I wondered how long I’d be in labor with you. I wondered whether our first “surprise” baby would be a boy or girl! I wondered if you’d have hair. I wondered how big you’d be. It never occurred to me to wonder if you’d actually make it to your due date. To wonder if we’d have the privilege of bringing you home from the hospital. To wonder if you were anything but absolutely perfect.

I think it’s safe to say that our lives changed forever on November 3rd. To find out that you were not going to join our family on this earth after all. To find out that for some reason, God chose to take you to heaven before you got to be ours. To find out that the only time I’d have to hold you, you’d already be gone. You see, God had bigger plans for you. Unfortunately for us, those plans didn’t include life on earth. And something that brought me peace from day one was knowing that there is a much bigger picture that we can only see a part of. God sees it all.

Your tiny body was placed in my arms at 2:05 am on November 5th, and I couldn’t believe how small you were. But you need to know that even though you weighed less than one pound, your weight in this world was significant. Your life mattered. And with all due respect to my other babies, you were the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. You might not have had a perfect button nose or chubby legs. But you bore the image of the One who made you. And that, my dear, is where true beauty lies.

In the four months since we said hello and goodbye, we’ve missed you so much. It’s amazing the depth of pain and loss we feel for someone who never even took a breath in this world. But it’s not just mourning the 23 weeks of your existence. We’re mourning the hopes and dreams that we had for you. You were going to be our third and final baby. You were going to be a baby sister to Jack and Leah. You were going to grow into a beautiful young woman and have babies of your own someday. We are missing out on not knowing your personality. Your quirks. Your fears and dreams. We will miss getting to know you. We will miss reading to you and singing with you.

Your brother and sister love to talk about you. Jackson wants to know if you are an artist like him. Leah wants to know what color your eyes are. She’s pretty sure they are blue like hers and Mommy’s. She loves holding our Hannah bear. She sings to it and talks to it like she’s talking to her baby sister.

Our lives have changed and our hearts are sad, but we know deep down that you’re the lucky one. As one of my favorite new songs says, “I can’t imagine heaven’s lullabies and what they must sound like. But I will rest in knowing heaven is your home and it’s all you’ll ever know.” You will never know the pain of this world. Heaven, in all its perfection, is the only home you will ever know! And you get to hang out with the One who MADE you! His was the first face you saw. And as He holds your hand, he also carries us and holds us close. God is good, Hannah Marie. He is so good.

A friend asked me a hypothetical question a couple of months ago. Would we ever go back and change our circumstances if given the chance? To decide not to carry you if we knew from the beginning that you wouldn’t be ours forever? My answer was “Of COURSE not!” I got to spend 23 glorious weeks carrying you and loving you and learning from you. And you taught all of us so much in your short life and death. You taught me how to be brave. You taught us what it meant to feel peace in the midst of despair. To actually comprehend the peace that passes all understanding. You taught me how to love more deeply. You taught me how to be a better mom to Jack and Leah. Thank you.

And now, could you do me a favor? Could you go find my Mimi and give her a kiss? And my Poppa? And Grandpa? And Uncle Robin? And could you go hug Julie? And Michele? And Marie? And Nick? And if you need some playmates, go find Dana, and Isaiah, and Grace, and Brendan, and Ethan, and Abigail, and Eve, and Noah, and Chase, and Joshua, and the countless other babies who left entirely too soon.

Psalm 27:13, 14 I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

Hannah Marie, I love you.
Love,
Mom

Due

These fingers.

These fingers should be wrapping themselves around mine right now. They should be strong and connected to a perfect baby body who lived in me for nine whole months.

Love my girl. Wish we were spending her due date in anticipation of her arrival. ♥

Ah, that's more like it

This has been the most non-wintry winter in Minnesota. Well, we finally got a good dumping of the white stuff over night (enough to call off school, even!). I love how everything looks so clean and white.

Psalm 27:13, 14

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

Dear Hannah

Your best friend Veda was born last night.



Unfortunately, you don't get to play with her yet.

I can't wait to hold her and watch her grow up. And tell her all about the best friend waiting for her in heaven.

Love this

‎"During pregnancy, cells sneak across the placenta. The fetus's cells enter the mother and the mother's cells enter the baby --and stay there for life. In mothers, fetal cells often take residence in her lungs, spinal cord, skin, thyroid gland, liver, intestine, cervix, gallbladder, spleen, lymph nodes, and blood vessels. The baby's cells may also live a lifetime in Mom's heart and brain. Implicated in health and disease, fetal cells may also behind some of the mind-shifts that happen in motherhood." ♥ Our babies are always with us...literally ♥

Pain is no measure

I was driving home tonight listening to Sara Groves, and I just love this song.



I especially love "Pain is no measure of his faithfulness" and "I am nodding my head an emphatic yes to all that you have for me."

Beauty for Ashes

I looked at Hannah's ashes.

When we had her cremated, the funeral home gave the ashes to us in a little white box. Her name was printed on a boring white sticker. It was clear that we were going to have to find something prettier to put her ashes in, particularly by the time we had her memorial service, but also because we're planning on keeping them in our house (rather than interring them). We looked and looked, mostly online, and found a couple of possibilities. I tried looking in a couple of stores around here, but let's face it--shopping for something to hold your daughter's ashes is a sucky thing to have to do. My mom said she'd look around at the design center where she works, and she found a lovely stone box that the owner of the store GAVE her as a gift for us.

So, since we finally had something we loved for Hannah's ashes, I decided it was time to open the little white box. The box always felt light, but there was nothing to prepare me for how little space her ashes actually take up. They are in a little plastic bag with a tag from the funeral home on it. It's almost nothing. It's profound to think that someone who has had such a huge impact in our lives was reduced to a very small amount of dust.

The next day, I came across this quote on Pinterest (that I had previously seen shortly after we lost Hannah):



The combination of the quote and my experience the night before made me think of Isaiah 61:3
"...and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor."

And then the verse made me think of this song. Please excuse the video, but trust me when I say it was the best available! But really, the sound doesn't line up with the video, so you're better off just listening to it. Or reading the lyrics.

Crystal Lewis-Beauty For Ashes - Crystal Lewis and ; Ron Kenoly(In English)Video Clip from fernandomartinez on GodTube.

He gives beauty for ashes
Strength for fear
Gladness for mourning
Peace for despair

When sorrow seems to surround you
When suffering hangs heavy oer your head
Know that tomorrow brings
Wholeness and healing
God knows your need
Just believe what He said

He gives beauty for ashes
Strength for fearGladness for mourning
Peace for despair

When what youve done keeps you from moving on
When fear wants to make itself at home in your heart
Know that forgiveness brings
Wholeness and healing
God knows your need
Just believe what He said

He gives beauty for ashes
Strength for fearGladness for mourning
Peace for despair

I once was lost but God has found me
Though I was bound Ive been set free
Ive been made righteous in His sight
A display of His splendor all can see

He gives beauty for ashes
Strength for fear
Gladness for mourning
Peace for despair

We don't despair

Sacrifice is absolutely essential for human growth; yet the abiding disposition of sacrifice is rarely established without some experience of suffering. Of course suffering itself does not make one holy and can even lead to despair. Despair is suffering that fails to teach.

Thomas Keating

Beginnings

God of history and of my heart
so much has happened to me
during these whirlwind days:
I've known death and birth;
I've been brave and scared;
I've hurt, I've helped;

I've been honest, I've lied;
I've destroyed, I've created;
I've been with people, I've been lonely;
I've been loyal, I've betrayed;
I've decided, I've waffled;
I've laughed and I've cried.
You know my frail heart
and my frayed history -
and now another day begins.

O God help me to believe in beginnings
and in my beginning again,
no matter how often I've failed before.

Ted Loder

Disbelief

It's been over three months, and there are still some days where the shock hits me as hard as it did the first day.

Wait, what? We actually lost a baby? I had to listen to my midwife tell me that the baby inside of me had died? I had to deliver a stillborn baby girl? That was me? Impossible. That kind of stuff happens to other people. Not me.

I should be 37 weeks pregnant right now. And I'm not. And the pain of that is getting harder and harder to deal with. I want to be complaining about cankles and heartburn. I want to be washing baby clothes and buying newborn diapers and packing a hospital bag.

And as painful as right now feels, I know it's only going to get worse as we approach March 1. Because after that, she should be here. Right now I should just be pregnant, and that hurts in its own way. But once we hit that due date, I will always be able to figure out how old Hannah should be. What size clothes she should be in. What grade she should be starting.

And it's still all so hard to believe.

When you lose a baby

A page I follow on Facebook linked to this today and it's really good. So I'm sharing it here. :)

http://smallbirdstudios.com/2012/02/05/when-you-lose-a-baby/

Weary

My cousin sent me a few song files when we lost Hannah. I listened to all of them right away and have come back to them once in a while. Today, I found this one and have listened to it at least five times since this afternoon.



If there's one thing I have felt consistently since November 5, it's weary. Sometimes it's a very physical feeling of exhaustion. Sometimes it's very emotional. It's just weary. And there's no other word that does the feeling justice.

I love the third verse:
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace,
Be deaf when I complain?
No still the ear of sovereign grace,
Attends the mourner's prayer
Oh may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there

He asks us to seek his face. But he doesn't just let us seek in vain. He's THERE when we seek him. Sometimes that's just hard to remember.

Choose Joy

"Joy is what makes life worth living, but for many joy seems hard to find. They complain that their lives are sorrowful and depressing. What then brings the joy we so much desire? Are some people just lucky, while others have run out of luck? Strange as it may sound, we can choose joy. Two people can be part of the same event, but one may choose to live it quite differently from the other. One may choose to trust that what happened, painful as it may be, holds a promise. The other may choose despair and be destroyed by it.
"What makes us human is precisely this freedom of choice."
Henri Nouwen

Psalm 121

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

true story

Peace

Delight yourselves in the Lord
Yes, and find your joy in Him
Be known for your gentleness
And never forget the nearness of our God
And don't worry - whatever is going to come
Just tell God every detail
And the peace of God that no one understands will come to you
No, don't worry
Just tell Him every detail and His peace will come to you

Living with Hope

So much easier said than done, but how I LONG to live with hope.

"Optimism and hope are radically different attitudes. Optimism is the expectation that things--the weather, human relationships, the economy, the political situation, and so on--will get better. Hope is the trust that God will fulfill God's promises to us in a way that leads us to true freedom. The optimist speaks about concrete changes in the future. The person of hope lives in the moment with the knowledge and trust that all of life is in good hands.
All the great spiritual leaders in history were people of hope. Abraham, Moses, Ruth, Mary, Jesus, Rumi, Gandhi, and Dorothy Day all lived with a promise in their hearts that guided them toward the future without the need to know exactly what it would look like. Let's live with hope."

Henri Nouwen

It's all she'll ever know

I was driving last night, listening to "Glory Baby" (aka, my Hannah Song), and the bridge made me almost have to pull the car over.

I can’t imagine heaven’s lullabies
and what they must sound like
But I will rest in knowing, heaven is your home
And it’s all you’ll ever know

Shortly after we lost Hannah, someone who had experienced pregnancy loss told us something that was comforting to her was knowing that her babies would never know the pain of this world. All Hannah will ever know is heaven! For selfish reasons, I wish she could have knows just a little bit of time on this earth so I could really KNOW her. But I WILL know her completely someday. :)

2 months

I actually didn't even realize it until I was getting Leah down for a nap and couldn't even get through "Sunshine" without crying. Then the date popped into my head and I kind of lost it.
"What happened, Mommy?"
"Mommy's sad."
I lay down with her for a while and she took my hand and held it and then played with the tears dropping from my face onto her pillow.

We got a lovely package from a couple on Fergus Falls, and in it is a book called "The One Year Book of Hope." One of the first entries is called "Your Tears Matter to God." Thank goodness.
Ps 56:8 "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book."

Miss you, sweet girl.

All Things New

Happy 2012! Today has felt like the most decent day in a while. Maybe it's the feeling of a new beginning in a new year. Maybe it was the fact that the kids slept until 9:00. :)
I was driving this afternoon (which was dumb because it was SO windy) and listening to a Watermark CD that I got from a friend for Christmas. The first song was one I had heard before, but like so many other things since we've lost Hannah, it sounded new. I can't find a video or recording to share, but here are the lyrics.

All Things New
Blue skies that take me back to being a child
Trees with leaves that turn the colors I love
A heart that's beating to Your melodies ringing
And I am a miracle 'cause heaven is a part of me
And You are the song that I'm singing

I was created to love You
I was created to need You
I was created to know You
And I am a miracle 'cause heaven is a part of me
And You are the air that I'm breathin'

Because of who You are and who I am in you
You make all things pure
Because of who You are and who I am in You
You make all things true
You make all things new

And I'm so thankful for this life that I know
That I am no longer what I was
Because of Your love
And the beauty of the cross
I can see Your work in me
All things new
All things new in me
All things ne
All things new in me

2012

I saw this on Facebook today and I couldn't have "said" it better myself. :)

Hurtful vs. Helpful

I got a great resource from Missing Grace when we lost Hannah called, "Hurtful and Helpful Things People Say and Do." In the beginning, it was nice to have so we could anticipate some of the things people might say in an effort to be comforting (although, some of the most hurtful things we heard weren't even on the list). And it was interesting to read through them because I think a lot of things on the hurtful list seem like reasonable things to say until you have experienced a loss. I have probably said one or two of them, not realizing JUST how hurtful they actually are when you're in the middle of grief.
A friend of mine just asked about what to say in a hard situation, and I shared this list with her. And then I thought, "Everyone needs to read this!"

Hurtful and Helpful Things People Say and Do
(Written by facilitators and bereaved parents who are members of GRACE Support Groups--www.MissingGRACE.org--All Rights Missing GRACE Foundation)

HURTFUL
"He/She is in a better place." The parents feel their loving home was a very good place to raise their child and their arms are aching for their baby now.
"It's God's will." Many bereaved parents hold the belief it was not God's will to have their baby die and they feel it's a tragedy that happened in a world where bad things can happen to good people and feel God did not cause it to happen. To say it is God's will may also imply this is God's judgment on the parents.
"God has a plan and it was His perfect plan for this to happen. All things work together for his good." Right now, the situation is not good and it is hard to see that good things could come of this tragedy. Let them discover on their own the blessings that may come over time.
"At least you have other children." The child they lost still had a special place in their life and is gone now and no other child can replace or fill that void.
"At least it wasn't a 'real' baby." (in reference to ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage)
"At least you weren't that far along." The moment they found out they were pregnant with that baby they began to love it, and they wish they had been able to get farther along to deliver their baby.
"At least you didn't get attached." Oh, but they were very attached.
"If it's not perfect, you don't want it." The parent felt their baby was perfect and no matter what health issue it had, they wanted the baby in their lives.
"It's not meant to be."
"Everything happens for a reason." Right now it is hard to make sense of this and find a good reason.
"You can have another one." Maybe they can, but maybe due to issues you are unaware of or they are unaware of they can't have another. Either way that sounds a long way off and it doesn't help now.
To ignore what happened and not say anything at all. To act like things are normal/fine.
"If your baby lived, then maybe he/she would have been bad or unhealthy so God took him/her."
Calling the baby "it." Not referring to the baby by his or her name.
Bringing up the loss of a pet or someone else's death as if to say it is a similar type of pain or experience. Each situation is unique and the grief is personal.
Expressing an attitude that parents should be over their loss by a set time. Bereaved parents don't get over their babies. They take steps forward in grief and find ways to carry on the memory of their child. They have a need to honor and remember their baby throughout life. Life after loss often requires finding a new normal. Strangers can become friends and friends can become strangers. The length of the grieving process is different for everyone.

HELPFUL
To say: "I don't know what to say, but I'm so sorry. We are thinking of you and praying.
To acknowledge your own ignorance.
To send cards or forms of acknowledgment on anniversaries and/or out of the blue.
To give delayed acknowledgment vs. none at all.
To say their baby's name and talk about their baby.
To share that you are going to honor and commemorate their baby in some way.
To provide opportunities for parents to talk about their baby and their feelings.
To leave the door open for the parents to join you for events such as parties and showers but not pressure them or guilt them when they decline. Support them in their decisions.
Bring up your own infant loss if you have had one and be available to discuss your pain.
Offer to help them in daily life through the months after a loss: bring meals, clean house, watch other living children, giving the parents a chance to be alone, mow the lawn, shovel snow, run errands, send them for a massage or pampering.

Merry Christmas, Hannah!

Sunshine

My dear baby, how we would have loved singing to you.

I'm crabby

It is NOT the most wonderful time of the year.

Not this year, anyway.

Everything just feels wrong this year. I usually love Christmas and love the weeks leading up to it. Shopping and decorating and baking. But all of those things have felt like chores this year. All I really want to do is crawl up in bed and emerge sometime in April. Think I could get away with that?

I should have a big, round, pregnant belly right now. I pictured myself pregnant at Christmas. And since I have another March baby (Jack), I could actually imagine exactly HOW pregnant I would look and feel.

There should be freaking SNOW on the ground. It looks like September outside, for crying out loud. I'd like at least a little something to clue me into the fact that it's December. (But, of course, once January hits, I'd like the snow to continue to stay away).

I should be mourning the fact that I can't have an alcoholic drink on Christmas Eve, not mourning the fact that I AM able to drink this year.

There should be a baby kicking and flipping inside my body. There should be baby things collecting in our unborn baby's crib, not mementos of our stillborn daughter.

This is going to be a long week.

My Mimi

Hannah got to meet her great grandmother yesterday! My sweet Mimi, four days shy of her 94th birthday, went home to be with the Lord. She had seven children, 17 grandchildren, and ten great grandchildren. Quite the legacy!

There are so many things I remember about Mimi. She lived in Connecticut, so we only saw her when we traveled there every few years or when she came to Minnesota once in a while. When we visited her in Connecticut, I distinctly remember Frosted Flakes for breakfast and lots of The Price is Right. :)

She also taught me how to swear. Well, maybe not exactly on purpose. ;) But I remember mom blaming Mimi when she heard me swear for the first time. ("Where the hell did you get those shoes?")

Sadly, Mimi dealt with dementia for the last year or so of her life. I haven't seen her since Jack was about 18 months old, but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have even recognized me if I'd seen her more recently. And for that, I am so thankful that she is in a better place. No more confusion, pain, or frustration.

Psalm 116:15
Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of his faithful servants.

Margaret Marie Berube
December 17, 1917 - December 13, 2011

Peace

This is our pastor's sermon from this morning. If you have 40 minutes, I'd highly recommend it. I'm planning on watching it again. And then maybe again. :)

http://vimeo.com/33495865

one month

My dear sweet Hannah,

Darling girl. I really wish I was writing this to document your first month here on earth. Instead, I am marking one month since you entered heaven and changed our world forever. And you have taught me so much in that one short month!

You have taught me that even in the midst of our worst nightmare, it wasn't impossible to feel the distinctive peace of God. And it truly was and is the peace that passes all understanding. Because I certainly don't understand how I can feel peace when I have lost you, my precious baby. But that peace has been there from the moment the ultrasound tech left the room and we knew that our lives were about to change forever. Even in the midst of crying and screaming and being really mad that we had to go through this, God was there. And he was the same in the middle of the nightmare as he was before we found out that you'd left us.

You have taught me how very precious my children are, whether or not they are here on this earth where I get to see them and hug them every day. And you've taught me that it is possible to love someone SO MUCH, even when I have never known them alive outside of me. I've always felt an inexplicable love toward my children as soon as I knew they were growing inside of me. How could I love someone so deeply before I had even seen or met them? And then to lay eyes on them after delivery! Being pregnant with you was such a different experience than with Jack and Leah because halfway through, we knew their genders. We decided to keep yours a surprise until delivery. And we WERE so surprised. I guess I thought you were going to be a boy. I didn't realize how much I thought that until you came out--I was so shocked that you were a girl! But now, after a month of knowing and missing you, I can't believe we didn't always know you were a girl. My precious, precious baby girl. :)

I miss you so much, Hannah. I love having pictures and videos of you, but I still want to hold you every day. There is some comfort that we know you're in heaven and we'll see you again, and that you never had to know the pain of this world. But I'd still rather have you here. Your brother and sister and daddy miss you too.

Love you, sweet girl.
Mommy

Hannah Bear

We decided to take a trip to the Build-a-Bear workshop this afternoon to make a Hannah Bear. :) I wanted to find or make little things to put inside the bear when we stuffed. So Jack drew a few little pictures.

I wrote some verses and her name with its meaning. I also found a heart that I wanted to put inside.

Dan found a verse that he carries around sometimes and wrote a note on the back.

Here's the bear we picked!

And time to stuff her. :)

Putting our treasures inside.

And giving her a "bath."

And plenty of hugs and kisses!

This was an idea I had shortly after we lost Hannah, but I went back and forth about doing it. I'm so glad we did, though! The kids LOVED it and they love having "baby Hannah" in our house.

Blah

"Today was a difficult day.

Tomorrow will be better."
-Kevin Henkes, Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse

I just wish I actually believed that tomorrow was going to be better.
Especially since it's midnight and I'm still awake....

Her name in the sand

Shortly after we lost Hannah, in the slew of websites that I came across, I found one called "Names in the Sand." It is a project that a woman in Australia started after her son was stillborn. In the last three years, she has written nearly 13,000 names in the sand. So I added Hannah's information to the waiting list and assumed it would take a while. I checked on it a couple of times, though, and the list seemed to be moving pretty quickly. Sure enough, I got an email tonight that they'd written Hannah's name. You can see the whole entry here, but here's the picture.

I love it.

Held

Last night before bed, I was reading through the pile of cards we've gotten in the last three weeks. It's just something I do once in a while. :) There was one card that said "I have prayed that while you are down, you'll remember whose almighty hand you are in." Great reminder. And we're so grateful that God didn't just carry us through the first couple of days and then say, "Okay, it looks like you've got it from here. See you later!" We are LIVING in his hands right now. And I am not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

The card reminded me of this song, so I want to share the video. It's kind of dramatic and stereotypical of a 90s Christian music video (even though it was made in like 2005). Just listen to it without watching if that's distracting. ;) Anyway, I love a few of the lyrics enough to point out.

"Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing."
Great (and painful) reminder that this grief is going to be a journey. Even though people will go on with their lives around us, we will be in it for a while. I know that healing WILL come. Just not immediately.

"This is what it means to be held
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive."
Before we lost Hannah, our situation would have been one that I'd hear about and say, "I don't know how I'd survive if that happened to me." And then it did. And we survived. It's just one of those things that you don't know how you're going to get through until you HAVE to.

"The promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held."
In the days following Hannah's death, it did seem like everything around us was crumbling. Just stupid stuff, too. The enemy knew we were vulnerable and decided to kick us while we were down. But even in the midst of ALL of that, when we weren't sure how or when we'd be able to stand up again, he was still holding us.

Happy Thanksgiving

Psalm 31:19 How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you.

Three weeks ago, it was hard to think about the approaching holidays, particularly Thanksgiving. I couldn't think of what I had to be thankful for in the middle of such pain. But obviously I have a lot to be thankful for. God is good, and even in the midst of grief, his goodness is so evident.

So even though I don't understand why things happen the way they do, I choose to give thanks. And not just today. :)

***I have to add to this post this morning. Before bed last night, I decided to read the Message version of the verse above and I loved it. "What a stack of blessing you have piled up for those who worship you, ready and waiting for all who run to you to escape an unkind world." A STACK of blessing. Love that!

Hannah's video

As I mentioned in Hannah's story, we had an amazing ministry called Missing Grace who blessed us so deeply while we were in the hospital. They took pictures and video and just really honored Hannah. Well, when I went to the support group tonight, I got my DVD of all of the pictures and video clips, along with a video montage that they put together. And it's amazing, so I want to share it here. Please know that I realize not everyone will want to watch this. And that is really okay. But I also don't want to assume who does and doesn't want to watch it, so it's easier just to post it here and let you all decide. :)

WARNING: The following video contains images of a deceased baby, which may be disturbing to some viewers.

http://vimeo.com/32556041

We are not alone

Ever since I had Hannah, people with similar stories have seemingly come out of the woodwork. And it's so bittersweet. So comforting to know that we're not alone. But so sad to know that so many other people know this pain. Because no one should know what this feels like.

Tonight I went to the support group at Missing Grace. Dan wasn't feeling well, but I knew our friends Leah and Gary would be there, so I went by myself. It was so good to see Candy again and see their amazing facility. And I got to meet other women and couples who have experienced loss. From early miscarriage to second trimester loss to full term loss to SIDS. Amazing stories.

It was a little daunting to walk into a room of strangers to share my story and seek support. But I realized very quickly that these people were not going to be strangers for long. We all share a very heartbreaking bond and have so much to offer to each other. And I am very excited to get to know them all better as we continue to attend the group.

Too good not to share

Dan found this blog post by John Eldredge the other day. I especially love that it was written on Hannah's birthday. :)

Loving Jesus in the Pain

This has been a tough year for me. A year with a lot of suffering.

Both Stasi and I have been through a lot of physical affliction. There were accidents. Betrayals. My father died this year. On top of this, my friends have been suffering. A year with a lot of pain in it.

And there is nothing like suffering to wreak havoc in your relationship with God. The damage pain does to our relationship with Jesus is often far, far worse than the pain itself.

Every time I turned to Jesus in the midst of one episode of heartache then another, every single time I turned to him, the first thing he would say was, "Love me." At first it surprised me - aren't you supposed to say You loveme? I'm the one who's hurting here. But somehow, instinctively, I knew what he meant, knew what he was after. "Love me now, in this - not for this, but in this." And those words have been a rescue.

Here's why: Pain causes us to pull away from God. At the very moment we need him most, we pull back. Our soul withdraws, like a snail into its shell. Then you not only have the heartache, you have "lost" God for awhile too. Desolation on top of suffering. Sometimes it takes months, even years to recover the relationship. Jesus was rescuing me from that cycle by telling me to love him now, right in the midst of the pain.

On a soul level, when I love God in this place, it opens my heart and soul back up to him right where I need him most, right in the center of the pain. Too often what we cry out for is understanding - "why, God?" But I've learned over the years that when you are in the midst of the suffering, you don't often get understanding, and frankly, you don't need understanding - you need God.

And so dear friends I wanted to pass this along to you, for it has been a great help to me. Love Jesus, right there, right in the midst of the pain. Just start telling him you love him, right where you are hurting. For as you do, it enables your heart to open back up to him, it enables him to come to you in this very place. And it is Jesus that we need. Desperately.

Posted by John Eldredge 11/05/2011

Do I HAVE to?

Christmas is always really exciting for me. I love Christmas music, I love shopping for Christmas gifts, and I LOVE decorating my house.

This year just feels different. It feels harder to get into the spirit of things.

I've usually at least gotten my outside lights up by now, but I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that those might just not happen this year (unless I feel really motivated on Thanksgiving--I hear it's going to be 52 degrees!). And honestly, it doesn't take me more than an hour once I start. It's just not something I feel like doing if I ever happen upon an extra hour in my day.

The rest of the house is normally decorated in the week or so after Thanksgiving. But that's already next week! I'm not ready for that! I have to say, if it wasn't for Jack and Leah, I'd probably just skip the tree altogether this year. It's just too much work for something that doesn't feel as exciting as it usually does.

As for shopping, well everything so far has been done online. But that's just being smart. I mean, free shipping from Amazon if you spend at least $25? Who would deal with the malls when that's your alternative? :)

Good thing that Christmas happens regardless of my mood! And really, good thing that God chose to send his Son regardless of how the world felt about it.

Never Once

To say that the last two weeks have been difficult would be putting it lightly. But as I lay in bed last night crying (that seems to be my crying time), I thought about how evident God's hand has been in the midst of the pain. From day one, really. And for that, I am so grateful.

Laying on that ultrasound table, the minute the tech walked out of the room I broke down. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. She knew why we were there. If she had seen a heartbeat, she would have said SOMETHING to ease my anxiety instead of just taking measurements for 5 minutes silently. As soon as she left and I started crying, Dan took my hand and prayed. I can't remember much of what he said in the midst of my crying, but I do remember that he asked God to bring peace. And He did. The rest of that day was filled with many tears and frustration, but in the midst of all of that was an inexplicable peace.

After the ultrasound, we met with my midwife. And after explaining some things, she shared about her own loss and said that this was just a very small part of a bigger picture. And the bigger picture is something that we can't see fully right now. And again, even though I was so devastated, that was comforting. God sees the whole picture. I don't need to. He is still God, even in the middle of my nightmare. Jesus is the same now as he was the morning of my appointment when I still thought everything was fine. God had bigger plans for Hannah--plans that didn't include life on this earth. And while most days I am really mad about that, God reminds me that His ways are way better than my own. And while I'd rather NOT be used by God in this way, I don't really have a choice!

Shortly after Hannah was born, I rediscovered a Matt Redman song and bought his newest album, 10,000 Reasons. It was mostly for the one song, but the whole album is really great. The song is "Never Once." And even two weeks into this journey, I know that the words are true now and will be for the rest of our lives. We are NOT in this alone. He hasn't just dumped us on the side of the road to figure things out for ourselves. He is walking this road with us, carrying us when we can't walk any longer. Sometimes it definitely feels like we're walking alone, but that's when I thank the Lord for his promises. "The Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut 31:6)

I read

A lot. There's always something on my nightstand. Generally it's something for book club or just for fun. But I also read a lot to help me process stuff. And that's where I am right now. I actually tried to start my latest book club pick a couple of days after I had Hannah. Yeah, that was not happening. I'm sure it's a great book, but I decided that it's too hard for me to read about something other than grief and loss right now. It's just where my brain goes anyway, so getting into a different book was too hard.

My friend Leah went through a similar situation about a year ago and lost her sweet boy Isaiah at 20 weeks. I was able to talk to her after our fateful ultrasound and before induction. And both she and her husband Gary have been so wonderful to Dan and me in these weeks. Anyway, about a week and a half ago, I got a book in the mail. I had just gotten an email from Leah saying that she had ordered a book for me and that it might come that day. What a gift!

The book is I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy by Angie Smith (you'll see a link to her blog over there somewhere >>>>>>>). Angie is the wife of Todd Smith of the group Selah. After enduring a miscarriage and going on to have twin girls and another girl, they found themselves pregnant again. At 18 weeks, they found out that their fourth baby girl, Audrey, had multiple complications that were "not compatible with life." Her heart didn't have four chambers, her kidneys were failing, etc. It was recommended that they terminate the pregnancy at that point, but they decided to carry Audrey as long as they could. She was born at around 30 weeks and lived for 2 1/2 hours.

I finished the book last night, and I feel like I need to read it again. And then maybe again. There is just so much to absorb and I know I didn't do it completely the first time through. To read Angie's thoughts and struggles, but also her faith and trust in God, is truly amazing. And inspiring for someone like me in the beginning of this journey.

Next on the reading schedule (if I DON'T pick up I Will Carry You again right away) is Henri Nouwen's Turn My Mourning into Dancing: Finding Hope in Hard Times. Angie actually references this book a few times in I Will Carry You and it was enough to make me want to read the whole thing. And I'm pretty sure you can't go wrong with Henri Nouwen.

More answers

I had a follow-up appointment with my midwife this morning. I was SO excited for it because I absolutely ADORE Kathrine.

After I had Hannah, Kathrine (who also experienced a second-trimester loss during her third pregnancy) told me that crocheting helped her in her grieving process. We had been talking about crocheting and knitting because I had made a hat for Hannah. Well, she was right about the crocheting. It's just a very easy way to escape. Not necessarily to escape my emotions and try to bury them or hide from something. It's become more of a time to actually sit still and finally be alone with my thoughts. So I made Kathrine a scarf. :) And I wrote her a long note and also got her a bag of MILK chocolate because she was very vocal about her distaste for dark chocolate at some point in a conversation during my labor. Anyway, she read the note and we both cried and chatted and cried and chatted some more. And I was reminded of why I was so looking forward to our visit!

When Hannah was born, the cause of death seemed to be pretty obvious because the cord was wrapped around her neck three times. But Kathrine still sent some of the placenta and part of the umbilical cord to be tested. The cord goes all the way down to Mayo Clinic and it takes a while to get the results back. But the placenta results did come back and they found that I had an infection where the placenta was attached to my uterus. So, it looks like that could have also been the cause. And since babies can get tangled in their cords multiple times throughout pregnancy, and even be born with it around their neck, I'm tempted to think that the infection was more likely the cause. But we'll never know. And we'll never know what caused the infection in the placenta. I am grateful that both the cord accident and the infection are flukes. Nothing happened that will greatly affect future pregnancies for us if that's a road we decide to travel down. We may still find out from the cord that I have a blood clotting issue. And that would simply require some action on my part during a future pregnancy (blood thinners, etc).

One thing that Kathrine did mention is if/when I do get pregnant again someday, I will be considered high risk. I'll have to do some blood tests early on to make sure everything is normal, there are other tests throughout the pregnancy, my 20-week ultrasound will be Level 2, etc. That's a bridge I don't need to worry about right now. We'll wait until we have to cross it.

So we got some more answers. Obviously nothing is going to give us a cut and dry reason for why this happened. But I'm glad it's not a total mystery; I think that would be harder to carry right now.

Hannah's story

Hannah Marie was our third baby, set to join big brother Jackson and big sister Leah. Unfortunately, we didn't get to bring her home. She left this world before she even entered it on November 5, due to a triple nuchal cord and a placenta infection.

Even though her birth story doesn't have a happy ending, I feel as though it deserves to be shared. So I will. :)

On Thursday morning, November 3, I had a routine midwife appointment. I'd been writing down a myriad of questions since my last appointment and my midwife, Kathrine, patiently and thoroughly answered everything for me. At the end of the appointment, she had me hop up on the exam table to check for baby's heartbeat. She tried for a while with the doppler but couldn't find anything. Neither she nor I thought much about that because we knew from my 20-week ultrasound that my placenta was anterior (on the front wall of my uterus), so it provided a nice buffer and we'd only ever heard the heartbeat with the doppler once at 11 weeks. So she rolled in an old ultrasound machine that the clinic had donated to them and tried to find it with that was but was again unsuccessful. It's a really grainy machine and she couldn't even get a good picture of the heart, much less a good enough picture to see if it was beating. She decided that I should get in for an ultrasound that afternoon at a different clinic, and she called and set that up for me.

I drove home, picked up the kids from my neighbor, and called Dan. I told him what had happened and that I had an ultrasound scheduled for 1:30. I said that I wasn't nervous but that I really didn't want to go alone. So he came home, we got Jack on the bus after lunch, brought Leah to a friend's house, and headed to the ultrasound.

After checking in, we were brought into an ultrasound room and the tech asked me a couple of questions and started the ultrasound. The screen was turned away from me, and as soon as she started, she didn't say a word. That was my first indication that something was up. She knew we were there to check for a heartbeat, so I assumed if she saw a heartbeat, she'd tell me and show me the screen and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief. She continued to take measurements and pictures in silence for about five minutes. Then she turned off the machine and said, "I'll be right back" and left the room. And I lost it. Dan held my hand and prayed while I bawled. The tech came back in about ten minutes later and said, "I talked to the radiologist and your midwife would like to see you right away at her office."

So we drove down the road back to my midwife's clinic where she met us in the hallway and hugged me while I cried. We found a room and she said, "What did they tell you?" I said, "Nothing, but I know it's not good." She confirmed that the baby had passed away and that we would have to induce labor. She said I could safely wait a few days if I needed to, but staying pregnant just felt too odd. Besides, Kathrine was on call at the hospital for the weekend, and she's really the only midwife in the practice (there are three total) that I know very well. So she called North Memorial to make sure there would be room for me on Friday morning, and we decided to go for it.

On Friday morning, my mom came to stay with our kids for the day(s) and Dan and I packed up and headed to the hospital. We checked in at Labor and Delivery and were brought to our room. Kathrine arrived shortly after we did and we talked through what we'd be doing to induce labor. After some paperwork and asking lots of questions, I got my first dose of cytotec (a tablet that is placed behind the cervix to help it start to dilate and efface). I was already at about 1 cm and 50% effaced, so I figured it wouldn't take too long to get to 4 cm (which is where my midwife wanted me to get before delivering). I was wrong. I don't know why I thought this would be faster than my labors with Jack and Leah (30 hours and 28 hours, respectively). I got the cytotec every four hours. After the second dose at about 2:00 pm, I also started a drug called fentanyl to take the edge off of some of the pain. Even though I had two unmedicated births with Jack and Leah, I had decided early on in the day that I was not about to tough it out with this one. I told my midwife that I could handle physical pain OR emotional pain--not both. The fentanyl worked okay for a while. I got a third dose of cytotec at 6:00 pm and was still at 1 cm and about 75% effaced. Kathrine said she would have liked to have seen the second dose do more than it did, so after the third dose didn't do much either, she decided we should probably try pitocin to get some contractions into a good labor pattern. I told her that if she was going to talk pitocin, then I was going to talk epidural. Just the thought of it freaked me out, but again, I knew I didn't want to feel this.

Luckily, they weren't in a hurry to start the pitocin, so they let me get the epidural first and make sure I was getting relief from it before the pitocin started. I'm so grateful for that because the epidural experience was an adventure. The anesthesiologist was a very dear man and felt terrible, but it took him three tries to get the needle in the right place. And holy mother of God, every time hurt so bad. He finally got the needle in correctly, but even then, something was wrong with the medicine actually making it into the tube. About an hour later, I was finally feeling relief and they started the pitocin.

It was about 11:30 pm by now and I had been awake since 3:30 am, so I was very glad for the chance to rest (as was Dan). Of course, my sleep was a little interrupted by my blood pressure cuff going off every 20 minutes and the nurse coming in to increase the pitocin every half hour. But it was still nice to rest my eyes. At about midnight, my nurse took my temperature and discovered that I had a fever of almost 102 degrees. So they added a penicillin drip to my IV in case I had an infection. (At one point I was hooked up to an ekg, the epidural, a contraction monitor, a blood pressure cuff, and an IV with pitocin, fluid, and penicillin. It was quite the sight. I couldn't move if I wanted to).

At about 1:45 am, I pushed my epidural button for more relief and it didn't do a whole lot, so I called my nurse and told her that I needed something adjusted. I was feeling way too much and it was getting way too painful. Kathrine came in and checked me and said that she'd like to break my water. The anesthesiologist came in because my nurse had called him in to increase my epidural. By the time he got to the side of my bed, I said, "It's too late! The baby is coming!" and I kind of freaked out. I wasn't ready for it to happen then. I thought Kathrine would break my water and I'd have to push. That was not the case at all. The baby (still in the amniotic sac) and the placenta all came out at once. (That was a huge answer to prayer--at 23 weeks, it can be trickier to deliver the placenta without issues and there was a chance I'd have to have a D&C).

The contractions stopped immediately and Dan and I just cried. Kathrine was working on getting the baby out of the sac and she finally was able to lift it to me, where I had two warm blankets on my chest to hold it. At this point, we still didn't know if it was a boy or a girl. I had wanted Dan to announce the gender when the baby came out, but it was in the sac and he couldn't see anything. So once the baby was in my blankets, we all looked at the same time and saw that she was a girl, and we named her Hannah Marie. (And all three of us thought, but didn't say out loud right away, "Jack really does have laser vision!"). Dan and I cried some more while Kathrine took care of cleaning me up a little bit. I noticed that her head seemed kind of misshapen, and I asked Kathrine if that was the problem (she had told me that the reason for all of this might be obvious at birth). She said that the bones are all still so soft at this point, so it was normal for her head to look like that. Then she told us that when she broke the sac, she had to unwrap the cord from around Hannah's neck three times. She said that was pretty obviously the cause of death. I was really grateful that it was so obvious. I didn't want to have to go through getting an autopsy or other tests to determine any chromosomal problems. She still sent some of my placenta and part of the cord to pathology to be tested for anything unusual.

My parents arrived shortly after she was born and were able to hold her and pray over her. It was an incredibly sacred time and I'm so glad we had it. At about 3:30 am, two wonderful women from a ministry called Missing Grace Foundation came and took such good care of us. They were really there to walk us through this experience so that we wouldn't have any regrets. They both lost babies (one at 33 weeks, one at 20 weeks) and were coming in with clear minds and the experience (from their own births and so many others that they've attended) to help us through each step.

They cleaned Hannah up and put a tiny outfit and hat on her. They wrapped her in a beautiful blanket with a beanbag sort of thing behind her (to give her some weight, but it was also filled with essential oils and smelled lovely). They took pictures and video the whole time they were there. They gave us a huge basket with gifts and resources. The nurse weighed and measured her (14 ounces and 11 1/2 inches), and they took her foot prints and hand prints. But most of all, they just let us hold her and love her for as long as we wanted.

The ladies from Missing Grace stayed for a couple of hours and after they left, Dan and I decided to rest some more (since I was literally falling asleep sitting up while people were talking to me). Dan fell asleep right away on his pull-out bed and I lay with Hannah for a while before I finally dozed off. I think we both slept on and off for a couple of hours. Dan decided to go get some breakfast and I took a bath. After another hour or so in our room, we decided it was time to say goodbye to Hannah. We cried together and hugged and kissed her and let Kathrine take her away. Then we packed up our stuff, signed some papers, and left to go home.

We were so glad to pick up Jack and Leah at my parents and hug and kiss them and love them. And they were happy to see us too. ;) So we headed home and began this very long journey ahead of us.

Right now everything is still so surreal. I can't believe that a week and a half ago, I went to a midwife appointment assuming everything was fine and ended that day completely devastated and lost. We are constantly overwhelmed by the love and support of those around us. The sadness comes in waves and sometimes it just knocks me off my feet when I am least expecting it.

Hannah Marie from Erin Bennett on Vimeo.

Hannah Marie

Our sweet baby girl was born early on Saturday morning, just over 23 weeks, straight into the arms of Jesus.

While we are so sad that we don't get to be her parents here on earth, we are incredibly grateful for the promise of heaven and know that we will see her again.