Robert Frost

“The best way out is always through”

(I will post Sunday sometime about the funeral and my experience that day; pictures included)

The day before the funeral service

We woke up on Friday morning, January 28^th. I was just at the beginning of recovering physically and yet a service for Jonan was just a day away now. The night had given us much needed sleep except for one moment when I woke to use the bathroom. The way Jeff was lying in bed looked like the way Jonan had laid in my arms two days prior.  Thinking I saw Jonan lying there startled me.  Of all characteristics that showed us Jonan was our son it was certainly his legs and body. Jonan was long, but with shorter legs and a longer torso…he was built exactly like his daddy. This was so endearing to me.  That thought of Jonan, however, brought with it a flood of emotions that I poured out once again into my husband’s arms.  Like always, however, morning did come and it was time to plan for the service.

Kevin Miller picked us up around 10am to head over to the funeral home right here in Wheaton. We were greeted promptly by a kind man in a suit who then showed us to the basement office for our meeting.  We sat down and began going over things which are quite blurry to me now, the first thing I do remember is this gentleman saying “Jonan is here.”  Whoa. I mean, I knew they had picked up his body from the hospital, but he was in that very building. Oh, Jonan, mommy is here. I wish I could hold you. I miss you, baby.  I was jolted out of that moment by his offer to show us his casket. Oh, right…he’s not really here with us (sigh). They bring out this little box with beautiful white, silky fabric all over it…oh my goodness, it was so small (12” long). Caskets shouldn’t come in this size.

On top of the casket was a small pin, an angel pin. I am not into angel paraphernalia, really. You know, pictures and sculptures and such. But this was my son’s casket and I was into anything having to do with him. Without thinking I said “do you mind if I take a look?” while pulling the casket close to me.  As I looked a little closer I saw the pin was broken…then angel’s left wing was broken off.  I blurted out “Um, its broken, it’s left wing is broken off. Like Jonan, he didn’t have a left arm. Can I have it?” I was already unpinning it from the casket. “Jonan needs a whole pin because he is whole now, but I want this one.”  I think the funeral home gentleman was a little embarrassed about the broken pin and its resemblance to my son as he rushed off to get a replacement. But I assured him it was okay, this was my Jonan pin.

(Caveat:  I don’t believe Jonan is an angel, theologically, I believe humans are an entirely different order of being than angels. We do not become angels when we die, but I do think we may join them. And I do believe, from Scripture, that they interact with our world in ways unseen by our eyes. )

After leaving the funeral home with a new pin and a bill to pay that was less than half the size it should have been because of generous folks at our church, we headed home for all our final preparations. I had sent out an email to some girlfriends the night before asking if they could come help me put together a special thing for Jonan’s service. Five gals changed their day to be with me that afternoon and help me prepare. I poured over emails sent by so many loving friends and family and printed them off. Like a factory of efficiency, my friends took them off the printer to cut them and paste them onto creative, colorful pieces of paper. My idea was to string these along the walls at our luncheon following the service. I so wanted everyone to read the works of God through my son’s life, and also the works of God through many others to us. Funerals generally have pictures posted around, or slideshows of memories. But since we could have neither, we did this…

                                 

This was such a tremendous blessing to me, and will be as I take these pieces of memories and place them in Jonan’s memory book. We are so blessed. 

Around this time some of Jeff’s family also came by to spend the afternoon with us. It was wonderful to have so many around us this day, another day of our life that just didn’t seem like it should be our life. Thankfully, however, it was full of love and an offering of time and creativity. While these women worked Jeff and his father went to pick up the 8x10 picture Jeff had so beautifully edited of Jonan’s precious, little feet. It was all coming together so perfectly.

The day was winding down and with it came another night sky, a darkness which I was not anticipating, for it only meant we actually had to live out the next day when we awoke. We did our run to Target as we had done the night before I gave birth to Jonan. Every place had meaning now. Even Target was sentimental and difficult place (and still is). We picked up our last minute needs, including a perfect 8x10 frame.  Oh, Lord. This is still happening. We still have to do tomorrow.

Standing in line to pay at Target I received an email on my phone. Sometimes it is a good thing to have this access anywhere… sometimes it is not. I am not sure which category of access this email fit into. It simply said the following and nothing else:

“weeping with you

you are a good mother,

all that you did mattered”

(breathe, Kimberly, you are still at Target)

This was the most profound email I have ever received.  I have read it over and over and over again. I may put a tiny frame around it someday and put it on my dresser. If there is more a hidden work than motherhood, I don’t know what it is. And truth-be-told, I do not know much of the day in and day out life of motherhood yet in my life. But the hiddenness of what has happened to me is difficult to express as well. I know I am not alone in its experience. But to be told that has mattered makes me cry right now as I type.  That is what we all want to hear, isn’t it? That it mattered…that the things we spend our life on matter? And in what has been, arguably, the most hidden work I will do in my life, a work the world could easily “evacuate” out of existence, it has been honored by someone I truly respect.  The only other words more deeply humbling than these would be to hear from my Lord someday, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

We drove home as I wept; slinging my body over the console so I could hold onto Jeff’s arm as he drove.  We past the cemetery where we would lay Jonan down the next morning.  We prayed for all the help God could possibly give us.  Then went to bed to a sleepless night’s rest. 

Snowing

I woke up in the recovery room around eleven the morning after I gave birth to Jonan.  Jeff and I had been with his body until about two a.m. This recovery room was much smaller than my birthing room, but still a beautiful view of the city from the ninth floor. I woke up silent, still very weak, and with a cavern in my chest.  I stared out the window above where Jeff had slept.  The sky was overcast to match my heart. Ever so gently it began to snow. It was a soft, light snow. 

I tightly clutched a pillow to fill the emptiness my arms were feeling. I secretly wished I had a stuffed animal or something to hold onto as I missed my baby.  I thought this was silly, so I didn’t tell anyone at the time. I thought maybe it would sound strange…like I was trying to make some inanimate object a replacement for my son. But really I just wanted something to hold as I cried.

Minutes later, somewhat unwelcomed, the first thought that came to my mind as I watched this gentle snowfall was that Jonan would never feel the snow. I wept. The heartache was nearly overwhelming. My loving Jeff crawled into my hospital bed and wept with me. Almost as an instinct, he held his hand firmly over my heart. As if he knew it would fall out if he didn’t tightly hold it in. 

After lying there for a while we realized we were starving. We ordered eggs, French toast, fruit, tea, and coffee from the cafeteria and had a visit from the social worker while we ate breakfast in bed. My most vivid memory, other than crying so much in that recovery room while thinking about Jonan, was the middle-aged woman who came into our room twice.  Her name was Beverly. She came once to drop off our food, and then again to pick up the empty trays. She was quiet and seemed tired. Her presence struck me profoundly; I may always remember her name. Seeing her that morning and the menial tasks her life had led her to perform made her look as though she didn’t appreciate life…or maybe others didn’t appreciate her. I don’t know. But I was overwhelmed with thankfulness at her service to me and thankful simply because she was alive. Saying goodbye to my dead son the night before somehow had made life so much more tangible.  These people were alive! What a miracle.

I vividly recall walking out of that same hospital just two weeks prior after our Level II ultrasound to confirm Jonan’s condition. I looked at each person and thought…”Wow, they are a miracle. They made it through pregnancy, years of life, and they continue to live now.” Like the end of some cheesy movie I wanted to walk up to every single one and say “You, your life is a miracle.” I wanted to shake their hands and just tell them I cared that they were alive. That it was for a reason. That they were loved. The world was moving at warp speed, yet somehow I had slowed down and was seeing with these strange new eyes.  I had never appreciated life like I did in that moment.  I don’t know what was happening, and I wish I could say always see all people this way…maybe similar to the way Jesus did when he walked the earth.

Her name was Beverly.

We chatted on the phone with Kevin Miller from our room to solidify the music for the upcoming funeral. We slowly packed up our room. We wept some more. At one point Jeff had to join me on the floor, I had just crumbled.  But slowly we gathered ourselves together and his parents picked us up. We rode home amidst a world that didn’t know our pain. And I don’t blame it, I am sure it has much of its own.  An email from a dear friend this last week said it best:

 “It can feel like things are rushing by you so fast because you, in your heart, are still sitting still, still savoring, still valiantly loving and missing and remembering your boy, still actively grieving. I just want to tell you that I am thinking of you as the world flies by you and as your body rushes with it in your activities of life but as your heart sits still.”

I think she said it perfectly…as my heart sits still. Probably a combination of the fast-paced world and the sacred stillness of my heart, but the two just don’t mix well. To be still with the Lord, to be still with another, just to be still can be so challenging. But loss has a way of stilling us if we let it. Not into numbness, but into stillness. Alive stillness. Sometimes it is grieving stillness, sometimes it is angry stillness, even thoughtful, pondering or often prayerful stillness. But I am so thankful for it, because it is creating in me an Alive Stillness, and in that place I sense the very presence of my God.

Jeff and I arrived home and there was a letter from a longtime friend in our mail box.  In it was a gift card to Build-A-Bear, where you create your own stuffed animal, and with it a recording device to place inside the bear so when you squeeze the bear it makes the sound you recorded. She said we could take it to our next appointment with Jonan and record his heartbeat and place it inside this bear. A special way to remember.

She had sent this gift before Jonan had passed and had pre-empted this gift’s arrival with an apology email. Interestingly, I replied to her, this gift was the perfect gift this day. I wanted a stuffed animal to hold as I grieved the loss of my son. But I was too embarrassed to tell even my husband. Yet God answered another prayer that had never crossed my lips. And as far as getting Jonan’s heartbeat, my tech-savvy husband had already, 3 months earlier, turned a recording of his heartbeat into an mp3 and saved in on our computer…so we will have it in our memory bear. 

We spent the rest of that evening at home eating (thanks again to more dear friends) and resting.   Jeff and I came home without a baby in our arms and without one in my womb. Stillness.

“The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21

This was the day after Jonan Eilam was born into heaven.

The day Jonan Eilam Pelletier was born

We were picked up at 3:30am by the Millers to drive to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Prentice Women’s Center.  I had a huge chocolate-peanut butter protein shake as the woman on the phone the night before had warned me of the “ice chips only” diet I would be on for the day.

We drove through an empty dark city to the hospital; the lack of traffic being the one benefit of driving around this time in the morning. The entire ride I clutched my jar with a ribbon around and the 3 yellow tulips, one for each of us.  As I walked up to the desk to check in they thought I was a guest because I had flowers in my hand. I let them know I was indeed carrying my own flowers…why not? They seemed to enjoy this and said it looked a little sparse, so they added a large handful of fresh flowers from their own vase, daisies and daffodils. Ice chip lady faded from my memory, these were great people.

With my wrist band in place and all the papers signed, it was time to go to the 8^th floor and get checked in. We sat in the waiting room and I briefly recall talking a bit about holding a dead baby. Not exactly sensitivity toward the others awaiting live birth, but such was my brain that morning, and at that hour.

“Kimberly”

All four of us got up and walked down the long, wide hallway to a beautiful birthing room. It was so large when we walked in I thought it would have two beds in it. Only one, thank the Lord. But it had huge windows with a grand view of other tall buildings in the city. And a bench that made out into a bed…should that be necessary for Jeff for a long night of laboring.

Nurse Bridget started my IV, or at least she tried. First try in my arm was a painful no-go. The second try in my hand resulted in a painful blown vein. My hand looked like it had a blood-filled golf ball under the skin, and pool of blood underneath it on the cloth covering my bed, unsuccessful.

 “Oh, Lord, if this is how this day will go, I just don’t think I can do it. Please be near.”

Another nurse came in and carefully inserted this IV into my other hand. It was much less painful, but now I had two useless hands for the day. No blog updating for me. (I have always been a bit driven).

After this I was able to get a short nap in. Jeff stayed nearby and did something, I am not sure. But he was nearby. I felt such peace in that room, it was really quite nice actually.  I don’t remember if it was before or after the nap that I had my first dose of cytotec. Being only my sixth month with Jonan, my body would not respond to Pitocin. The receptors on the uterus would not have picked up the Pitocin, but the citotec was supposed to be much more aggressive.

My first dose came around 7am and did not result in anything major.  I could feel some slight contractions by about 9am, but nothing I could not talk or relax through. Jeff and the Millers were around on their computers doing work as I rested up for the big day ahead.  I did try to watch television at one point to distract me. It was useless. Honestly, I didn’t feel I needed distraction, I felt true peace.  The prayers of so so so many of you were already being felt.  I received texts of encouragement and prayers, and began to feel a real sense of peace come over me, it was a stark difference from the terror I had felt the night before.

I have often used my imagination in prayer to help me focus my attention on God.  There was a strong sense of me being in God’s hands that day. My mom even text me the same things, saying she really felt that as she prayed for me that morning. When I closed my eyes I would picture the Lord’s gentle hands replacing the hospital bed I was lying in…and I would picture myself relaxing into these hands as I gave birth to Jonan. And truthfully, this was the only point during the day I would think toward the future. The most profound prayer answered this day was God helping me stay in each moment as it came. I enjoyed the staff, my family, my friends, etc. all as they came. I had a distinct sense that the Lord was giving me what I needed for each moment as it came.  

Eleven a.m. came around and with it my family and another round of cytotec. It was great to see my parents and sister Sarah come up. But, I wondered why everyone would come so early. This was going to take a long time, what were they going to do? But I was constantly reminded that I only needed to take care of myself that day, everyone cared and wanted to be there to support me, so don’t worry about them (some people know me very wellJ).  Jeff went to lunch with my family and the Millers while Dawn, a friend who was my last minute doula, stayed with me to help as the discomfort set in. 

We got one of those big medicine balls for me to sit on while she dug into my back…it felt so great.  The pains started to get stronger and stronger and relaxing was no longer an option. Dawn helped me get in the most comfortable of positions, she followed me even to the bathroom.  She was so helpful. My desire was do this naturally; I never have wanted an epidural in my life…that has always seemed scarier than labor and childbirth.  With her massages and coaching me through breathing as the contractions got stronger and very close together I toughed it out…

…for about 2 hours. By this point others were back in the room with me, Jeff was by my side and the contractions had been consistently coming about 10-15 seconds apart for about 1 ½ hours. They were so aggressive and I was so tired that I was actually blacking out at the end of one and coming to again when the next one would begin…and I was not even dilating yet L 

I had been so determined to do this naturally and actually be able to feel myself give birth to Jonan that I was devastated at my inability to continue on.  I eeked a prayer out to the Lord and felt nothing but overwhelming weakness. There was not enough time for me to recover in between contractions, and this would likely go on for another 8-9 hours I was told, at least. I have pushed through pain many times, but this time I felt only weakness. My body was not going to handle this pain, but I didn’t want to give in.

The nurse, now nurse Nikki as the shifts had changed, came over to talk with me.  She said something like “I know you are strong, and you could do this if it was a regular birth, but it’s not, and these contractions are not how they naturally come. This is just too much pain for you with all the emotional pain as well…I can call the anesthesiologist.” At this point she had tears in her eyes. I began to cry as well. She said she was so sorry, she wasn’t trying to push anything on me, but she felt so bad. Karen, who was listening to everything, said to nurse Nikki “it’s okay [that you are making Kimberly cry], you are only saying things she needs to hear right now.”  Karen was right.  The prayers that were being prayed by everyone helped me to be weak at a moment I felt I wanted to only be strong.

I asked for the anesthesiologist.

Everyone had to leave the room for the epidural procedure. The anesthesiologist was so kind. He answered every question I had and had no air of arrogance to him. He was gentle and understanding to my fears.  I know so many women have had epidurals, but I have always been so scared of them. Nurse Nikki held my hand throughout and twenty minutes later it was all done. I was lying down again and feeling great. I even had a “magic button” that I could push for my medication if I felt pain. I assured him I would probably never use it (ha!).

Others were able to come back in again and we sat there and talked and I told the story. I felt so proud that I had done it. Every person who came into the room for the next hour I welcomed with a smile and “I did it! I go the epidural!”  They must have thought I was crazy, but for me, that was a great victory.

The afternoon wore on and I asked to be alone again with Jeff. We turned the lights off and were quiet for a while so I could rest.  I could feel the contractions, but there was no pain. It was amazing. I truly couldn’t help but think of the miracle it is to be a woman and how God has made our bodies to give life (of course, the relief from the unending contractions helped me think these deep, happy thoughts).

The later crew was now arriving. Jeff’s parents had arrived from Arizona, my other sister from Champaign, Jeff’s brother and wife, and more friends. Dawn, my last minute doula, had to leave and was replaced by my great friend Beth who would be by my side as the night unfolded. Visiting times came and went as I asked them to, I both needed others around and needed more rest. I was on my third dose of Cytotec by dinnertime and pushing my “magic button” a little more as evening went on.

At 7:30pm another nurse shift change took place and we were back to our original crew from the morning. It was difficult to say goodbye to nurse Nikki, but we managed after a few fun pictures at my bedside.  Right after she left my water broke all on its own…a good sign my body was accepting the drugs and doing what it should do. My check-up showed that I had dilated to ½ centimeter…it wasn’t much but it showed I was on my way.  We had no idea what the hours ahead of us still held.

About an hour and a half later, about 9:00pm, the machine connected to my “magic button” of pain relief began beeping…it was out of drugs. I needed to be sure that was filled up as I was able to feel more pain now that before with the epidural.  Jeff and I were alone in the room at the time and so he called the nurse it.  Right as she was filling my drug machine I felt a significant movement and then felt some pretty amazing things I won’t write for the general public. But I will say the best part was that my epidural was such that I did not feel much pain, but I could feel every movement of the birth process; it was the perfect epidural. I told the nurse something pretty big just happened and we needed a doctor right now.

The labor and delivery resident was the first one to get in the room and when she checked me she said “Okay, he’s out,” in a very calm manner….What!? He’s out!! I thought. I was so glad and amazed that I could feel everything, but I didn’t think he would come so easily. He was small and only about 10 or so inches long, so I didn’t need to dilate much. But oh, my goodness, he was out.

My mind flooded, my first thought was…am I okay? I feel okay… but am I okay?  I said, “Are you cutting the cord? Am I bleeding? Is his cord short?”  She was very calm, she said he cord is short, be very still as she had to cut it very close to me. The plan had been for them to take him to the side of the room immediately to first, be sure I was okay and second, give us time to think about seeing him.  Everything went as planned, Jonan’s body was getting cleaned up and Jeff sat at my beside… and didn’t blink for about 10 minutes. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. All my fears, all my terrorizing thoughts were useless. He was out, I was not bleeding.  We still had to wait on the placenta, but all was looking good so far. Thank you, Lord.  Every prayer answered. Every best possible scenario had worked out so far (given the circumstances). The relief I felt was palpable. 

My friend Beth rushed back into the room just after the nurses had turned to us and said, as gently as they could muster “you probably shouldn’t see him, he is really bad.”  Oh, those words nearly make me tear up writing them.  The fear and confusion was back immediately. What should we do? Will this haunt our dreams forever…whether we do see him or don’t see him? Will we regret our decision?  Will we be traumatized? Oh, God, be our Guide. We are so scared.

Beth offered to look at him and give us her opinion, with our permission.  Jeff and I trust her tremendously and knew she would tell us the truth.  Those minutes felt like hours. She came back from the curtain and the first words out of her mouth were “He has the most precious feet.”  These words could sound like the punch line of a crass joke or they could be the most gentle and true words a mother could ever hear in this situation. They were gentle and full of sincere love. She went on to explain his entire body to us. If you read the initial email we sent out to friends and family, his abnormalities match exactly that description. After her explanation Karen came back in the room and asked to do the same thing for us. I don’t remember which of them said it, but one of them said to the effect of “there is nothing to worry about, no matter which you choose (to see him or not), God will be here to heal whatever regret or fears you may face tomorrow. So take your time and trust the Lord.” They both saw our son before we did and loved us through these uncertain next steps…

 We had the nurses bring him close enough so we could see his body, but we unveiled him slowly.  We talked through every part of his broken body and our hearts felt a fullness growing in them. We loved him more with each new inch revealed. Sure, his abnormalities were not a picture of something one would be drawn toward; I think Jeff and I both understood that.  But we thought he was amazing. This was the moment of greatest joy and pride for us. Finally he was in my arms and I was a queen. We kissed his little feet and loved him so much. The thought of letting him go was far from our minds, we were with him now and head over heels in love with our Jonan Eilam.  Yet another prayer answered.  

 Sometime in here the placenta also delivered intact, with absolutely no tearing, bleeding or complications whatsoever. Every best case scenario had happened. More prayers heard and answered. I had birthed Jonan in the hands of the Lord.

Two of most precious parts of being with Jonan Eilam on the gloriously devastating night was sharing him with our family and his little mouth that just wouldn’t close. One of the things explained to us was that the expression on his face may be a little startling for us to see.  They couldn’t get his mouth to stay closed no matter how many times they tried to.  To us this was so beautiful…it was as if he entered heaven singing and his body was just showing that.  We have a private picture of him where he is our singing Jonan…and to mom and dad, he’s perfect.  

Sharing our son with our family was an incredibly privileged moment for me. We introduced him slowly, so those who did not desire to see him did not have to. But all were able to hold him, whether covered or not, and feel his weight in their arms. He was not just “contents”, he was our son.

 We closed our time with family with a priestly blessing by Father Kevin Miller. This was a beautiful and terrible time.  I just held my son for the first time and now I have to release him. “Oh, God, give me the strength. My heart is broken.” With family around, priestly words spoken, prayers, and holy water, we commended Jonan Eilam Pelletier into the Lords hands. There were many, many tears.

Jeff and I now had our time to be with Jonan alone. I talked to him a lot. I kissed his feet. I held Jonan, Jeff held me. We prayed. I cried in a way I hope to never cry again. Ever. Different than a cry, actually, it was more like a whimper. I felt my heart may pour out of my chest. It was the feeling of a “breaking heart”. Now I understand why it is called such. I could hardly breathe between whimpers. “Lord…Lord…I miss him.”  I wasn’t quite sure how we would say goodbye. We would have to leave his body behind, and with it our hearts.   Somehow I think Jeff knew I would potentially, literally never be able to do it myself. Truly. So he said goodbye and helped me follow. We laid Jonan down, covered his body, and called the nurse. It was time. We had stayed with his body until 2:00am.

They wheeled me up to recovery where Jeff and I slept for a long time. That was the day Jonan Eilam Pelletier was born into heaven.

(I will finish this week mirroring the week’s events 2 weeks ago; there is still so much to recount of all the Lord has done)

Tuesday

Tuesday two weeks ago.

This was an odd day, the day after finding out Jonan had passed and the day before giving birth to him. The plan was for me to spend the entire day at Rez (our church) until Jeff got home that night from the gig he was working locally. I wasn’t going to be induced until Wednesday morning so Jeff could finish his gig and I could get all sorts of logistical things done, which was the perfect thing for me to do in order to keep my racing mind stayed on something, even if it was making final plans for my son.

I woke up to a text from a friend that she was coming over to have breakfast with me. Nobody wanted me to be alone at all that day, and I appreciated that. She and I talked and made some delicious protein shakes for breakfast. I received a call from my doctor to talk about our plans for inducing. She wrote down my desires to induce the following morning and said the hospital would call me with further details. About an hour later a woman called to tell me my appointment was at 4:30am. And that I “better eat before [I] come because after that [I] don’t get anything but ice chips til the baby’s born.”  Okay, I have to wake up at 3am and eat a load of food and potentially not eat again for 24 hours. Sweet, this should be great. “Oh, also, be sure to call no later than 3:30am to confirm you are on your way…and be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork”.   Oiy.

At about 11:00am I received a call from a Rez staff member asking where I was…this person was given information that I would be in the office that morning, and since I hadn’t arrived he wanted to know where I was and be sure I wasn’t alone…and that I was okay.  Ah, finally a little love on the other end of the line. What a wonderful phone call. I said I was wrapping up breakfast with a friend and would be in very soon. He then went on to say that he had done some work gathering information for final plans for Jonan and that this day had been ordered to be dedicated to Kimberly, so whatever I need he would help me with. I was in tears by the end of this call. God was, once again, going before me.

I gave a big hug to my friend and headed to church. I walked in to many kind people who knew what I was facing, and I knew were praying for me. There was even a gift waiting for me from a woman in the church whom I had never met. I was set up in an office, with a computer and phone to do whatever I needed to that day. Wow.  But before that I would end up spending hours with this pastoral care person who had called earlier and hear all that he had done concerning Jonan’s burial and funeral service. It was truly amazing. He did enough reconnaissance for Jeff and me to be able to make a decision without one phone call every being made by us.  You must understand that before this morning we had made zero plans regarding Jonan’s body. Neither of us felt right about the hospital burial where they would “take care of the remains.”  We wanted a private burial for our son; we wanted a place to visit him. We wanted to honor his short life and his precious body.  But we had no idea how this was going to happen. We had not really shared this with many people, if any. We did not know how we would pay for our medical bills, let alone a burial plot and funeral service.

Within an hour I had more information that I even knew I needed, including a local funeral home that cuts certain fees for infants. The funeral home directors, themselves, had gone through the loss of a baby earlier in their life and realized that most people at this stage of life do not have the cash flow pay for this sort of thing. They even had a place at the cemetery set for Jonan…a place especially for babies. How sad a place existed, but how comforted I felt.

I called Jeff and our parents elated at the news that everything was coming together and I was being so well taken care of on this, the weirdest of days. This comforted Jeff, and our parents probably thought I was a little crazy to be so energetic. It’s amazing how our bodies and minds can switch into coping mode when we need to.  We certainly are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”

The afternoon came and I sent another mass email to friends and family announcing Jonan’s death and impending birth…the wrong order of things for sure. I pleaded for prayers in this email as the risks during birth were the most significant for me. Jonan’s short umbilical cord made significant bleeding a strong possibility for me, and the doctor shared all this could mean. I was genuinely nervous for the next day.  The drugs, the pain…meeting Jonan. It was all too much to take in, so I stayed very busy that afternoon.

As evening approached I packed up my stuff to head to Target before dinner at the Miller’s home (our pastors who have walked this journey with us).  I walked out of the office and first saw Kevin Miller. He said something about seeing me soon for dinner.  I looked out the windows at the darkened sky and realized the night had come, somehow I really thought it may not. Surely God would not actually call me to what is next.  I turned to Kevin and told him that “I have to go alone now. I know others will be with me, but only I am called to this next part of the journey. No one else can do what I have to do next.”  This really struck me. I had never felt like I was doing any of this journey alone. Jeff and I had so many people around us, we had the Lord, we had each other. Where did this feeling of being all alone come from?

I thought immediately of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before his impending death on the cross… “Please, take this cup from me” he prayed through sweat and tears.  My challenge with Jonan was not even close to that of Christ’s death on the cross, but giving (still)birth to my first son, with all the potential and likely problems for me was my cross to bear…and I also had to walk that road alone.  Jesus, too, had people there who love Him and stayed with Him to the very end, but only He could fulfill what the Father had called Him to do.  As I looked at that darkened night sky, I felt comfort in the way that Jesus goes before us in our darkest of hours and that He knew what I was feeling.  And as Jeff and I had worked to submit our hearts all along, I prayed, like Jesus “…yet not my will, but Yours be done.”

That prayer was sincere, and I prayed it again and again as I gained strength from Christ going before me.  However, I walked about 20 feet further toward that darkened night sky and saw Karen Miller, who also said something about seeing me soon at dinner.  I blubbered some incoherent words and fell into her shoulder sobbing uncontrollably.  There were others around, but I just couldn’t stop. The terror had gripped me and I just didn’t want to go through with it. My heart was already broken in two, and now I felt like my body was going to do the same…surely, Lord, you could take this cup from me.

She quickly took my keys from me and made plans to get my car home and me to her home until Jeff could come pick me up after work. I told only her of my true fears of death in this situation. Each time someone would talk to me about anything concerning the future I would have this odd out-of-body experience. As in, I would stop hearing their words and think “wow, they really think I am going to live through this”…and then I would want to share all the very real risks the doctors had shared with me concerning giving birth to Jonan.  (I had even been told by the doctors that if, when in the delivery room, everyone starts moving really fast and they wheel me into the operating room…don’t worry, they know what they are doing and are “prepared for the worst”. I think this was supposed to give me comfort…but it didn’t).  I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Jeff how scared I was I wouldn’t make it. I just really could only think of how much I didn’t want to die like this.  I know this sounds so dramatic, but I really felt like this after all I had been told. I was just really, really scared.

After this lighthearted discussion with Karen, we went to her house and had dinner.  And then we did like anyone in this situation would do…we colored. Karen colored a stained glass window, I colored a tree, and Karen’s daughter (also an adult) colored a puppy.  We all colored for Jonan. The puppy, I was assured, was a great puppy… no need to be house-trained, he won’t bark, and he doesn’t need to be fed, and on top of that…every boy need a puppy.  She named his Sparky J

Jeff finally arrived to pick me up. We did our Target run for all the things you need when you have a baby (some of you know this list). Jeff dropped me off at home to shower while he went to borrow a really expensive camera from a friend. When he came home he had the camera in his hands and also a simple jar with a ribbon around it from my friend. In the jar were 3 yellow tulips…one for each of us. 

We slept for about 4 ½ hours that night.  That was Tuesday. 

"Plentiful Redemption"

I want to post about Monday, two weeks ago, to offer to everyone interested what the week of Jonan’s birth was like, and how the Lord provided in ways we could have never thought to pray for.

As I shared in my email concerning Jonan’s passing the morning of January 24^th I was reading Psalm 27 to Jonan; I had gotten in the habit of reading a Psalm every morning as we prepared him for heaven. Then, as had also become habit, we sang our two songs together “Beautiful Things” and “The Earth is Yours”.  I almost skipped the second one that morning because I was running a bit late for my ultrasound appointment. I actually shut off the player and was walking out the door and felt that I shouldn’t skip that this morning. It was important that I do both songs. And, as I have shared before…I shut the blinds because of the overwhelming joy and sense of worship I had during that song that morning. Worshipping the Lord with Jonan was different that morning. I noted that, but didn’t think much of its significance.

I headed off with two friends to my ultrasound appointment. Jeff really needed to work a gig he had gotten locally. We decided things were likely fine and I it would be okay for him to miss this one appointment.  He did say, however, that he needed to be replaced by two friends, not just one. “I am worth at least two people”.  I agreed. I prepped my friends on our way to the appointment about the nature of the questions I would be asking, and gave them permission to be eyes and ears with me as well. This had been such a stressful time for me that I knew my mind may not work as it should, so please feel free to be brains for me as well as friends along for the ride. 

Well, as you all know the appointment didn’t go as we had almost certainly thought it would.  I asked all sorts of questions about continuing care; she told me of all the real risks I was facing and how we would handle each of them should they arise. After talking with her for about 45 minutes it was time for the routine check for heartbeat…

Silence.

More silence.

Okay, so the doctor says it can be difficult sometimes, let’s go get the ultrasound machine so we can see him and hear his heartbeat. Great, I think, I will get to see him today, too….a bonus. I knew it was a possibility he had passed, but it seemed so slight. We had only found out 12 days ago of his condition, this was just a routine checkup.  We all sat in stillness with small talk here and there; we didn’t talk of the possibilities.

The ultrasound machine rolled in and out poured the warm, goupy stuff on my belly.  He is on the screen! Everyone but me was looking…I actually found myself praying because I all of a sudden got so nervous.  She looked for a while and actually thought maybe she had seen his heart beating once, but that hope quickly passed. It seemed as if she wanted to see it beating almost as much as I did. 

She stopped and said she would go get another doctor to help her look…oh, no, I know this routine for sure by now. And I am not sure I took a breath until they both came back into the room.  The other doctor confirmed what my doctor was already feeling…Jonan was gone. The ultrasound was only stillness, no matter how much they moved that wand around my belly. I asked them to keep looking; I couldn’t bear moving forward knowing there was any slight possibility he was alive…I was determined not to take his life.

These two women, literally with a tear in their eye, continued this for almost another 15 minutes. How tough that must have been for them. I didn’t want those final words, but they had to be said.  “He is gone.”

Okay (breath) Okay, Lord, this is Your timing (breath) Okay.

They roll out the machine and leave the 3 of us to weep and weep. My two tender friends loved Jonan, too, and they wept with me.  At some point as we were all holding one another and crying I prayed, and then they prayed.  Peace came into that room and then it was time to leave.

I don’t remember leaving, it’s quite blurry from here on out for the rest of the night except for these things:

·        Driving to tell Jeff his son had died. They took me to his gig in person so I could tell him. In traffic, during rush hour. We drove to Jonan’s daddy.

·        After leaving Jeff we were on our way home and they asked what they could do with me: take me home with one of them? Stay at my place with me until Jeff got home? Get some food? What? I said I can’t make any decisions right now…I feel numb. Then my one friend said “Do you want to just keep driving?” Immediately I replied “Yes.” So we did. 

·        Our amazing pastors coming over in a moment’s notice, yet again, to help us make the next step decisions about when to induce and what I would do all day Tuesday so I wouldn’t be alone as Jeff finished his gig .

·        Calling my parents to tell them their grandson had died. Ugh.

That was Monday, January 24^th.  God truly surrounded me with everything I needed for the unexpected.

And you know what else happened that day? The song I wrote about yesterday in my post entitled “Waiting”, it was written later that night by our dear friend as he was praying for us…before he even found out Jonan had entered heaven.

And what else?  The scripture for Morning Prayer (in the Anglican prayer book) that day on the 24^th was Isaiah 55:1-6, part of which reads:

“So is My word that goes forth from My mouth; it will not return to Me empty, but it will accomplish that which I have purposed and prosper in that for which I sent it.”

Just today (Monday February 7) I received a note from someone at prayer that morning at church. She recalls the following as the group was praying for Jeff, Jonan, and myself:

“The sense we had as we had as we were praying was that Jonan was like that word sent forth in Isaiah, that he would not return to the Lord empty, but that he would accomplish that which God had purposed and prosper in that for which he had been sent. Jonan had been sent forth with a very specific ministry that only he could fulfill. Then, when he had finished the work the Lord had given him to do, he would return, not empty, but as a servant of the Most High, having accomplished all that he had been sent out to do. And in the years to come, the Lord will continue to bring forth fruit and prosper the ministry He entrusted to Jonan, His servant.”

This is very tender for me to share this, and I have debated if I should or not. But for those of you still journeying with me in this I wanted to share this encouragement. As Jonan’s mother, I treasure these things in my heart. And as I wrote just this morning from the book of Job: “For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with Him is plentiful redemption.”

Thank you for sharing this journey with me. 

Waiting

So this afternoon I return to the same doctor and in same office where I found out Jonan had passed, but this time for my postpartum checkup (it’s earlier with a stillbirth).  Today is exactly two weeks since we checked in vain for his heartbeat.  This week, if I can get through it all, I am going to recount what happened each day, two weeks ago.  I want to do this to share the amazing story of Jonan’s birth and all the ways that God has provided. 

This morning, however, I find myself wanting to share from Psalm 130, and what it is doing in my heart. Maybe I will post again later today to share about Monday…just two weeks ago.

 At church yesterday a dear friend of ours sang a song he wrote based on Psalm 130, about waiting on the Lord.  This song felt dichotomous in nature to me; it had a melody that gently carried my heart, with words that pierced right through it.

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope:

My soul waits for the Lord

More than watchmen wait for the morning

More than watchmen wait for the morning.”

Ugh…waiting on the Lord. Right now I don’t want to wait, I still want to be in my 6^th month of pregnancy, I still want to hold a baby in my arms come May, I want to get our home ready for our new arrival, I want my husband to get the job we have been praying for…for so long. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to go through healing and waiting for the right time to “try” again, I don’t want to submit this to the Lord. I want to take control of my life that feels so far from my grasp. I don’t want to wait.

“I wait for the Lord…”

What a difficult thing it is to wait, especially when it seems so unfair and the world around doesn’t seem as if they have to wait for anything.  As Jeff put it the other day, “this is the part of the movie where it stops and you see the words ‘two years later…’”  But do I want what the world has or do I want what the Lord has? I know the answer immediately; I just don’t want to accept the immediate actions I must take…wait on the Lord.

“…in His word I put my hope…”

I struggled with this for a long time last night. Praying before bed feeling like Job (not that my life comes close to his perils, but I still felt like I was praying his type of prayers).  But then I remembered how God answered Job in chapter 38:

⁴ “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? 
   Tell me, if you understand. 
⁵ Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! 
   Who stretched a measuring line across it? 
⁶ On what were its footings set, 
   or who laid its cornerstone— 
⁷ while the morning stars sang together 
   and all the angels^] shouted for joy?

⁸ “Who shut up the sea behind doors 
   when it burst forth from the womb, 
⁹ when I made the clouds its garment 
   and wrapped it in thick darkness, 
¹⁰ when I fixed limits for it 
   and set its doors and bars in place, 
¹¹ when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; 
   here is where your proud waves halt’?

¹² “Have you ever given orders to the morning, 
   or shown the dawn its place, 
¹³ that it might take the earth by the edges 
   and shake the wicked out of it? 
¹⁴ The earth takes shape like clay under a seal; 
   its features stand out like those of a garment. 
¹⁵ The wicked are denied their light, 
   and their upraised arm is broken.

Ouch. And this goes on and on and on.  I know it is okay that I have asked the Lord many things, I see this in the Psalms often, but I also remember Job’s reply to the Lord in chapter 42:

 ² “I know that you can do all things; 
   no purpose of yours can be thwarted. 
³ You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’ 
   Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, 
   things too wonderful for me to know

Surely I spoke of things I do not understand. Oh, how I don’t understand. I really don’t understand. But I set my heart here this morning:

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope:

My soul waits for the Lord...”

For I do long for what is to come:

“For with the Lord there is steadfast love,

And with him is plentiful redemption.”