The closest way I can describe the way Tuesday felt was the day before a death sentence. I know that seems so dramatic, but it’s how I felt. I was beyond emotional and so very scared of what I was about to face. All I wanted to do was hold Pierce and Blaine tightly in my arms and stay like that. We spent time at our favorite park and tried to soak up every minute we had together. I still couldn’t see past my hospital stay and I was torn up at the thought of leaving my babies for 1-2 days. We were leaving that night and Abbey would come over once they were in bed. I was supposed to report at 8, but I knew I could not physically walk out the door if they were still awake and crying for me. So we decided to be late and tuck them in first. And I’m so glad. The amazing thing is that sometime throughout Tuesday I began to feel a peace and calm come over me about what was ahead. I wasn’t entering into it without emotion and heavy heart, but I was resigned to get through what was ahead. I know without a shadow of a doubt that it was the hundreds of prayers being offered on my and our behalf from literally across the country. There is no other way that I could have had the peace and calm that I did walking into the hospital.
We had sent out an email to friends and family explaining what had happened and immediately we began receiving emails and texts with encouragement and scripture, and voice mails of prayers. I had been so reluctant to feel so exposed in our tragedy, but the shower of love and support we began to receive for our dear friends and family strengthened me in a way I didn’t know possible. I have never so personally experienced the power of prayers offered for me and the ways it changed me. I didn’t know exactly what was ahead, but I knew Who was in control.
This is the moment that I have to give praise to my husband. I really can’t even come up with the words to describe how amazing he was through every step. He took the entire week off work and really never left my side throughout this journey. I am so grateful that he is such a strong and supportive man. We cried together, he led me in prayer, he held me, he shared his heart and listened as I shared mine. He was present with me through it all. Thank you, Lord, for the gift of my husband. Neither of us knew what we were about to experience in the next 24-48 hours, but we knew that we would do it together.
I was given doses of the induction medication every 4 hours and by 8 AM I was ready for an epidural. In a nutshell, the first one really didn’t take and I began having pretty intense pain by about 11:00. The anesthesiologist came back to do another one, but my contractions were intense and constant by then. I had tried to avoid having pain, but somehow it seemed fitting I suppose. The second helped and thank goodness because I really hadn’t known how I would get through it. There was really no way to know how long this process would take and we were praying desperately that it would be on the shorter end. My nurse (who was the best I could have imagined and never left my side) felt on my abdomen and almost immediately the pain stopped. She said we were ready and paged Dr. Cooper. We had been warned that sometimes things happen so fast that the nurse has to deliver and then the doctor comes right after. But Dr. Cooper was able to make it.
The delivery wasn’t painful at all and that second epidural had done the trick. It was a surreal and scary feeling knowing we were about to see our baby. We had asked Dr. Cooper to tell us what to expect once she saw him and she told us he was a little bruised, but beautiful and perfect. She kissed his tiny head and put him in my arms. We both were crying tears of everything: joy at meeting our son, sorrow that we were meeting him in this way, and relief that he was here. He was simply beautiful. Every time I think back on that moment I think of the verse in Psalm 139 “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Grant was fearfully and wonderfully made. We studied and memorized every detail of his little body. He had every single development and detail of a normal baby, just in a miniature form. A darling nose and little lips (which we both agreed reminded us of Pierce), little buds of brown hair, fingers the size of my fingernail, tiny knees and elbows, and feet no more than an inch. He weighed 1 pound exactly and was 12 ½ in. long. I had been so nervous to see and hold him, but in that moment I couldn’t imagine anything more comforting and right. He was our baby, our third son, and we were his mommy and daddy.
We had a huge answer to prayer shortly after his birth in finding out the cause of everything. We had prayed that there could be some sort of obvious answer and that we wouldn’t have to make a decision about testing. The main desire for an answer is for wisdom in future pregnancies. We had pretty much decided that we wouldn’t pursue testing, but Dr. Cooper was able to reassure us after some blood work that this truly was a random and unhelpable thing. This in no way changed any of our grief, but it was good to know that.
The hospital offered so many wonderful services and keepsakes: a sketch artist, photography, a little bracelet with his name, a volunteer-made knit sleeper and hat to take his photo in, foot and hand prints. I’m so grateful to have it all. I can’t imagine a more supportive hospital and staff. They made an incredibly painful process more meaningful and supportive.
My parents had been in earlier to say hi and decided to hang out in the lobby for a bit. We hadn’t known it, but they came shortly before Grant was born. We had thought it would be just us to hold him, but I wanted to share him with my parents. We invited them and they came up and held him and cried with us while admiring how perfect he was. I knew that they were going through a unique grief both as grandparents to Grant, but also having to see their baby going through something so painful. I’m so glad they got to share in our time with him.
As the hours ticked by I knew it was bringing us closer to the painful decision of when and how to let him go. Throughout our hours with him I kept thinking of how I could let him go. I can’t imagine a more painful thing. Some friends from college had recently gone through a stillbirth with their second daughter a week and a half before. Such odd timing. I had reached out to Susan before we went into the hospital and she wrote an incredibly helpful message back that helped further prepare us for what we would face. I’ll never forget her saying that we would just know when it was time. She had said people had told her the same thing and she couldn’t comprehend it, but it just became right. I questioned if I would truly have that moment, but desperately wanted it because how else would I be able to do it?
We asked for some private time and we just spoke to him through tears and sobs. We shared our unfulfilled dreams, told him about his brothers, and prayed. But God’s peace once again seized our hearts and minds. Towards the end of the afternoon it just became time. His little, physical body wasn’t meant to stay in this world and I was filled with the knowledge, that could only come from a God greater than our pain, that we were only holding his shell. Grant was not really with us. He was alive in the arms of his Father who loves him so much more completely than we ever could. Grant was not missing us. We just missed him.
Another moment that I had dreaded in a way that words can’t describe was once again replaced by a peace that surpasses all understanding and, although our bodies ached with grief, we could feel God’s presence and love. And that has been the theme of this entire journey. We have a walked a road so filled with heartache, tears, and sadness, but at the same time have never experienced God in such real and powerful ways.
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