Uncharted Waters Part 9: Winter's Loss|A Mother’s Journey from Death to Life #PregnancyandInfantLossAwareness

WINTER'S LOSS

On December 6, 2003, the day after Luke died, a hospice volunteer came into our hospital room and handed us a bright purple folder with a butterfly on the cover. There were resources inside listing different ways to cope with grief. One pamphlet gave an explanation for the process of filing a death certificate, tips for planning a funeral, and phone numbers of local funeral homes.

I heaved a great sigh. "This is too overwhelming. I don’t have the strength to sort through such things."

"I'll do it." Billy took the hospital phone and started dialing. He explained our special circumstances and asked if the funeral home had services for babies. He called a cemetery next and found one that offered plots for infants. "This one gives complementary burial services for young children. I think we should go with them. And this cemetery is close to our house."

"Sure. If you think they'd be good. I've never had to plan a funeral before. I have no idea what I'm doing." I started packing up our things.

"Me either." He shrugged.

We headed to the funeral home. The only thing we had to pay for was the coffin. The funeral director guided us through the one page in the catalog full of tiny caskets. When I noticed the prices, I felt anger well up inside of me. Death surely isn't free. But why is it so costly? Aren't we suffering enough?

Nearby, we drove to the cemetery, which housed a section just for babies called "Babyland Garden." We'd have to purchase a plot and a marker. By this time, my mind was swirling, and I just wanted to go home.

Billy filled out the paperwork for the plot and escorted me to the car. I was in excruciating pain by now, not only emotionally, but physically. I didn't have a baby, but my body didn't know that and made milk to feed my child.

At home, my pregnancy and infant books said hardly anything about infant death. I did find a way to help with my engorgement. Cabbage leaves and an Ace bandage. So like Eve, in the garden, I covered myself with leaves and wound a bandage over my wounded heart. It didn't help much.     

FAMILY MATTERS

My small group leader, Mark and another friend, Barb, called us and offered to create a plan for the funeral. Barb designed a beautiful card with Luke’s picture on it to give out, and Mark offered to help arrange all that would be shared.

The date was set and many friends and family said they would come, including my mother, stepfather, and dad. It was comforting to know they would be there for us in our time of grief.

The night before the funeral, my mother called to say she wasn’t going to come. She said my stepfather and older brother got into a heated argument, and he was too upset to drive her to the cemetery.

It would have meant so much for all of my parents to come to Luke’s funeral.

That night, I shared the problem with my small group. As I wept, they all laid their hands on me and prayed. They were the hands and feet of Jesus to comfort me in my time of grief.

“As a mother comforts her child,
so will I comfort you;” (Isaiah 66:13)

BLUE SKIES AND HOPE FOR TOMORROW

The day of the funeral, I decided that I wasn’t going to wear black. Instead, I wore a sky blue blouse and a skirt covered with blue cornflowers. Wearing blue reminded me that I had hope, because I knew, one day I would see Luke again.

We drove to the cemetery, where empty chairs stood beneath a green canopy.  Luke’s body was encased in a baby-sized white casket on a table. There was a small rectangular hole dug in the ground behind the canopy, which was the slightly larger than the coffin.

The funeral staff asked Billy if he wanted to place Luke in the grave by himself. His mouth dropped. Then he slowly nodded.

Soon, people started to arrive and toiled their way up to the canopy. One by one, they paused at a table that held the coffin, reflected for awhile, and placed a daisy on top. Many hugged us as they offered their tearful condolences.

Unexpectedly, my mother and stepfather toiled up the path. Despite my grief, a spark of joy touched my heart. They gave me a hug, and I invited them to sit with me.

Mark stood up and spoke a about Luke’s short life, and our hope in Christ. My brother and sister in-law, John and Krista, had agreed they would share next.

Krista read a poem that I adapted for Luke called “Reunion” from Misty by Carole Gift Page.

Someday when I’m old

And someone asks if I’m looking forward to heaven

I’ll say I’m eager to see my Jesus

But there’s someone else I want to see too.

I’ll say

It’s been thirty or forty years since I’ve seen [him].

And the time we spent together was all too brief—

[eight hours]

That’s all,

And [he] was so tiny and frail

[He] spent that time just trying to breathe.

I never had a chance to find out who [he] was

Or what [he] was like—

What [he] could have done,

What [he] could have been,

But [he] was my child,

Flesh of my flesh,

My own,

And I love [him]

With limitless love.

My other children grew up

And grew older with me

But this one—

The one I’m longing to see—

Stayed the same through the years—

[His] face fixed in my memory like a faded snapshot,

Its corners worn from too much handling.

Through the years,

The good and bad times,

I’ve dreamed of that distant reunion

And imagined the moment

I could look [him] in the eyes

And say,

Darling,

Your mother’s missed you

But we’ll never be apart again.

Adaptation of “Reunion,” from Misty by Carole Gift Page

Our brother-in-law ambled up to the front of where everyone was seated. He lifted a folded piece of paper and opened it. Billy had written the letter for him to read:

Dear Luke,

What can I say? You are my one and only little boy. I held you in my arms for such a very short time. Eight hours, that was all the time that God allowed us to have with you. But, let me assure you that they were some of the best hours of my life. It was pure joy for me to hold you and kiss your sweet little head, and place my finger in your tiny little hand.

It was simply pure joy to know you little one. When your little hand seemed to squeeze my finger and one of your little eyes opened to peek at me. To see you breathing much longer than the doctors said you would.

I’m sorry that I did not get to know you better in my life. I’m sorry that we didn’t get to do all the things that daddies and little boys get to do. I wanted so much to take you to the park and push you in the swing, teach you how to ride a bike, take you fishing, and play catch.

But, that was not in God’s plan. God’s plan was for you to stay with your mommy and me for just a short time, and then to go to heaven to be with Him. God loves you very much and has a special purpose for you there. I think you are very happy there, too. There is no sickness, no pain, or cruelty up there like there is down here. Heaven is a place filled with love, for God is love and you can trust Him to take care of you.

As for me, I’m happy that you’re with Him, but sad that you’re leaving without me. Your mommy and I miss you very much and will think about you every day. But, don’t worry, one day we’ll come to heaven to live with God, too, and we’ll be with each other again.

Remember that I love you very much and you will stay in my heart forever.

Love,

Daddy

A few puffy clouds floated across the sky like woolly sheep on a baby blue blanket. A gentle breeze made the air cool and pleasant.

As a friend strummed the guitar and sang, “Amazing Grace,” Billy stood before Luke’s little coffin and wrapped his arms around it. He hugged the box which housed his son, close to his heart.

My family softly gasped.

As he stepped one foot at a time into the grave and gently lowered the coffin, setting it down onto the cool, soft earth.

When Billy came up out of the grave, he stood next to April and me. She was holding a red balloon that pulled to the right as the wind rushed past us. We all held the balloon and then released it together.

The balloon sailed high into the sky, floating up to the clouds. At the same time, I lifted my hands in worship of my Lord and King, who I still believed was good, even though He had allowed us to experience such sorrow.

“Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
they are ever praising you. 

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. 

Lord Almighty,
blessed is the one who trusts in you.”

(Psalm 84: 4, 5, 12)

For Part 1, click here.

Part 10 is available here.