Four Years

Today was Bethany's fourth birthday. We went to her grave site to leave a little pinwheel. We had to scrape the ice and snow away, but it was nice to remember.

Here's a picture of her grave site without the snow and ice.



That verse is always comforting to me.

What's in a Name?

My dear, sweet sister declared in no uncertain terms that I need to explain the title of my blog. She is tired of giving people my blog information because it is such a strange name to give a blog, and she wonders why I would have chosen such a thing.

She had strep throat and was rather grouchy.

I love you, dear, sweet sister.

And I owe everyone an explanation.

After my daughter died, my other daughter experienced a lot of internal emotions that she was not able to express in words. One way she verbalized the anxiety going on inside of her was by saying there were lots of mosquitos inside her. I thought that was a very accurate description of what she must have been feeling.

Since this is a blog for her, dealing with issues that could produce that same physical phenomenon (in her and me both), I kind of tweaked her metaphor by combining it with the age old saying "butterflies in my stomach" because I think anxiety is more like mosquitos than butterflies.

A while back, I wrote a dramatic monologue for a literature class I was taking, and I used as my subject her perspective in the death of her sister.

Here is the result:

A Girl and Her Sister

I holded my baby in my little blue rocky chair.
It’s okay baby, It’s okay baby.
I’ll give you some milk from my shirt.
Would you like a little tebby dare?
My baby is quiet now.
She shushed for a long time.
I don’t know what all the big people are doing.
Why do I have all these worries inside of me?
I think there’s some mosquitos inside me.
I haven’t seen my baby.
There’s the building with the pretty pictures in the window.
That’s where we left my baby.
I want to go get her.
Why don’t we just go get her back out of that building with the pretty pictures?
She’s not in that building anymore.
She’s down in the ground.
She's also up in heaven.
It’s a place you really like.
I don’t want to go there.
I want another little sister.
We can’t make a little sister.
Only God can make a little sister.
We can’t even make one out of paper.
Only heaven has that stuff.

Bethany, Part III

In order to understand this post, it might be helpful to read the last 3 posts.

I'm having a really hard time with this post. It was my intention to sum up all our emotions and the things we have learned through this experience. Well, that was a little unrealistic. However, since I can't keep this going indefinitely, I will try to cover some of the really important things that I would like to leave with my daughter. So, here goes...

Faith and trust are a choice. Neither one are a feeling. When I got the news that Bethany was dead, I remember making a deliberate choice that I was going to lean with all my might on my heavenly father. I was going to trust his decision and believe that there was a better reason for her to die than for her to live. I was not going to turn my back on God in anger for what he had done. It was not a feeling. It was not an experience. It was not an emotion. It was a choice.

This does not mean I did not get angry. This does not mean I did not get depressed. This does not mean that I never wished she hadn't died. It simply means that I chose to walk through those emotions with Jesus Christ at my side. Although I couldn't always make sense of what God was doing and took a good blow to what my theology had been up until this point, I was not ready to throw everything away that had transpired between me and God.

I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning most nights wrestling with whether God really loved me, and if he did, what did that love mean. Did he really keep me and my family safe or was that an illusion I had created? If it was an illusion, where was there any security? How could I reconcile what had happened with the verses I knew promising safety from God? If I was going through a time of testing, what other things would I have to experience? If I passed the test, would God use me to bring more glory to himself? Did I really want to be someone used by God to bring glory to himself? What was he going to do next? There is a verse that says the eyes of the Lord are roaming to and fro about the earth, looking for a man through whom he can glorify himself. That verse scared me so badly because if I was faithful and glorified him in this, would he use me for all sorts of other crazy and difficult things? People think being used by God is an honor and a privilege. What they may not know is, it can also be extremely painful.

People would try to tell me that God wouldn't give me anything I couldn't bear. That is exactly what scared me. I knew I could bear anything God gave me. I was not about to ever turn my back on him. I had made a choice long before anything happened that I would serve God no matter what. Like Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I still hope in Him."

There were so many conflicting emotions going on inside me. I totally loved and adored God and wanted him to be glorified in my life. On the other hand, I was scared half to death of what he was going to accomplish in and through me. My wonderful Christian counselor told me I had a "Job complex."

I'm almost afraid to share some of my thoughts during this time because you would think I was crazy. The truth is I was!! I was literally going crazy. Furthermore, I think it was completely normal and healthy to be going crazy at this point.

One way my craziness displayed itself was I couldn't be by myself for many months after her death. Either I went with Van everywhere he went, or he didn't go. He was so patient and loving toward me during this process of grief and Post Traumatic Stress. He would also stay up all night long with me until I went to sleep because I was afraid to be alone with the whole house sleeping. Sometimes, that meant 4:00, 5:00, or even 6:00 in the morning if I had a really rough night wrestling with God and my grief.

Another thing I did was check on Allika every 5 minutes. Sometimes, I was convinced that for one reason or other I was going to find her dead. In those instances, I would beg Van to go check on her for me. Once again, his patience in this area amazes me.

One day, I was sharing all my fears about my future in God's hands with a friend. "Tanager," she said, "God doesn't give us grace for our hypothetical fears. He only gives us grace for the task he has called us to." Wow. Yep. You're right. I am letting fear steal my joy in the moment because I am trying so hard to anticipate the carpet being pulled out from under me around the next corner.

I knew what God's grace for the moment felt like. I had experienced it first hand. He had been so good to us in so many ways following the death of our daughter. For instance, the song "Held," which I shared in my previous post, was a gift from him. I had heard that song even before Bethany was born, and I fell in love with it. I mean, I absolutely loved it! My husband got me the CD for Christmas and I played track #9 over and over and over and over. There was something about that song that grabbed me and held me (so to speak). It was no coincidence that it was the song playing at the moment we left the hospital. It was also no coincidence that a man we never met, who had heard about what happened, walked up to us the day after she died, gave us the CD, and said, "I don't know if you have ever heard this song, but I thought it would bless you." It was like God was saying, "I am right here with you. I am holding you. I will not leave you."

His grace was also displayed through our family and friends who came around us in such an amazing way. Since we couldn't bring ourselves to sleep in the house the night after she died, some friends put us up in a motel room. As they were dropping us off, we formed a circle, held hands, and prayed together. That night was so hard. I sobbed through the night. My chest hurt so badly, I thought I was having a heart attack. Van called the Emergency Room, and the nurse talked him through everything and determined it was just grief. It seriously hurt so bad.

The next morning, I knew there was no way I could go on living with the pain like it was. I wanted to just get a drink and drown it all out. I went to church instead. Good choice. It was there I was ministered to in such an enormous way that no amount of alcohol could ever touch. As we sang songs of worship to our awesome God, I lifted my hands to heaven and felt the comfort of my father envelope me.

My family started arriving as soon as church was over, and for the next two weeks they surrounded me and loved me through the deepest pain. God is so good. His grace is truly amazing.

I am not finished, but I have to break this up again. Sorry. I really wanted to finish this whole story by now, but there is too much to share. Thank you for your patience. When this is all over, I will write a bunch of froo-froo, frilly, fun, happy, silly, nonsensical stuff for a while.

Bethany, Part II

To follow this story, read the previous post.

At the hospital I was still not in my right mind. The admissions lady wanted to know Bethany's birth date. I told her it was 2003, no 2004, wait 2006. The lady smiled and said she would figure it out. They escorted me to a private room off of the main waiting area. I know the reason for that now. I told them not to tell me anything until my husband got there. I knew I could not hear any bad news by myself. They asked if I had any friends or family I could call. I couldn't remember phone numbers, and I thought my mom would be at work because I forgot it was Saturday.

My husband and daughter finally came. The doctor came in and said they had tried everything they could and had given her their strongest medications, but he was sorry to tell us, our daughter had passed away. My husband was stunned. He had not had the previous drama to prepare him for this. I was in shock. My husband made a few calls, and several of our friends arrived. He gave some numbers to the chaplain to call our family and tell them the news. Hospital chaplains are my heroes, too. He spoke such soothing words to us. He read a verse right then about how Bethany had been formed in my womb for a purpose. Her life had been for a reason, and so had her death. He said that God knew what it meant to lose a child. At first, I thought that was a really dumb thing to say because God knew all along that his son would be re-united with him in a few short days. Then, I realized that I knew I would be re-united with Bethany someday, too.

They asked us if we wanted to go see her. At first, we were repulsed by the thought. We didn't want to see her with all the tubes in her. They said they had to leave them for the coroner to determine cause of death. Eventually, we decided we wanted to see her and say goodbye. We wrestled with whether or not our other daughter should come. We asked the hospital staff what the effects would be on a 3-year-old. No one really knew. We decided that this was part of her life, and as difficult as it would be, she would have to grapple with all of this. It was reality for her.

The three of us made our way down the hall. Nurses were laughing and talking about their weekend plans as we passed their station. People with cuts and illnesses were waiting behind curtains to see the doctor. Then, we saw her. She was laying in her little diaper on a cold, hard table. She had a tube taped to her mouth and bandages on her body where they had started I.Vs. Apart from that, she looked like she was sleeping. She was so perfect and beautiful; I couldn't believe she was dead. I stroked her hair and kissed her temples like I always did. Allika and Van touched her and kissed her and told her goodbye. The chaplain said a prayer, and the nurses wiped tears from their eyes.

We returned to the lobby, and many of our church friends were there. I was so thankful for them. Several of them had taken off of work to come be with us. That meant so much. They loved us and prayed with us and hugged us and took care of details regarding the rest of the weekend.

My husband and I were questioned separately regarding Bethany's death. We were both so scared that we would be blamed for it. I had heard the horror stories of kids dying and parents going to jail for child abuse. I had laid her on her stomach. I had used a fluffy quilt to cushion her. I had left her for hours without checking on her. I had botched up the CPR. I had been by myself with no witnesses to my account. I couldn't stand the thought that I might go to jail and my daughter would lose her mother at this crucial time in her life. I know it might sound silly now, but I was scared half to death.

When the questioning was done, they said we could leave. I said, "That's it? We just walk out of here and leave my daughter lying on that table?" They looked at each other and seemed a little at a loss. Then, they said they would move her to another room and we could have all the time we needed to say goodbye.

We sat in that room taking turns holding her and saying goodbye. Suddenly, a nurse flew through the door. "Has she been seen yet?" she asked. I was a little confused. She continued, "Has anyone treated your daughter yet?" I told her she was dead. She got a horrified look on her face and apologized profusely. I told her we understood and it was okay.

It was time to leave. We could not hold her forever. It was so weird walking out of the hospital as if life was just as normal as it ever was. People were coming and going. Nurses were taking smoke breaks and laughing. The sun was shining. And my heart was still in the hospital with a little baby lying on a cold, hard bed.

As we all got in our cars to go to our friend's house for supper, this is the song that was playing on the local Christian radio station at that very moment:



To be continued

Bethany, Part I

This will be a really hard post to read. No, seriously. This will be a really hard post to read. I have contemplated not writing this, but I know that future posts will depend on the telling of this story. In fact, I have wanted to post about other things, but they all seem to need the context of this story to make any sense. I've thought, "Oh, I'll talk about that." Then I realize it will need to be explained in light of something else, and eventually, the explanations will lead to the story I am about to tell.

I also know how important it is for my daughter to know these things. Since this whole blog is really for her, I will write with that in mind and may offend some of the rest of you in the process. Sorry for that in advance.

Bethany was born to us on December 17, 2005. She was a beautiful baby with dark black hair and big, dark eyes. We bonded right away, her and I. My other daughter fell in love as soon as we brought her home. She was an amazing big sister, constantly wanting to hold, rock, play with, and comfort "baby." As with most men, it took my husband a little while longer to form that bond, but I think he was falling in love more than he even realized.

Bethany was a sweet baby. Anyone who knew her will tell you that. She was just so content to be held or swung in her swing, and never cried unless she wanted to be held, fed, or swung. I catered to her need to be held more than I probably should have. I worried that I was really going to spoil her eventually because all I ever wanted to do was hold her and do whatever it took to make her stop crying. Sometimes I would just sit on the couch, holding her, while all the work that I should have been doing went undone.

Life was normal and sweet and fun and everything we ever wanted it to be. We couldn't have asked for more, and sometimes, I felt like we were blessed so much I couldn't take anymore. We were such a happy family with our two little girls who were going to grow up to be the best of friends. We imagined that Allika was going to be the bubbly, vivacious one who was always hatching some new plan; Bethany would be the quiet, steady sister who went along with everything her big sister wanted to do and sometimes provided a certain degree of restraint. Allika would have tons of friends and never meet a stranger. Bethany would be shy and have a few close, fiercely loyal friends. We had it all figured out.

Exactly 8 weeks after her birth, I nursed Bethany at 9:00 in the morning. My friend came over at 10:00 to help me make pies for a fundraiser we were having at church. I said goodbye to my husband who thought, for some reason, he wouldn't be able to study as well with three kids running through the house, screaming and tearing cushions off the sofa.

We got to work on the pies while Bethany sat in her swing and cried. After a little while of that, I couldn't stand it any longer. I picked her up and held her until she fell asleep in my arms. She was so precious, laying there sleeping in my arms. I lowered her into her cradle and laid her on her stomach, cushioned with a soft, yellow and pink quilt.

My friend and I were amazed at how well she slept after that. I couldn't believe she hadn't woken up yet, especially when the kids went banging and clanging into the bedroom where she was sleeping and were swiftly redirected elsewhere. I thought she would have been demanding more food by this time, but figured maybe she was exhausted. Plus, we really were getting a lot of work done while she slept, so I left her there until we were done.

After my friend left, I cleaned everything up, straightened all the couch cushions back out, put Allika down for a nap, and put the last pie in the oven. By now, I knew I had to wake Bethany up because she had just been sleeping for so long. I got a glass of ice water and a magazine to read and went in to get Bethany and nurse her while I relaxed on the couch.

When I reached her cradle, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. She was laying perfectly still with her face pressed down into the quilt. I hurriedly put my water and magazine on the dresser and picked her up out of her cradle. She was blue and purple and blood was coming out of her mouth. Surprisingly, I didn't freak out. I went into an automatic mode and just kept whispering, "No, no, no, no, no," over and over again.

I put her under my arm and raced into the kitchen to call 911. As I was calling them, I raced back to the bedroom and laid her on my bed and started blowing in her mouth and administering chest compressions. The operator told me I had to check the airway first. Oh yeah, you forget these things when you are frantically trying to breathe life into your child. I tilted her head back and reached my pinky into her throat to clear her airway. I pulled out a bunch of blood. I wiped it on her cute, little pajamas and continued CPR. Now her chest was rising. Now she was getting oxygen. Now she would be okay and start breathing again.

I heard the sirens and didn't wait, even though the operator was telling me to keep doing CPR until the paramedics got there. I picked my baby up in my arms and raced to the front door, throwing it open just as the startled fireman reached it. I thrust my baby into his arms, yelling, "Save my baby."

He immediately laid her on the floor and started mouth to mouth with no protective gear and while blood was still coming out of her mouth. To this day, I am amazed at his compassion and willingness to do that. I love first responders. They are my heroes.

The rest of the emergency personnel arrived, and that's when I fell apart. Now that they were there to take care of my baby, I sat on the couch and rocked back and forth, praying that God would save my baby. The paramedics asked me if I had any other children and told me to go and take care of my other daughter. While I was in the room with her, the whisked Bethany off to the hospital.

My husband had not taken a cell phone with him when he left, and I had not idea where he had gone to study. Plus, he was running some errands afterward, so he could be anywhere at this point. We can only reason that God led him to call from a pay phone at this exact moment. I told him to hurry and come home because Bethany wasn't breathing and they were taking her to the hospital. The poor guy said traffic had never been slower in his whole life on his way trying to get home.

Another ambulance was waiting to take me to the hospital while I left Allika at home with complete strangers until her daddy got there. I was so flustered and out of my mind I ran right out into the traffic without looking to get in the ambulance. A policeman yelled at me to be careful and snapped me out of my daze.

I thought I was in the ambulance by myself for a few minutes before the driver came, and I started crying and pleading with God to save Bethany's life. I told him I would do whatever he wanted me to do. He could do whatever he wanted with me. Would he please just save my baby's life.

To be continued