Love Grows Here

Benjamin Andrew

December 17, 2015… December 17. Our lives changed that day, and we were met with one of the worst days of our lives…

But let’s go back…

We excitedly found out in September that we were expecting baby #4. I’ll admit, I was a little shocked, because I didn’t feel pregnant at all when I took the test, but it was positive. And it was a pretty easy pregnancy, none of the morning sickness that I experienced with the other 3, just a little more tired than usual. Hey, I’m not complaining. Everything was going great with the pregnancy, heart beat was perfect, baby’s growth was right where it was supposed to be; nothing to indicate the struggle we were about to face.

Now back to December 17th…

This was the day of our normal 18 week ultrasound. I was leery going in, a nagging feeling like this was going to be like the one with Silas, that something wasn’t going to be quite right. I tried to shove the feeling back down, trying to be optimistic. We we’re called back, and the tech started out like normal. We didn’t want to find out what we we’re having, deciding to be surprised. (I’m mean, we have 3 boys, what else would we make!) We saw the baby’s legs, feet, hands, arms, and finally the baby’s head and face. He was perfect from what we could tell. Then the tech went to look for the heartbeat. But she was swift, her demeanor changed. Big red flag. Then she stopped. She told us quickly as she was cleaning up that the baby was too small to continue, and she needed to ask the radiologist if she should. Bigger red flag. As we sat in the room waiting for her to come back, we didn’t have a clue as to what the next 36 hours were going to look like. She came back, and repeated that the baby was too small to continue, and that my doctor would call within a few hours to go over the results of the work she had done. We left, and as Paul was driving to take him to work so I could have the car, I think in my mind I knew what had happened, but I didn’t want to face it, I prayed it wasn’t true. On the drive home from Paul’s office, I got the call, but I didn’t hear my phone ring. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, Tari (the nurse practitioner I like to see) called again. She said that our baby had died, we need to come in to the office as soon as we could get there. So here I am, on the front porch, not even being able to unlock the front door, before the news knocked me to my knees. I couldn’t breath. How could this be? I just heard his heartbeat 2 weeks ago. What was happening?? The next call was to Paul. So much shock. Who wants to tell their husband that the baby you are carrying has died? I hate that phone call. I needed Paul here with me, to help pick myself up. But he wasn’t there, I had drive back to the office and get Paul up so I didn’t have to face the doctors office alone. That was too scary. I didn’t want to walk into a waiting room filled with round bellies indicating life like mine no longer held. Two words that will forever change your life…

Fetal demise.

I hate those words. Yup, that’s twice I’ve used that word. Hate. It says a lot. It is a very powerful word, and I don’t use it lightly.

We (the doctor) came up with a plan to deliver our baby. I was sent home with a prescription to induce labor, with instructions to go to the hospital when things started getting serious. She (the doctor) said we didn’t have to rush, and I could start the medication when I was ready, but then called later that evening wanting to know if I had started it, and if things we’re happening. I hadn’t. I didn’t want to. I cried as I took that first pill. In my mind, taking that first one was giving up hope that everyone was wrong, that the baby inside of me was still alive and thriving. I wanted to be in denial. I didn’t want it to be true. We sent the boys to my parents house for the night, but I wanted them with me, something little to hold on to, yet I wanted to protect them from all of the hurt and pain of loosing a sibling.

When the doctor called that evening we were told that she had scheduled an induction with the hospital the following morning at 5 if nothing had happened before then. So that night, alarms we’re going off, one for the labor medication, every 4 hours, and one to get to the hospital on time. My contractions started around 1 am. Not bad, really, but I didn’t get any sleep. I think shock, denial, and pain can do that to a person. Anyways, off to the hospital we went to have our so much wanted, but coming home with us baby. (this was supposed to be happening in May, not December)

On December 18th, at 10:47 pm, I delivered our little boy. Our Benjamin Andrew. He was just 4 ounces, 7 inches long. He was perfect. He was far too small to be out of the womb, yet here he was, and he fit in the palm of our hands. Paul and I had the privilege of holding our sweet little boy, loving him the best way we could, knowing goodbye would be coming way too soon. How do you say goodbye to someone you just met, yet love with every ounce of your being? But that’s what we we’re asked to do. Hard doesn’t even begin to describe it. Handing him to the nurse for the last time was devastating. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted him for forever. But God is good ALL of the time. He knew this road we are walking.

We have pictures of our little man, still on the camera. I can’t bring myself to download them and look at them. The nurse, Kelsi, was able to get foot prints and hand prints, of which I am so thankful for. We have so many tangible things to remember Benjamin. But it’s not the same. The drive home was agonizing. That’s the only way to describe it. You leave a hospital WITH a baby, not an empty backseat.

Pathology showed that there was a blood clot in the cord that cut off everything Benjamin needed to live. The doctor said that he didn’t struggle nor was in pain. Nothing could have prevented his death. There was nothing any one could have done to fix it.

BUT…

Hope.

I have such great hope that we will see Benjamin again. I know it. He is in heaven. We will one day be reunited again. He is whole, complete, without sin. He won’t ever have to know the hurt of this world. How joyous is that?! He will never have to struggle! What more could a parent want? But my earthly being and mindset selfishly wants him here, with me. Who would he have looked like, what color were his eyes? Would he have been tall like Matthew, or built like T or Si? I want to know the sound of his laughter, hear him say ‘I love you mommy”, watch him learn to walk, dogpile on the kitchen floor with his brothers, and feel his little body against mine. This is where I struggle the most. Some days are good, some are not so good. Some days I don’t want to get out of bed. Most nights I can’t get to sleep. I know this will pass, and things will get better.

We had many friends come and see us, pray over us, text, and love us. With out them, showing Christ’s love, reminding us of His grace, we wouldn’t have been able to get through that day. They held us up, when we couldn’t. And I am forever grateful.

Benjamin’s birth and life have taught me how to trust in a new way. Trust in what God has planned for our future. To trust in God himself more. Benjamin’s life has drawn me closer to God. He is the One that will carry me from day to day. With out Him, I am nothing. I don’t deserve to be Benjamin’s mom, or the others, for that matter. I am a sinner saved by grace alone. These little lives are on loan to me, and I am learning to cherish every moment I can.

So, I’m officially a mom of 4 boys, but 1 lives in heaven, and I envy him.