Erin’s Story

Suspended
by, Erin Cushman
Hope Mom to Gwendolyn Hope

It’s been over five years since my daughter’s birth and death.

Five years – it is true that time can be an agent of healing. Time can so accustom your heart and mind to a despicable reality that you can say it without blinking, without feeling the weight of your words: “It’s been over five years since my daughter’s birth and death.” And while I am in the habit of telling my story, especially as I explain the ministry that was birthed from it all, I can never meet the eyes of strangers as I relate the brevity and reality of my firstborn. Something inherent – the universal shame of the shadow of death, perhaps – keeps my eyes averted.

Just the other day in the grocery store, a kindly old fellow was smiling at
Gwendolyn’s two younger siblings, and innocently asked, “Oh are these your only two?” (and bless him for realizing that two is not too many!) and I quickly responded, “No, I have an older daughter who lives in Heaven.” And he of course, caught off guard by the words and maybe even by the cavalier way I said it, mumbled an apology and walked away.

Five years.

Many of the details of the trauma have faded or softened, and I have now been able to succinctly tell her story in a timed 2 minutes. But what I often don’t talk about is the day in between; the day suspended between her emergency arrival and her last few minutes in my arms.

My daughter Gwendolyn was born on October 18, after a rushed and scary emergency cesarean. I woke up to blurry hospital lights, foggy from the morphine and asking repeatedly to see her. She was in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit one floor above me, and I was not allowed to see her.

Late that night, after Gwendolyn’s heartbeat had failed and they performed CPR yet again, I was rushed to see her. Through shiny elevator doors and up one floor, counting the seconds and wondering if we would be too late. My beautiful and preciously chubby baby lay on a vibrating bed, with countless wires and tubes attached to her hands, feet, umbilical cord, nose and forehead. I didn’t know where it was safe to touch her. Gingerly reaching toward her fingers and feet, she was warm and soft. Her hair was a fuzz of blonde, and her eyes salved over with some kind of jelly.

Could she hear me? Could I even speak? My throat was sore and hoarse from the intubation. I whispered, calling her to wake up. Telling her that it’s okay, and she’s here and I’m here and her daddy is here, and she is so very loved. Wake up, sweetheart.

On Tuesday the 19th, we had a trickle of visitors who would sit with us, and a flood of texts and Facebook messages. Urgent prayers and tears. A very poignant and timely text came from a dear friend: “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, EVERY ONE OF THEM, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.” (Psalm 139:16)

We named her on Tuesday. Gwendolyn means “blessed”. We felt blessed that we were even granted some time with her. Now in this sorority of other moms who have lost babies, many of them born still, I recognize even more how precious it was that I had 36 hours with her. Gwendolyn Hope – Blessed Hope – an echo of Titus 2:13, the promise of Jesus Christ as our Salvation.

I was only allowed to see her when her heartbeat would stop. Then I would hurriedly go from the hospital bed to the wheelchair, rushed to the elevator and through the NICU doors – was I in time? As the day wore on, I could see her body failing. She was turning purple. Her small chest had a bruise blooming on her sternum from repeated CPR. The open diaper was dry, evidence that her kidneys stopped working and her body was holding fluid.

And yet, she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.

Two amazing things happened while I was with her, only possible because the Holy Spirit was present. First, my prayer for her was that she would be whole, whether here with us or in Heaven with the Lord. I knew that I didn’t want Gwendolyn to live in a broken body, with severe brain damage or held together only by medical intervention. She had been perfect in the womb; I wanted her to be fully whole again, even if that meant she didn’t stay on Earth with us.

Second, I sang about our wonderful Savior. Two songs were on repeat in my heart, and in retrospect I now marvel that those were the songs. “Wonderful, Merciful Savior” and “I stand Amazed in the Presence” is what I quietly sang to her in my croaky voice, longing for her to know that Jesus is perfect; He is sufficient; He is wonderful. Why did I not sing songs of prayerful deliverance? Why did I not whisper these lyrics, “I believe you’re my Healer…”? Because in His mercy, God wanted me to remind me and hold me in the knowledge that Jesus Christ is Wonderful.

Wonderful in His unbiased, free grace toward all. Wonderful in His willingness to sacrifice His own body for us. Wonderful in His perfect obedience to the Father. Wonderful in the accomplished work of salvation, that causes all hearts that truly belong to Him to marvel as His grace. Wonderful that He went to the Father so that the Helper would come to us. Wonderful that He promised to return. Wonderful that He promises to bring all those who fall asleep in Him here on earth to be with Him, in fullness of joy.

Wonderful. His name is Wonderful.

Suspended between a wild hope and the looming reality of her death, what God wrought in me that day was the confidence that He is still the same God, and He is wonderful.

In the early hours of October 20th, we were called up to see her our final time. They had removed all of the wires and tubes, and wrapped her in a blanket – the way newborn babies should be. As they finally handed her to me I exclaimed, “Oh! She’s so heavy!”, and then quickly caught my breath as her body heaved upward on it’s own, straining for oxygen. Breathe, my darling, breathe! Wake up, my love, wake up!

And she did, but not to my tear-filled eyes. She was welcomed by Christ, our wonderful Savior.

Erin Cushman is the co-founder and Director of Hope Mommies. Erin is married to Blair and has three children: Gwendolyn, who has been with Jesus since October 20, 2010, and Malacai, who is three, and Gemma who arrived in June 2015. She loves photography, gardening, cooking, reading, playing with her son, and loves especially when all those things combine. You can get to know her more by reading her blog, Our Blessed Hope

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Are you a writer?  Hope Mommies would love to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog.  Every Saturday we will be sharing another Hope Mom’s story in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow.  If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose please send a draft between 800-1200 words to editor (at) hopemommies (dot) org.