Jennifer’s Story

He flipped the switch and the room darkened. “Maybe now we will get a clearer view,” he said.

I stared at the screen and it was still. Nothing. No movement or fluttering at all. “There is no heartbeat is there?” I said, fighting back tears.

“I am so sorry,” he said as he sighed.

I placed my head in my hands and began sobbing. “Why God?” Those seemed to be the only words I was able to utter. I knew I needed Him now more than ever, but I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to say to Him. I just sat there on the exam table, alone, holding my stomach.

After a few minutes I knew I needed to call my husband, but how do you tell a father that his daughter has died? My brain knew that this wasn’t my fault, but my heart felt like I failed Brian. It was so comforting to hear his voice when I called him. I had to interrupt in a work meeting, but he left work immediately to come be with me.

When we got home, he put his arms around me and we sat on the couch talking and crying with the TV off and the blinds closed tightly. How do you deal with something like this? I was 22 weeks 5 days along. We had seen her in ultrasounds many times, felt her kick, named her Paige, and were so excited to have rounded out our family. It was going to be perfect, or at least as perfect as anything here on earth could be.

Paige consumed my thoughts. I missed my daughter even though she was still inside of me. It was the most complicated feeling. Paige was still physically inside of me. I could feel the weight of her there, yet nothing compared to the crushing weight of the reality in knowing that she wasn’t really there with me, all I was holding onto was her lifeless body, for she was already in the arms of her Savior. I knew in my heart that God is a God of restoration, but I felt like I would be broken for the rest of my life.

With Brian by my side, I delivered our daughter Paige Marie at 3:53 pm Monday, August 2, 2010. She weighed 14 ounces, was 10 inches long and not breathing when she entered this world. The silence in the room was the loudest thing I have ever heard. It still rings in my ears when life gets quiet. I can be back there in that delivery room in an instant in my mind.

The moments after I delivered her lifeless body were some of the most honest and real moments I have ever had in my life. I will never forget breathing my daughter in for the first and last time. How could hello and goodbye possibly be in the same breath? It was suffocating.

I know she was only warm from being in my womb, but when her body went cold it was a sensation that weighed so heavily on my heart. I was so keenly aware that she was already with Jesus, and I knew I would never be the same. The sting of death is all encompassing. I kept wrapping her blanket tighter and tighter around her. I didn’t know what else to do. I was doing what my motherly instinct was telling me to do. I was trying to take care of her. Even though it didn’t matter, it was the only thing that I could do for her. All I felt was love for her. She was mine.

I didn’t know if I had even wanted anyone to come to the hospital and see us. But I was so thankful that my mom, grandma, and aunt had all felt brave enough to come hold and love on my daughter. I was reminded that she was theirs too. It warmed my heart to hear my Grandma sing her lullabies, to see my Mother hold the hand of her precious grandchild, and for my Aunt (who was so close to me my entire life) kiss and rock my Paige. This moment could never come again. They seized it when I wasn’t strong enough to know what to do. I am so grateful that they did.

When my mom, grandma and aunt finally left the hospital that night, the nurses decided to give us some time alone to say goodbye to our daughter. I will never forget the sound of my husband’s cry. The sound of my cry. It was guttural. Like nothing I had ever experienced. Brian climbed up into the bed beside me and I snuggled down against his chest while holding Paige on mine. I was kissing the top her head and holding my hand over her hand while my husband was holding both of our hands in his.

I remember feeling happy for her that she was with Jesus and that she was whole and not hurting. But I remember feeling so incredibly sad for Brian and myself, that our precious baby was now only a memory.

Leaving the hospital with empty arms was the hardest thing I have ever done. While I never knew Paige in the sense that most people know and are known, I was her mommy for 22 weeks 5 days, and I still am. I carried her living body within mine. She is and will always be my little girl.

We met with a director at the funeral home and purchased three cemetery plots, I wanted to be sure that we would be beside her, even in death. We chose to have a graveside service with family only. We picked pink flowers, Bible verses to be read, songs to be sung, and met with our pastor.

I wish my faith was stronger in the beginning, but even though I had a relationship with the Lord when Paige died, it was very shallow and mostly about me. I wanted to share all of this with you because I want you to know that you are on a journey with the Lord. It might look different than mine, but I pray that on your journey you will come to see that your life and your Hope Baby’s have been purposed by a wonderful and mighty Creator. Grief isn’t pretty. It is hard. But please don’t give up. Keep seeking His face through it all. 

I had spent so much time being angry at God and questioning God’s purposes in my loss. I would pray to Him in the way of a disgruntled toddler, not in a way of reverence that He deserved. But one day I became aware that God had questions for me, too. Big ones. 

“Will I ever be enough for you, Jenn?”

“Am I enough, even if I never give you another child here on earth?”

My answer was no, but I wanted it to be yes. I wanted Him to be enough no matter what, but I wasn’t there yet. After all I had been through, I questioned the Lord’s goodness. Were His words true? Would I ever find contentment and joy in Him, in spite of my circumstances?

It took a lot of reading His Word and letting it speak to my broken places. It took so much surrender to God and looking at life through His eternal perspective. I spent my days listening to sermons and letting worship music flood my home, I had to fight the battle that was taking place inside. My flesh wanted to cry out at Him for the hurt I felt. I wanted Him to know I was angry. 

When my son was a baby he would cry when he was hungry, and if I didn’t make it there with a bottle in the timeframe that he wanted me to, he would become almost inconsolable, he would take the bottle and then spit it out and cry.  Even though I was right there with open arms, comfort, and sustenance, he would often choose to cry just to let me know how mad he was at the situation. 

I often felt like that in the early days of my grief. God was waiting there with open arms to comfort me, but I just wouldn’t let Him. One day I surrendered. I was tired of acting like an infant. I asked Him to forgive me for my selfishness and asked Him (again) to truly be my lifeline. A lot of my healing and restored joy has come from me doing absolutely nothing but being still and spending time with the Lord. He alone did the mending of my heart. 

My Paige’s life was a gift, and her death became the soil for which many rich and beautiful things took root and have grown up in my life. “Beauty for ashes” is what the Bible calls this phenomenon of making alive what the world robs in sin and death. And so there is joy—deep, rich, satisfying joy—in the midst of my pain for one reason only: Jesus. I met Him in my grief, the author of all things good and redemptive, and I count myself truly blessed that He calls me His.

Without her absence, I would never have truly known the warmth and comfort of the Savior. Without the pain and sorrow to take me there, I would never have known how rich sweetness, strength, and joy can feel. And without my continued longing for her, I would never have known such desperation for my God, the kind that led to such deep dependence of Him. 

I am humbled to know that as much as I love Paige, her Savior loves her more. She truly got the fullest life, immediately, and is missing out on nothing. God knew the number of days she would have with me, and He knew the mark she would leave on this world through me and my testimony. My daughter isn’t here, but she mattered in this world, and she will always be a talked about and loved member of our family. But the biggest reason why I share her is to help other families feel less alone. Grief over a baby who dies is so often hushed, and families suffer in silence.

When we are pregnant and preparing to welcome a child into our heart and home, many people will share delivery stories, breastfeeding stories, and stories of an indescribable love. Please hear me when I say that all of that is lovely and needed. It is.

But when you hear a doctor utter the phrase, “I’m so sorry,” there isn’t a handbook given along with it, and most of us don’t know how to process the weighty emotions that come. My hope in this life is that I can share the grace and mercy of my Lord with others, and that I can help to make the unbearable slightly more bearable for any other mama out there that has had to say goodbye to her child far too soon.

When Paige died, I resented the fact that I was instantly changed forever. But part of this human thing means I can never go back to a previous version of me. I am now the woman who has a life story containing a chapter that begins with a birth and a death, all in the same day.

As odd as it may seem, I embrace it, and I wouldn’t change it because the intimacy I now have with the Lord is something I wouldn’t have had before Paige, and the compassion I feel to love my fellow man is something so much deeper than I would have ever experienced without her.

I know that one day I will go to her, and this hope fills me with such gratitude. Death is not the end. So, while I miss her, I no longer selfishly crave for her to be in my arms in this sin filled world. I choose to praise Him for giving her His best, and I will keep choosing to live my life courageously until He calls me home.

---

Jennie is the Executive Director for Hope Mommies.  She and her husband Brian live in Washington State and have four precious children together— Trenton who is 14, Paige who has been in Heaven with Jesus since August 2, 2010, Mason who is 9, and Cora Jane who is 2.  If you were to knock on her front door today, you’d find her in jeans and a t-shirt drinking a hot cup of tea (and she’d offer you one too!) while trying to figure out how to balance all the things – like spending time in God’s word, tending to her home, pruning her roses, serving with Hope Mommies, and online schooling with her kids!  She adores being a new creation in Christ and prays she reflects Him well on this earth.

---

Are you a writer who would like to join the blog team? Learn more and apply here.

---