Lianna’s Story

My doctors told me that they would allow me to go two weeks past my due date while I waited for my daughter to come naturally. On the last possible day prior to my scheduled induction, I went into labor at home—yes, finally! We called the doctor and went to the hospital. The contractions were still mild, but my husband rolled me into the hospital in a wheel chair. We were familiar with the hospital. Since I was past 40 weeks, I had already done three non-stress tests and an extra ultrasound there—in fact, one test was just the previous night. The nurses gave us my favorite room, the large corner one. I changed into the gown I had purchased to wear specifically for labor and delivery and then, sat on the bed. Having been there for the testing already, everything was familiar—the bands around my belly to hold the monitors, the machines, and the process.

Everything was put in place to begin. The first nurse could not find a heartbeat. She said that she was new and still learning, but she checked all over—top, bottom, and sides. She left to get another nurse. I looked at my husband, concerned, but not yet overly concerned. There was something wrong, like the nurse’s technique or the equipment, but certainly not me or my baby. I had felt my baby move at home and even in the hospital parking lot. My husband gave me a reassuring look.

The second nurse came. She checked me much more quickly with the monitor and left. Something was very wrong and I could no longer tell myself it was likely the nurse or equipment. I do not remember exactly if my husband and I said anything to each other, but there was no longer a reassuring look on my husband’s face. A doctor and ultrasound machine materialized more quickly than I knew was possible in a hospital. I had only known hospitals for routine processes and procedures. I had never needed something to happen quickly for me in one. I asked the doctor if there was a heartbeat. He said that he would be able to tell me in a minute. A minute passed. He paused; he looked at us. I knew.

No, there was no heartbeat for our little girl. Both of the nurses were still in the room. The new nurse took a few steps back in recognition and I could see her starting to tear up. My husband and I hugged. I cried, screaming and gasping. My husband cried too, his eyes swollen and red like I had never seen previously. We had waited five years of marriage for just the right time in our lives to have our girl. I will never forget the conversation preceding our decision to start trying to conceive. I asked my husband what he wanted to do with his life—dreams, goals, and ambitions. What he said, the only answer he gave, was: he wanted to be a father.

We could not have been more dedicated to our first child, our Noelle. We thought of her on every shopping trip; I wrote letters to her since the day we saw the positive pregnancy test; we meticulously prepared her nursery for her with all of our hearts; we watched and re-watched the videos we took of her ultrasounds; we soaked-in three sweet showers for her from friends and family; I poured over baby names until we found the one that was hers such that we could call her by name from the day we knew she was a girl; we enjoyed all of our days with her. This all was a dear gift from God as I am typically a person who would fault toward living in the future—anticipating her arrival—instead of living in the present—enjoying each minute with her in the womb.

And now we were in labor when the joyful promise of labor was in vain. The details of labor are vague at best. Yet, three of the themes that circled in my mind were these: God is sovereign, I might very well not live through the rest of this, and He is carrying me through it because I can act upon strength that is not my own. Then, she was born. Even though she was not there with us, it was beautiful. I saw her face for the first time—so sweet. The nurses had asked if I wanted to hold her right away after she was born. At first, before she was born, I had said, “no.” I had already said goodbye, in a way. I had said goodbye to the girl I had only ever known—and only ever wanted to know—as alive.

But immediately after her birth, my thoughts changed and I quickly pleaded to hold her because even though she was not really there, part of her was there. I wanted every moment with every part of her I could have. Really, though she should have been breathing, crying, and squirming and though her perfect body was, in God’s sovereignty, made to never work independently in the world—she was the most beautiful little person I had ever seen.

I knew at that point that I would probably live even though it had not seemed likely because I had felt so close to death with death dwelling within me. Once I knew I would continue in this life, I also knew that I would miss her for the rest of my days. My husband held her; it was especially difficult to see him do. He is the up-beat, steady person in our marriage. Knowing his disposition, the scene in front of me was not right. That this encouraging, positive, and purely kindhearted person was holding a daughter who was lifeless did not compute. But still, I took pictures of him with her as he had already done for me because they were the very best pictures we could have with our best girl, our only girl. We had done everything so far to the best of our ability with her and for her. So, we would seek to do no less than our best now in making our final memories—despite the word “best” being completely outside the realm of words to describe the reality that completely changed our lives.

I was concerned—almost from the minute she was born—about giving her body away. I did not know how I could possibly part with her. But the time came. I could release her because, with death’s sad decay, she was beginning to look less and less like herself. I knew that my day with her was done. And I thought death could not look worse on any person than on her because she was my new, little baby whose life should have begun that day. I gave her to my husband. I watched a nurse accept her gingerly from my husband’s arms and slowly, deliberately walk her out of the room. I still remember ever step the nurse took; she held my girl.

My heart was overcome with her and for her constantly. Yet, I wanted to fully experience all of the remaining activities that pertained to her, knowing that these days would be ones I would never have back. These were what could make that presence of mind possible: 1) the assurance of God’s sovereign control over all things at all times, 2) the belief that she went to be with Him, 3) not necessarily an overwhelming feeling of His presence, but rather, seeing the proof of His presence in the strength I displayed to come through those hours in the hospital, and 4) a comment from another nurse who noticed my strength that was not my own. She told us that she needed to re-evaluate her life based on what she saw. He was with us and He would faithfully accomplish His purposes through us. The moment the nurse made that comment was the first moment since my daughter’s body was walked away from me for good that I felt most like “us,” all together. We were united in His good purposes even if not in the physical.

Our Noelle Tru was born on April 17, 2013 at 6:52am weighing 7 pounds 7 ounces and measuring 20.5 inches long. We named her “Noelle,” which means “birth of God,” because we wanted her to always remember God’s love for her in sending His Son to earth. We did not know when we selected her name that she would be birthed straight to Him whose birth made possible her heavenly one. We named her “Tru” after her Great Grandmother, Gertrude Hesselgrave, who is a beautiful example of a woman who has and is serving the Lord with her life. Noelle was born into glory on April 16, 2013.

In the days following our daughter’s birth into glory, I continued to pray ardently for my heart to be present while I did all of the remaining earthly tasks I could do directly for her. What I could do directly for her became all the more important to me. When I came home and recorded the memories of her birth, when I recorded in my journal how much my husband and I missed her, when I finished her pregnancy scrapbook as though still pregnant her to preserve those precious thoughts while I could still remember them, when I made the announcements for her graveside service, when I made a keepsake for family members to take home from the service, when I selected and ordered flowers, when I arranged the program for the service, when I shopped for the outfit in which she would be buried, when we rented the pink and white chair covers for her service, when I selected the box that would house her dear frame while in the ground and more – in all of it, I prayed for an open, feeling, and available heart. He gave me strength and presence again: more proof.

And then, the service was over. The planning was done. I had a list of tasks to do, but they did not elicit in me quite the same inner urgency for presence of heart and mind—they were no longer directly for her. Church friends came and so graciously brought us meals. They left them on the front stoop. We retrieved them after their cars pulled away. Mother’s Day came just weeks later and we went out-of-state to stay in the woods for a while. My heart could no longer be present; I went numb.

Yet, I continued to walk through my grief with those few who were closest to me and most importantly with the Lord. Sometime thereafter, I met Hope Mommies and was allowed the privilege of writing here the continuation of how the Lord brought me through grief.

So, I narrated the story that God was faithfully unfolding in my heart, writing about my trust in God’s sovereignty, about remembering Noelle at 6, 9, and 12 months (on my personal blog), about the moment I became willing to accept God’s comfort, about feeling misunderstood, about cyclical grief, about rejoicing with those who rejoice, about my feelings of purposelessness,  about loving Noelle for God’s sake and not my own, and about the good sovereignty of God not being the only truth we need. Further proof of His goodness exists to me in how His cross, His victory over death, His Word, His presence, and His provisions brought me through each day.

Because He restored my spirit to life out of this deep grief, my heart echos these words that are said to be written after the writer watched her husband drown—“how I’ve proved Him o’re and o’re,” (from “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” by Louisa Stead). How sweet is trusting Him!

So today—where is our story today? My story goes on and so does Noelle’s. As for me, my life is full today because of the only One more important to me than even the members of my family—God. His goodness and sufficiency are not demonstrated in that I have everything I have ever wanted in this life—Noelle remains so very wanted—but in Him who is Life. Because He is my greatest good, I agree with the Psalmist that I “lack no good thing,” (Psalm 34:10). What goodness could I request on top of His infinite goodness? In Him, through Him, held together by Him, and for Him is everything that is life-giving.

The same is true of Noelle. Though now I see only dimly, she sees in full. In fact, she has done more living—to the full—within one moment in heaven than I ever have on earth. Jesus spoke: “I have come that they may have life, and may have it abundantly,” (John 10:10). Indeed, she lacks no good thing.

He has come.

He has come that we may have life.

He has come that we may have life abundantly.

It is all an abundant gift of life: the grace that my husband and I have been given to trust God even as our Noelle was born without earthly life. If it were not for God’s provisions, I would so easily have a story that did not result in trusting Him.

It is all an abundant gift of life: the marvelous resolution that Noelle has been given to her story. What I cannot help but say of her is this: I am so, so happy for her.

I recall the thoughts that I had before being wheeled out of the hospital on the day we parted with our daughter’s baby body—one day after her soul departed from us. We were together in Him. We still are. Because of all of His life-giving abundance toward us, what do my husband and I want, and what does Noelle want—what do we share that truly surpasses the distance between us? Him. We want to make much of this dear God.

You can read more from Lianna at her blog, at Noelle’s memorial blog, or in her posts here at the Hope Mommies blog.