Shannon’s Story

My story can be hard to write.  It’s been so hard to grieve and harder to even process.  To say the last year and a half has been hard would be an extreme understatement.  But, I know my story is still being written, and it will glorify God.  I pray it already has. So, I write it out.

My husband and I got married on the beach June 7, 2008. It was perfect. We planned fun vacations all over the world as our work schedules would allow for five years before deciding to start a family. We met our first little love, Callie Siena, in July 2014. She is pure joy, and I can’t imagine life or our family without her. Since we waited a bit to start our family, we thought we wouldn’t wait too long to keep growing it.  When our sweet girl was 1-year old we decided to try for another baby.

The following positive pregnancy test was met with typical emotions: shaking hands and pure celebration as we considered what life as a family of four—with two under 2—would be like.

November 6, 2015, is known as “D-Day” in our family. It was one of the worst days of our lives—the day the ultrasound tech got too quiet, and our world came crashing down in minutes.  On the way to our routine appointment, we discussed picking out a crib for the new nursery.  But the doctor’s news meant we’d be picking out a casket instead. This was our baby’s “D-Day” or diagnosis day.  A day marked by utter confusion and devastation.  In the blur of what followed, we learned our precious baby was not considered to be “compatible with life.” Our child had an encephalocele, meaning the skull had not fully developed.  We were told we needed to decide how to proceed. The grief that found me felt like the weight of a ton of boulders. I learned the true, even physical, meaning of heartache. Each doctor’s visit got progressively worse, and we learned our baby’s kidneys were also not functioning. This ultimately impacted the ability for our baby to even develop lungs. If nothing else were wrong, that alone wouldn’t allow for life outside the womb.

Over and over I’d moan, “God, I do not know what to do, but my eyes are on You,” (2 Chronicles 20:12).

I remember feeling beyond broken as I lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, begging for healing and mercy. What I’d soon come to realize and earnestly believe, is that there is beauty in the brokenness—God’s grace is so evident through the brokenness.

We understood that God’s will for us was to honor Him through the life I was carrying and celebrate every milestone we got.  We were determined to love with no regrets. That was something that became our motto for the journey and remains our motto in life. We also wanted to leave room for God to move as He saw fit. We had a big gender reveal party as we had originally planned—a boy! We had prayer meetings. We took belly pictures, snapped photos of everyday park trips, and captured other outings on camera.  We even went to our happy place, the beach, to share with our son the sound of crashing waves. I created a war room where I’d blast worship music, taped verses of scripture and God’s promises all over the walls, and learned how to pray like never before. God was drawing me close to Him—He was my refuge and safe place in a way I had never experienced or known before.  I was desperately clinging to hope.

We met our beautiful Eli Joshua on March 16, 2016. We sang to him and loved on him until it was time to give him to the only One who could love him more than us. Leading up to that day, we had prayed for peace that surpasses understanding, and that is exactly what we got. Eli’s birthday was just as precious to me as my daughter’s was. Yes, it obviously also holds more sorrow, but joy is there too. Our son never knew a moment without love. God was able to heal my son, but for reasons I may never comprehend, He chose to do that in heaven instead of here on earth. We had a measure of peace knowing he was whole, healthy, and dancing with Jesus. God’s presence was with us in that hospital room and went with us as we headed home. He was so faithful to us like that.

A few weeks after we buried Eli, we learned his condition was caused by a rare genetic syndrome. It was devastating to hear. We learned that my husband and I are carriers of an extremely rare recessive gene. We faced a 25% chance that any future baby would have the same fatal condition that took Eli’s life. All of a sudden, life was much more complicated and uncertain. Not only were we navigating a “new normal” as we journeyed through the loss of our son, but now we faced weighty decisions surrounding the growth of our family. It wasn’t as easy as just “trying again.”

My husband and I prayed constantly for direction on how to grow our family, and decided to try to get pregnant again naturally. We were unified in our decision and pursued it with peace. We knew the statistics, which also meant there was a 75% chance of a healthy baby like our daughter. But even more than statistics, we knew God was bigger. We knew God was able, and we declared that even if He didn’t give us a healthy baby, we would still serve Him—just as Daniel’s friends Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego declared as they faced a fiery furnace. “But if not,” He is still good (Daniel 3:18). That can be easier for the flesh to declare before you face the fire.

Oh, the emotions that came with the next positive pregnancy test.  We were so hopeful to bring home a baby this time.

October 28, 2016, is now also known as “D-Day” in our family. One of the worst days of our lives. The day our dreams were shattered within seconds.  The day the ultrasound tech got way too quiet again. Even I saw it on the ultrasound screen this time. I knew immediately that we’d be burying a second baby.  We had gone into the day with hopeful anticipation. In an act of faith, we had scheduled a gender reveal party for the day after. Though we canceled the party, we found out we were having another boy.

The blow from the news was much harder this time around, because we knew. We knew what we were facing, and we knew the fatality of the syndrome that this little life carried. Carrying to birth the second time around initially felt heavier than with Eli, to be honest. We had such disappointment and so many questions. Still, we ultimately decided to honor the life of the little boy I was carrying—just as we did for his big brother. We would still love with no regrets.

Our handsome Joey Daniel came into this world on January 17, 2017, and was a spitting image of his daddy. I believe God gave me this gift so that my heart didn’t have to wonder what he would have looked like as a toddler learning to walk, as a little boy learning to ride a bike, or as a man standing at the end of the aisle as he prepared to marry his bride. He was so faithful to me like that. Joey’s birthday is just as treasured as the previous two birthdays we experienced. Once again, God gave us a peace we can’t even comprehend.

After Eli, we found ourselves sitting in the debris, and in the midst of the ruins. We had just begun to rebuild with the pieces, and we slowly saw joy and hope restoring. After hearing the worst news again and lowering the body of our son into the ground again, I found myself not sitting in ruins, but among millions of pebbles. Sitting in the dirt. How do you even make sense of those tiny fragments? Where do you even start? It was hard to have hope—I felt that hope had disappointed, but I wasn’t ready to let go of it altogether. So, I wrestled with Him.

I think there is a sacredness and a strengthening in the wrestling. I was still taking my hurt, my pain, my tears, and my aches to Him. I was not turning my back on Him, but I wasn’t necessarily always on talking terms with Him either. I couldn’t let the disappointment become bigger and louder than God’s voice in my life.  I had to lay the disappointment at His feet and allow my identity to be found in Him, not in the pain. Only He can soothe the ache in the deepest places. Soon enough, the wrestling turned into clinging. I’m clinging white-knuckled to the promises of God, even when I can’t quite connect with them yet. I am choosing to trust Him even when my heart aches and the weight seems overwhelming. I’m choosing to declare the truth of God’s character—He is love, He is good, He is faithful, and He sees me. I know His faithful promises are my armor and protection (Psalm 91:4).

Grieving and healing can be a mess of a journey; a beautiful, hard, exhausting mess. My heart is weary. Deep down, I know my only answer can be found in God.  He is the sole source of hope, strength, and life. Healing doesn’t mean that one day I’ll be all better, able to move on, and leave this all behind. It means I learn to move through the pain in the very deepest places. I’m learning that joy and sorrow can exist in the same place—running parallel to each other. I don’t have to “move on” from my sons. I will always carry them with me, and there will always be pieces in my heart that belong to them. Healing means I trust God with those pieces.

God comforts me in the way only He can. He brings me strength. Through Him, I am not overcome. He’s not going to let me lose hope, but will continue to speak into my sorrow. His loving grace hasn’t blinked at my anger, weakness, and disappointment—His love is big enough to bring me through every step of the way. He is enough. My faith is going to a new and fuller place as I witness Him carry me and prove faithful.

I love and ache for my boys with a fierceness that is big, beautiful, and strong. I am better because of them. Meeting them was worth it all.

Of this I am certain: my story will not end in ashes.

“I know the LORD is always with me. I will not be shaken, for he is right beside me.”
Psalm 16:8

I am beautifully broken and swimming in grace. I get to do life with my incredible husband, Jon, and we have three beautiful children. Two of them are already in heaven dancing with our Jesus, and a “threenager” daughter, Callie, who brings such joy to our lives. The beach is our happy place. We love good food, dance parties in the kitchen, and cheering on the Broncos. We long to grow our family and are clinging to our faithful God as our story continues to be written.

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We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. Every Saturday we feature a 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, learn more and submit here.

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