Tenille’s Story

My husband, Matt, and I are high school sweethearts. We’ve been together since I was 15 and he was 16. We dated four years, married a year after we graduated high school, put each other through college, and had a relatively easy first eight years of marriage.

Since I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be a wife and mother. In the spring of 2003, we decided it was time to start our little family. On August 9 of that same year, we found out I was pregnant for the first time. We were elated and anxious to tell our families, as this would be the first grandchild on both sides. But, sadly, four days later, I miscarried. It was heartbreaking. After four more months and much consideration and prayer, we decided that maybe this wasn’t God’s timing, and Matt should go back to school and finish his undergraduate degree. We made plans to move back to Chicago from northern Iowa and excitedly began another new journey. Two weeks after we moved, we found out I was pregnant again. This time, we were shocked and very nervous about how this was all going to work out. God often has a great sense of humor, doesn’t He? In February 2005, we had a beautiful baby girl, Jada. In the coming years, God would use her in big ways to help us through the hardest experiences of our lives.

Matt finished school, and in the spring of 2007, we decided it was time to expand our family. But, again, God had other plans for us. After six months, we found out I was pregnant with baby #3. My sister was three months along with her second child, and we soon found out that Matt’s sister was also expecting and due just two months after me. We were ecstatic that we were all pregnant at the same time and our babies would be so close in age.

Matt had recently resigned from his position as a youth pastor and was working low-paying odd jobs (and hoping one of them might turn into something more permanent), while trying to decide if God wanted him to take a different career path. We had worked many years to put him through school and were struggling to figure out where God wanted us and what we were supposed to be doing. Life was not easy, but we were still excited about our growing family and hopeful about the future.

On March 6, 2008, we had our 20-week ultrasound. Until that point, everything had gone as planned. I had had a normal pregnancy, the baby’s heartbeat was strong, and he was growing well. Toward the end of the ultrasound, the technician seemed concerned and took some extra time observing the monitor. We left with pictures of our son and didn’t think much of it the rest of the day.

The next day, however, our lives changed forever. I was at home, getting ready for work, when I received a call from a nurse, informing us that the doctor wanted to meet with us as soon as possible. I called Matt, he came home and picked me up, and we drove to the hospital. As we drove, we cried, held hands, and fervently prayed.

Our doctor cut right to the point and told us that our son had anencephaly, a neural tube defect whereby his brain, skull, and scalp did not form in the first few weeks of pregnancy. He used the phrase “incompatible with life.” After I heard those words, the rest of our visit was a blur. The nurse printed some information for us and scheduled an appointment with a specialist for a second opinion, and we left knowing that I would be carrying a child for the next four months who, barring a miracle, would not live more than a few hours past birth—if he even made it that far.

The next four months were rough. Some people use opportunities such as this to celebrate moments and milestones, take their unborn child places, and make memories. But, though our families and friends prayed without ceasing and gave us a lot of support, we were so steeped in grief that we didn’t know how to do these things. Matt’s career path was not becoming clear to us, we were barely making ends meet and considering the possibility of moving and going back to school, and we were planning a funeral for our son.

The thought of planning a funeral and burying our son made me physically sick. I laid in bed every night, wide awake, just soaking in every movement. Every kick and jab was a reminder that we had given him a chance at life but also a reminder that our days with him might be coming to an end. As my belly grew larger, Matt became more and more my protector. He went shopping and ran other errands for me so I didn’t have to answer the inevitable questions and comments from well-meaning strangers—”Congratulations! When are you due? Is it a boy or a girl? I wonder what color his hair will be.” I had conversations I never thought I’d have. I remember sitting at our dining room table a few days before our son was born, having a long conversation with a sweet woman from the donor network about donating certain organs. After I hung up the phone, I was numb. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even pray. It seemed like it should all just be a really bad dream. Through it all, we found comfort, though, in the innocence of our daughter, Jada. She was three years old and oblivious to everything that was happening, which was incredibly refreshing. We would sit in our living room, watching her spin in circles while singing in her sweet little voice. She brought us so much joy in the midst of unspeakable heartache.

Isaac Matthew was born at 38 weeks on July 11, 2008, via C-section. Matt named him after Abraham’s son in Genesis chapter 22.  Throughout my pregnancy, Matt had felt much like Abraham, who was tested by God and asked to give up his only son as a sacrifice. Our Isaac was born blind, deaf, and unconscious. It broke my heart that he would not hear me if I sang to him. It seemed, though, that he could feel our touch on his face. So, we stroked his little cheeks as we held him through multiple seizures and as Jesus finally called him home. He lived eleven short hours, but in that time he was so loved. He was passed around from one grandpa and grandma to the next and to many aunts and uncles. Our amazing nurse arranged for us to have family pictures taken by an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, for which I am forever grateful. After Isaac passed, we held him and said our goodbyes. There are no words to describe how it feels to hand your baby over to the nurse one last time and watch them leave the room. It was gut-wrenching. Though, for us, there was also a small sense of relief because the healing process, though very long, could finally begin. We had a service the following week and buried Isaac at a small, quiet, country cemetery just down the road from my parents’ home.

They say that after a significant loss, it is not a good idea to make other big changes in your life, such as a job change, the sale of a home, or a move. We did it all. Matt was unemployed at the time of Isaac’s birth and started a new position two hours away just a couple of weeks after the funeral. He lived with my sister and her family during the weeks and traveled home on weekends. I worked hard getting our house ready to sell. It was not ideal, but it was our life for seven months. We were just trying to keep our heads above water—barely surviving. There were many mornings Jada would literally take my hand and pull me out of bed. If it hadn’t been for her, there may have been many times I would have stayed in bed all day. She kept me going.

We finally sold our house and officially moved the summer of 2009. By this time, we were broken. So completely broken. Our marriage was slowly falling apart. My husband and I grieved in very different ways and didn’t know how to help each other. He was back in school while also working full-time, and we hardly saw him. Within a couple of months, I joined a GriefShare class at our new church, which helped me significantly through the grieving process. Having just moved and not knowing anyone in our new town was difficult, and I was thankful to be able to share my story with others who were experiencing similar feelings. I also found comfort in talking through my grief with a new friend who had recently been through a similar experience. To this day, we have not met in person but have had many conversations over the phone and through email and Facebook. I am forever grateful to her for reaching out to a stranger, speaking truth and Scripture into my life, and helping me navigate this scary, unknown, and often lonely path.

In February of 2010, God blessed us with another baby boy, Logan Isaac. Though we were coping a bit better by this time, we were still hurting deeply. Our church attendance was sporadic, and when we did attend, I would sit in the back and sob. My head knew that God was always good, but my heart just wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to remain faithful, but it was becoming increasingly harder, as our lives felt so out of control. Unbeknownst to me, God had a great plan, though.

That fall, Jada was scheduled to start kindergarten. For the first time ever, God laid it on our hearts to homeschool. No, this is not a PSA for homeschooling, but I truly believe that God used homeschooling as an opportunity to reveal His deep love for me, renew my faith in Him, and ultimately save my life. The curriculum we used that year included unit studies in which we would learn about something different each week that God created. It is difficult to put into words, but God used these kindergarten unit studies to teach me more about His greatness, His deep and unconditional love, and His faithfulness. I experienced God more in those first few months of homeschooling than I had my entire life. He brought me out of a pit of despair, slowly began restoring our marriage, and healed my broken heart in ways I didn’t think were possible.

It’s been a long road, but life is good now. Isaac would have been eight years old this past July. Though there are moments when I look at my nephews (who are also eight now) and think about Isaac growing up with them, I also find I’m thankful that he never had to experience the ugliness of this world. God has blessed us by allowing us to raise two beautiful, healthy children who both have amazing talents and love serving Him.  Logan is now six and brings incredible joy to our lives with his never-ending energy, nonstop talking, and zest for life. We don’t know what we’d do without him, and his presence in our lives has been a great source of healing.  Our marriage is also stronger now than it’s ever been.  Praise God!

We talk about Isaac often and make cupcakes to celebrate his birthday each year.  Our kids love knowing there is someone to greet them when they enter heaven someday. I sometimes catch Logan pretending to play with him, which melts my heart. I love that he is a part of their everyday lives. He will always be an important part of our family.

Throughout our experience, there were many songs and Bible verses that spoke to me. One such song was “Bring the Rain,” by Mercy Me. The following lyrics became especially dear to me, as above all else, I want to bring God glory through my circumstances:

“Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there’ll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that’s what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain”

Psalm 34 resonates still, particularly verses 17-19— “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; He delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all…”

Though I often wish that losing a child wasn’t part of my story, I am grateful for the work God has done in my life the last nine years. He has shown me things I never would have otherwise seen and has given me a greater understanding of the hardships others endure. I have been able to help grieving parents on their journeys and am proof that God can mend a broken heart and renew these difficult days.  God is my rock and my salvation, and He is good.  All the time.

– Tenille

Hope Mom to Isaac Matthew and Baby Rounds

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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