Lilia Mae

I imagined this post would be much different than what I am about to write. For the past nine months, I anticipated sharing my overwhelming joy, pictures that bragged of her beauty, and smiles of her siblings as they held her for the first time. But, with deep saddness I am about to share Lilia's story with an outcome I never imagined possible.

When we first learned of her nine months ago, we discussed doing things differently. It was a decision that was not made lightly.  For nearly a month, I spent time praying, seeking God's guidance.  Over and over again, I felt God saying, "Trust me... Trust me." Ultimately, I had to submit my trust in Him.  I knew He knew better than I.  So with that, we decided to use a midwife and have our precious Lilia at home.

I don't know why, but even then, like I never had before, I felt that this birth would point to Him. I said to many of my dear friends that I wanted God to be glorified through this birth. I wanted people to know of the beauty of His design. It was an overwhelming feeling that He would somehow use this story to show others of His goodness and of how He cares for us.  It never entered my mind that His plan would break Jason and I like we have never been broken before.

She was the most active of all our children. There were many thoughts that perhaps the technicians got it wrong... That "she" was actually a "he". Only boys did acrobatics in their momma's bellies, right? She flipped and flopped like no other. Even as we neared the end, she scared me into thinking a c-section was going to be the outcome. Moment by moment, I literally felt her turning from tranverse to head down, back to transverse again, and back head down. Finally, around 39 weeks she fell into the right place and stayed put. Still incredibly active, but head down for good.

The 40th week mark came and went. She just wasn't ready. That was ok with us, however, she would come when it was time. We had until 42 weeks before an induction would be necessary. We decided to wait. I didn't know it then but can see now how God was preparing our hearts during those nearly 2 weeks of waiting. Daily, daily, I received texts and emails about prayers, scripture verses to lean on, and thoughts from dear friends surrounding us with love. We were heavy on their hearts, they would tell me. It is evident now that God was burdening them on our behalf.

My mom had also come to be with us during the birth. She spent nearly two weeks not just waiting, but doing and caring for my every need. God was giving me rest through her servant's heart to prepare for the anquish ahead.  Rest was essential in getting through the very difficult days that awaited us.

When I woke up on Tuesday morning, the song on my mind as I spent time in prayer was "I will praise you in this storm." It isn't a song I listen to often, but it was a song that I've always wondered if I could really live out. Could I praise God through the most challenging times in my life? Would I? I have lived such a blessed life, I just didn't know the heartache and pain that so many others have experienced. I couldn't say for sure that I would praise Him. Little did I know these thoughts would be tested within a few short hours.

My midwife arranged for us to go get some tests done at the hospital. Just routine, to make sure Lilia was doing ok since she was taking her sweet time. I was 41 weeks and 5 days. In the past, doctors have always begun talking about induction around 39 weeks, of which I have always refused. It just didn't feel right to me to step in God's way of doing His job unless He revealed to us we needed intervention. My body was designed to give birth. If no medical reason was needed, I worried that we could create more problems than do good just for convenience sake.

So we traveled a good distance away to a hospital my midwife worked with. I hated the thought of being that far because if induction was necessary I wanted to be near to home. Again, God had gone before us and made this the only option for a very good reason.

When we arrived I felt surrounded by love... Even in a hospital, a place that I typically find dreadful. Sabrina, my nurse, immediately welcomed us and took us to a room. She was kind and tender-hearted; it was obvious upon the first words she spoke to us. She hooked up the fetal monitoring system to listen to Lilia's heartbeat. I was told they would listen to her for 30 minutes and monitor her activity. If she was active and happy we could go home and wait a couple of more days.

She worked and worked at getting the fetal monitoring system to work. At times she thought she found her, only for her to disappear again. Perhaps, I told her, it was because Lilia sat far back inside of me. I had measured 4-6 weeks behind nearly the entire pregnancy because she was "hiding", you could say. So a second nurse was called in to find her. Still, no luck. Maybe a different microphone would work, but that wasn't helpful, either.

The next few moments happened so very quickly.  As I look back now, it seemed to have flashed before our very eyes. One moment everything was ok; life was just as it should be...  The next, we were whirled into devastating anguish over our precious Lilia.  The doctor rolled in with an the ultra sound machine - a team of residents behind him almost like in a movie scene.  He opened the laptop and told me he was going to look for baby's heartbeat.  He studied the screen for only seconds and  with a look on his face I will never in my life forget.  Pointing to it for the residents to see, they all had the same look on their faces that he did... They all knew.

"I'm so sorry... There is no heartbeat."

All of my breath was taken from me in an instant.  NO!  This couldn't be!  I just felt her, I screamed.  I just felt her!  When? they asked.  I don't remember but she was just with me, I know it!  I know it!  No, God, no!  

Jason's arms were around me and we just sobbed and cried together, melting into the deepest sadness we will ever know.  We were instantly broken.  There are no other words to describe it... just broken.

The doctors left quickly and we were left alone in our darkest moments.  I don't know how to do this, Jason, I don't know what to do.  I kept saying over and over again.  What do I do?  What do I do!? How do I give birth, how do I make it through the next 12 hours waiting for our little girl that we will never know?  How do I feel every pain physically when this emotional pain is already more than I can possibly bear?  How do I do this?  Jason had no answers, I had no answers.  We were completely lost in our pain.

We began making phone calls to our family and dearest friends.  My mom was first; she was alone with the kids.  As I sobbed into the phone she could barely understand me.  What was so hard for her when I finally was comprehensible was that she was all alone.  She had no one to grieve with and she did not want to kids to see her broken heart.  But God, in his infinite grace, would soon intervene.

Next, my best friend, but she didn't answer... And third, a sister in Christ to whom I am now eternally connected, a dear friend who lost a baby to still birth 8 years prior, I called.  She answered.  She had been praying.  She even text'd me earlier that morning... Praying, Erin.  I told her that Lilia was gone and she dropped to her knees, she would tell me later.  She was reliving her moments of grief all over again.  What do I do?  I don't know what to do? I asked.  I need your wisdom.  Tell me how to do this. She told me everything.  She walked me through it.  As we both cried, she told me things I would not have initiated because it would have been too difficult.  Take all the time you need with her.  Do not let them take her from you until you are ready.  Look at every part of her.  Examine her.  Study her.  Love her.  Look at her toes, her fingers, her ears.  Don't miss any part of her.  Take pictures.  As hard as it will be, take pictures.  She is yours and you will want to remember her.  She poured out her heart to me.  She didn't have to, but she did.  And then she prayed a prayer I will never forget.

She asked the Lord to hold us in his righteous right hand.  She asked Him to give us overwhelming joy when we saw her.  She asked Him to spread out our grief so that we would not have to bear it all alone.  She knew what to pray because she had experienced this terrible pain.  She was experiencing it for me all over again.  She was right where I was.

After we were able to make a few phone calls, the doctors began speaking to us about how she would be born.  We were both heartbroken again when we were told it would probably be another 24 hours... 12 hours with the first medication, then 12 more of pitocin.  We couldn't go through this agony for that long.  My heart was aching for it to be over, to be able to hold her and see her.  But, I was unaware that God had already gone before us.  He was moving people all over our city - friends, family members, and even those we did not know - to pray fervently for us.

I'm not even sure about the details, but I believe Jason sent word of some specific requests.  At the time, and even looking back now, I am in awe of how God answered.  Our first need was the epidural.  Since I have had very bad reactions to anesthesia I have chosen to give birth naturally in the past.  But I couldn't bear the thought of experiencing the physical pain on top of the terrible emotional pain I was already in...  I wanted to be numb.  I couldn't feel her be born.  It was too much... It was far more than I could handle.  So we begged God to keep me from getting ill and for the epidural to be successful.

Mercy after mercy, He was faithful.  The epidural was painless, I had very little nausea with it, and it worked.  I cried when I realized that it worked.  I couldn't believe that He answered that prayer.

We were also asking for a peaceful delivery.

A little over 12 hours had passed since the first round of medication.  It was 1:30 in the morning and I was about to call my dad who was driving up from Florida to be with my mom and the kids.  I didn't make the call, however, because something did not feel right.  I had no idea what it felt like to give birth while being completely numb.  But, I could tell that perhaps it was time.  Jason got the doctor and she confirmed.  We wouldn't have to wait another 12 hours with heavy doses of pitocin.  God had granted us the mercy of not having to wait any longer.

Jason sat at my right side.  The doctors turned on some dim lights and we began.  I wanted so desperately for the doctors to be wrong.  I wanted to hear her come out screaming and crying. I wanted to hold her in my arms and feel an incredible sense of joy.  But, instead, our precious Lilia Mae was born very peacefully.  The only cries heard were from Jason and me.  We held her in our arms, completely broken to the core.  Why? Why? Why?

We asked, but in a strange way we already knew.

He knew all along.  We were just learning... but He knew.  From the beginning when He said, Trust me, He knew.  When He stirred my heart to pray like I never had before, He knew.  When He laid me on the hearts of my dear friends weeks before we knew, He knew.  When He directed me to choose a home birth so that I would rely on Him, He knew.  When He brought my mother here 2 weeks before her birth, He knew.  When we chose her name long before we knew of its meaning, He knew.

He had chosen her... To change us completely... To deepen our faith... To move our community... To bring us all to our knees... To glorify Him... To show us His goodness and mercies over and over again.

Right now, in the midst of our agony, in our empty arms, we have a strange peace that can only come from Him.  We know that God's plan for our precious Lilia was far greater than anything we could ever imagine.  In this pain, we can only Trust in Him with all our heart, we cannot lean on our own understanding.  Because we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

My dear, sweet Lilia,                                                                                                1/20/13

            Since I learned of your creation 9 months ago, my heart has been in deep and constant prayer.  While I was praying for that which I knew to pray for, I can see now that the Holy Spirit was all the while groaning for us and interceding for us in prayer.  He knew that you would only be with us for nine precious months and that our hearts would be completely and utterly broken.  He knew that we needed much preparation and rest to get through these very difficult days without you.  He went to the Lord on our behalf, and the Lord has been faithful to answer.

            When I look at our beautiful family now and watch the kids play, laugh, and wrestle, there is a void.  You are missing.  When I count heads, there is an emptiness when I stop at four.  When I kiss everyone goodnight, my heart yearns to be kissing you. 

            Lilia, you were so beautiful.  From the moment we laid eyes on you it was evident that you were ours.  Just like all of our sweet babies, you looked like Daddy.  You resembled your sister Ella and brother Kaden at birth, but you also had Hannah’s adorable nose.  And though I did not get to see you smile, I have no doubt it would have been as wide and beautiful as your sister, Gracyn’s. You were so precious and so perfectly created by God.  His fingerprints were evident all over you.

            While I will never get to know the uniqueness of your smile, the sound of your laugh, how you say, “Mommy” or “Daddy”… I will never know the way you smell or see you run or know what makes you mad.  There are so many things about your uniqueness that I will never know until I see you again in heaven.  But, God gave me something to hold onto until that day.  He showed me something about you that only you posses in our family.   You had beautiful baby blue eyes.   Knowing that brings such comfort to me.  I know you were created to be something so special, so unique for God. 

            Lilia, your name alone tells your story… It tells all of our story.  Though we didn’t know it when we named you that it held such truth.  “What belongs to me, belongs to God”.  While it is the most heart-wrenching thing I have ever had to do, I give you now to God because He needs you more than we do.  I love you, my sweet girl.  I will see you soon.

Love,

Mommy



Lilia,                                                                                                         1/16/13

It is with a broken heart that I write this letter. Honestly, prior to Tuesday it was hard for me to think of you as real. Like your siblings, its hard for me to imagine you until I can see and hold you. You are real to me now. I have seen your tiny fingers, your toes, your cute nose. You look like your brothers and sisters. You are adorable.

The hardest thing for me is when I begin to dwell on what we will miss together. On this side of eternity, I will not be able to look in your eyes and see you gazing back. I wont be able to hold you in the silence of the night and comfort you when you cry. I wont be able to protect you, teach you to protect yourself and your heart. I wont see you side by side with your mother and marvel at the similarities. I cant see you held by your grandma, your grandpa, laugh with your aunts and uncles, or wrestle with your papaw.  I will miss seeing you cared for by your siblings... Ella' quiet compassion, Hannah's intuitive heart, Gracyn's full-body laugh, Kaden's rough exterior. Selfishly, I want these things for you. Selfishly, I want these things for myself.

But it would be unfair to only focus on the good that you will miss. Truth is, this world is broken and seems to become more broken everyday.  I am thankful you will not experience the pain and suffering that comes with being here. I am thankful you will never scrape your knees, hear me become impatient with you, or be ridiculed by your peers. You will never have your heart broken by cruel boys, lose a job, or struggle with addiction.  You will never hate the person you see in the mirror or see the people you love die without knowing Jesus.  No, Lilia, you get to skip all this junk and go right for the good stuff. For that I am most grateful.

Just know that we love you and that you are no less a part of this family than anyone standing here.  We love you dearly. Painfully. Completely.

Now enough about our sadness. Go play! Run, jump, laugh, and sing! We will join you soon enough.

In the meantime, if you see a balloon with your name on it- know that it is from your brother and sisters who miss you dearly.

Love,

Daddy