Today is my one and only son’s birthday. If you read my Father’s Day post you know that he was, in the terminology of the latest trend, born still—a cord death. Cole did not die on the day of his birth. I always knew that. David and I were drawn to the hospital because I quit feeling him move. But even I didn’t know when he actually died.
I’m not sure how long it was after his death that I discovered exactly when it happened; but it was an innocent comment made by my mother that truly rocked my world.
She was in my home and all she said was, “I remember you telling me that the baby was moving really funny.” Those words triggered that movie-like effect, you know the one where past events scroll by the screen at warp speed as a replay begins of that exact moment in the character’s past. With her words I was instantly transported back . . . There I stood in my parent’s living room in front of their green velvet love seat. It was about 5:30 p.m. on Thursday, June 18th. I can see it in my mind’s eye looking on as if I was standing mere feet away from my extremely pregnant self.
I’d driven to their home after work in order to bring my mom some fabric which she was going to sew into a balloon shade for the baby room David and I had set up in our home. It was a simple blue and white pinstripe and matched the Paddington Bear pattern of the bedding we’d chosen. And then I said it, “Mom, the baby’s moving really funny.” It echoes through my mind even 24 years later. My mother replied, “Why don’t you lay down and maybe it will stop in a moment.” Cringe worthy advice looking back, for indeed the strange movements I felt did stop shortly thereafter. And only in hindsight, only when my Mother spoke those innocent words after my child was long buried, did I realize their significance. “I remember you saying . . . ”
Unbeknownst to my Mother, she filled in the blanks and devastated me all with one simple sentence. For it was at that very moment, now standing in my own living room, that I realized that I not only knew exactly when my child died but that I did nothing—NOTHING!—NOT ONE THING!—to save him. It was also in that instant that I could finally find words to describe the strange way my son was moving within my womb. Thrashing is the only word that accurately describes those strange, previously indescribable movements.
I knew with certainty then that I felt my child dying. The cord that was wrapped once around his arm and twice around his throat tightened suffocating him as he thrashed, fighting for his life. That devastating moment began the completely irrational guilt and shame cycle I struggled to overcome for years in spite of knowing full-well that had I understood what was happening, I would not have been able to save him. There was no way to get to the hospital, to have my son delivered, before his death. No possible way.
Guilt and shame are all too common experiences in the parent loss community. Far too common. We kick ourselves for what we perceive as poor choices even as logic firmly unravels that notion. Rarely is there an earthly way of knowing what is to come. The lack of foreknowledge renders us incapable of intervening in the unacceptable destiny about to play out in our children’s lives. Logic is trumped by emotion and mental anguish. So, we beat ourselves up and ask, “What kind of mother or father am I?” And the only possible answer is, of course, “A bad one.”
We need someone to blame, someone to be held accountable, and for many broken believers, the heart simply cannot handle the thought that our child’s death may have been part of God’s plan*—let alone His will. It is easier to blame ourselves than to rock the very foundations upon which our belief in a loving God resides. Not that we are any more capable of preventing that either. When a large part of your world is destroyed the impact is insidious as wave upon wave of grief batters the broken heart.
Just as few people knew that I felt my son strangle to death within the ironically protective environment of my womb, few people realize that we debated the trip to Kansas City for Christmas the year my oldest and youngest daughters died.
Bethany, my oldest daughter, had so much going on in the days prior to her death. Tons of angst over school and changes in living arrangements she wanted to make, finances, and Alex, her boyfriend’s uncertain return to UCA. Her life was in complete turmoil and I was helpless to make it better for her. It seemed what might be best for Bethany would be for us to stay home in Bentonville that Christmas. However, that was not what was best for the rest of the family, nor for O’rane (the international student spending the holiday with us). Still, I took her aside a day or two before we left for Kansas City and asked her if she would prefer to stay home. I would have chosen to remain in NW Arkansas if that would have made her more comfortable. No one else would have been too keen on that plan, but I had every intention of honoring her wishes had she indicated that she would prefer to stay home.
What I wouldn’t give to have stayed home for Christmas!
I’m considerably older and a bit wiser than I was 24 years ago, but those old demons of guilt and shame have still plagued my days in the aftermath of Bethany & Katie’s deaths. Despite that fact that I had no power whatsoever to prevent any of the tragic circumstances of my life, the broken heart is laid bare and vulnerable to the fiery arrows Satan takes such delight in unloading upon the hurting and weak.
Maybe just revealing that truth will help another broken-hearted parent caught in the guilt and shame cycle put to rest the irrational personal judgments they have leveled against themselves or a spouse. Maybe it will enable them to see that what the scriptures say is true—that Satan is a thief and a liar bent on our destruction and there is no limit to the devices he will employ to do just that.
Maybe the disclosure of my illogical feelings will enable another parent to make peace with the equally truthful scriptural revelation that our days are numbered prior to our birth. It was never in our power to extend the lives of our children, regardless of the circumstances of their death. There are simply things in this life that are pre-ordained and while that can be a devastating truth it can also be a great comfort, because the vast majority of parents have consistently acted in their children’s best interest. And with grace for those whose actions bring godly conviction (i.e., guilt) there is repentance, forgiveness, restoration and reconciliation through faith in Christ Jesus.
The road is long and dark—but grief embraced and worked through—can result in health and healing.
Oh, you never forget. And there never comes a day when the death of your child is justified by spiritual growth or ministry. Those things are just the result of God taking bad things and performing a work of redemption. He doesn’t transform bad events by redefining them and calling them good. No, God brings good from Satan’s evil actions and intentions. And He doesn’t justify Satan’s evil actions and intentions either. That’s a fine distinction, but an extremely important one nonetheless. All things work together for good, not all things are transformed into good.
So while this day is filled with bitter longing and remembrance it is also a day in which I know I can trust that this is not the end of the story. Kenny Chesney’s song, “Who You’d Be Today” is reflective of that intense longing and bitter disappointment I feel. (Click on the link to hear the song). But it also reminds me that one day I will know who each of my children really are because I will see them again. I will know them and they will know me, in perfection, the way we were created to be before the fall of man. We will be like Him—the One who sacrificed His life and endured for the joy set before Him.
“Who You’d Be Today” by Kenny Chesney
Also included below are the lyrics to “Held” by Natalie Grant which serve to remind me that there are things God did not promise me—but that He has promised to hold me through all the bitterness this life brings. Can I not wait, for one hour (albeit a very long hour), watching for my Savior? Partial lyrics can be found beneath the youtube link.
“Held” by Natalie Grant
“This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We’d be held
If hope if born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our Savior”
———————–
*Please allow me back up a bit here. God’s plans and His will are sensitive subjects. I’m not confident that I completely understand them but I am confident of a few things.
1. God’s plans for us are redemptive and good.
2. His will for us is that we be saved and conformed into the image of Christ.
There is a huge difference between God’s will & plans for us and foreknowledge. He knows what is coming. He’s gone before the believer.
Additionally, God cannot intervene and prevent every negative circumstance in our lives and maintain His commitment to granting humans free will.
As believers we need to be aware that God’s plans for us include a strategy for redemption based upon His foreknowledge of the events that will impact our lives.
We also need to recognize that God is not the author of all the negative circumstances in our lives. We have an enemy. His name is Satan; and he’s more than happy to allow God to be blamed for his actions.
My husband’s first Father’s Day.
David’s first Father’s Day began in the dark of night. He later told me as he drove home from the hospital the night before Cole was born that he realized he now shared the loss of a son with his Heavenly Father.
For David, Father’s Day has never about being appreciated by his wife and children. Instead, Father’s Day is all about David’s appreciation for his Dad. For the example of love demonstrated through acts of service more than words. For learning about humor, character and integrity, hard work, and protecting those you love. For David, Father’s Day is about honoring the effort and commitment of the generation before, not reveling 
in his own fatherhood. And David’s father has loved our family with words and hugs, and by meeting needs through the work of His hands that have touched me in ways I can’t begin to describe. He is not so much my father-in-law as he is the father of my heart.
When you lose a loved one to death, you quickly recognize that a great number of people sympathize, even empathize (vicariously experience) with your loss. Close friends and family grieve with you because they lost a friend, a brother, a parent or grandchild too. Some simply grieve for you because they love you but were not personally connected to the one who died. But very few people actually grieve in like manner with you. Even parents experience grief in unique ways. Men often process their sorrow and loss far differently than women do.
Her name is Teresa and I never would have guessed just what she would come to mean to me. (Pictured left, Teresa and her husband, Jakob).
At the time of Bethany’s death, Teresa and her family were living in Sweden. The family moved back to the states approximately six months after the funeral. Her family met us for lunch shortly after their move. I had no idea what to expect and I was a bit nervous. They had been so kind, so generous. Their daughter Emma had written and performed a beautiful song for which her father, Jakob, created a photo montage (
Boxx Banter 