the life in the day

Breakfast at Last!

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 17:59:00 +0000

We have been officially off our media fast for about a week now, but I have been slowly adding back in a little here and a little there. It seems like this has taught me some sense of moderation that I don't want to lose. But a lot has been happening in our lives. Hmm...a little synopsis is in order, I suppose.

I resigned my job. Yes, it has been wonderful. Sad sometimes too, but overall fantastic. After the last pictures I posted, my house improved dramatically in just a few hours. And even more so over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, I don't believe I took any pictures to show how wonderful it looked. Did I say looked? Sure did. That brings me to what else has been going on.

My kids have started a new business. It all fits in as part of our homeschool life. See, for a few years now my kids have wanted to start a lemonade stand, but with a job and new babies and just general busy-ness, I haven't been much help in facilitating the idea. So once I was a little more free, I started helping them plan for this. Now, being a homeschool family, we certainly wanted to do this with excellence. So...

We went to the library and checked out books about business, money, and entrepreneurship. We conducted market research. We worked out brand ideas, sketching logos and such, and planned color schemes and more. We made field trips to Sam's Club to scope out prices. We went to Goodwill and found coordinating collared shirts for all of us. We borrowed a canopy and table from friends (and we decided that we would conduct business rain or shine), with the plan to invest in those items with our business profits. We decided on a charity to receive 10% of our profits (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta). Weeks after the beginning of this whole process, we designed and passed out flyers to every house in the neighborhood. And we woke up on opening day to a downpour outside.

If only you could have seen my husband and me as we attempted to raise that borrowed canopy for the very first time in the pouring rain at 5:30 am. It was, well, comical! But I was so proud of my little entrepreneurs as they braved the rain and cold, and stood out under that canopy waiting for those mythical creatures otherwise known as customers. Two wonderfully faithful friends did stop in those next couple of hours, and we had prepared the children well for the possibility of little to no success on that first morning because we had not told anyone that we would still be there rain or shine. So there was no bitter disappointment. Just the understanding that driving by and seeing three little munchkins braving that weather to remain consistent and reliable would only help build trust among our customer base.

That was yesterday. Today, we had steady customers the whole time we were open. And the kids also learned the value of a soft open before the Grand Opening...we actually ran out of coffee! Right in the middle of a customer's cup! So we will be getting a few of the kinks worked out this week. Our Grand Opening is planned for next Monday. We are planning discounts and giveaways.

The kids already have visions of franchises in their little heads. :-) Have I mentioned before how much I love to teach my kids at home?

Lots more has been going on, but getting back to the condition of my house. Well, with all this coffee stand business, it has kinda slipped a little bit. Not like it was, mind you, but slipped none the less. Especially yesterday. I spent all day cleaning out the garage so that we can run the business out of it when the weather is especially cold and rainy. So, while mom was working downstairs, you can imagine what the preschool set were doing upstairs! And after getting up at 4am yesterday, I wasn't worth anything by the time I got my kids in bed at 8. I did the dishes and then fell asleep on the couch with hubby playing around on Facebook at the other side of the room. So, well, I guess now I'll put up with a little bit of chaos upstairs while we finish redoing the garage suitably for a coffee stand to run out of it! And we'll figure out how to fit all of this back into a workable schedule over the next few weeks.

Boy, have I missed blogging! I'll post some pictures as soon as I can.

Media Fast

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 16:41:00 +0000

Our family is doing a media fast right now. The only computer time I am allowed is the time I take to check important emails and certain school work for the kids. But I thought I would briefly pop on here to let you know why I'm not updating my blog right now (for Sheila, LOL). I haven't forgotten you, though. There is tons of stuff I want to share with everyone as soon as our fast is over in a few weeks. Ok, break-fast over. Hahaha!

Full disclosure

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:53:00 +0000

In all this time of leading a "double life," I have found myself getting farther and farther behind on so many important things. My home has suffered terribly as I have tried to decide just what had to fall off my plate. In the beginning, I was letting all leisure time get slashed from the menu. After about a year of this, I finally understood the immense importance of having some down time for the whole family. So, little by little, the little things have fallen off my plate. And anything that happens little by little has the potential to become a very big thing. Still, I've managed to keep some things very organized and tidy......
.....but in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to bare my soul. I'm going to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly.

This is just a glimpse of our homeschool room. It used to be our dining room, but we never ate in there. So I started moving all the homeschool supplies from all over the house into our homeschool room. It's a little small for organizing everything a family needs to school across 5 different grade levels, but it's nice to have everything in one place. I have been reading up on organization ideas, and I've learned a lot from my friend Laura (she did all the organizing and planning for our new space in Praise Park).

Here we have our new "workboxes" from Sue Patrick's Workbox System. They are ready to be loaded up for the beginning of our school year. If you've never heard of this system and you are homeschooling or have toddlers, you should check it out.
You can google "workbox system" and get lots of pictures of how other mom's have put this system to use in their homes.

This is our supply cabinet. It holds some of our school supplies like craft foam pieces, stampers, file folder games, ribbon, beads, whatever. The whole idea for organizing this cabinet came from what I learned from Laura. I have no real organizing sense whatsoever on my own. I owe her soooo much!

This is where the everday supplies go. It's right next to the workboxes so it's easier for me to reload them each night. It holds our pens, pencils, crayons, markers, glue, scissors, whatever.

It has made a big difference just having these all together. I used to try to keep separate boxes of these items for each child. It seemed like such a good idea to me, but it never worked out. Everything just kept disappearing. Now the kids know exactly where something goes instead of having to figure out whose box it belongs in.

The bottom of the cabinet holds all their coloring books and artwork that they want to keep. It's pretty much a mess in there right now.

Here is where a lot of our curriculum supplies are located, along with the science supplies and math manipulatives. This shelf stands about two feet high, so it's great for the kids to be able to reach the things they need.

And here is a bookshelf where I try to keep interesting books to read. We have bought the supplies to create our rain gutter bookshelves, but we haven't been able to come to an agreement about where they should go.

So none of this looks too bad, right? Well, that's because I'm showing you the closeups. Now, here's the part where I open myself up to vulnerability. I'm not looking for disapproval here, or even pity. This is just straight up honesty about where I have been. But by the end of today, it will be soooo much different. Maybe I'll pop back on here and post some pics of that as well. Okay, here goes...There. I've done it. You know it all now. I'm so glad that the Lord led me to understand that I had to choose my home and family over my other ministries. In this season of my life, my sacrifices should be for my husband and for the little ones God has entrusted to my care. There will be plenty of time to throw myself into other important endeavors later on, Lord willing.

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Tomorrow will bring big changes to my life. For nearly three years, I have held a part time job working for my church. I have loved this job, working with so many beautiful children. In the beginning, I was responsible for coordinating both volunteers and paid workers for the nursery through Kindergarten age children. But about a year ago, it changed dramatically when the church leadership asked me to help them embark upon a new mission.

Our children's pastor and I had both dreamed of having a worship service for the three year olds through kindergartners. So, that is just what we created along with the help of a few dedicated friends. Praise Park. A fun-filled, bright and cheerful place for the children to grow and learn about what it means to reach beyond themselves and worship their Creator! How awesome it is to be a part of Praise Park. To listen as 35-40 preschoolers recite God's Word that they have hidden in their hearts. To watch them dance and sing that God is alive, and jump and shout F-A-I-T-H. To hold a little boy with autism while his mama worships in the worship center.

It has been wonderful, and challenging, and often even frustrating. But for a very long time now, I have felt like I've been stretched too thin. I've found myself having trouble even getting out of bed, just so tired and overwhelmed. My homeschooling efforts last year were certainly less than joyful, and my performance at every single task I was undertaking was less and less acceptable. I spent time reading books on leadership and organization, trying to learn to make myself more capable.

But finally, I picked up a book I had read a few years back:
A Woman After God's Own Heart by Elizabeth George. It was a great book for me to read the first time around, but it was even more precious to me this time. As soon as I read it, I knew where I had gone wrong. As a wife and mother, my first ministry is to my family. But I had been giving so much of myself to Praise Park that my family was left eating the crumbs that fell off my plate.

So I told my husband that I felt we needed to choose between Praise Park and homeschooling. I just couldn't keep trying to do both and expect our home to be what God wanted it to be. He and I both came to our decision with sadness, but once we had landed upon it...and put in our six weeks notice...there was a sense of relief. Especially when a replacement for us was found, and it was a couple who would be so perfect for the job. (Way more perfect than us, I'm sad to say).

So, after tomorrow, I will once again be "just" a homeschooling mom, teaching and learning and loving and growing. It's my first ministry, and I am so eager to give my children and my husband my most creative and energetic efforts. But pray for me, please. This year I will be taking on 6th, 4th, and 2nd grades, along with Kindergarten and preschool...an exciting, though a bit daunting, prospect!

Lovely now her life shall be

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 03:51:00 +0000

It has been a while since I blogged about the here and now. I'm so happy to have shared with you all the story of our sweet Abigail's short life with us, and I feel blessed to have heard from so many of you how you have been touched by it. But now, there is so much life that happens each day in our home, and I hope to be able to share that too. Our struggles, our joys, and our sorrows go on.

I'd like to leave you with the words of one of my favorite poets, who also knew too well the pain of losing a child:

As We Prayed
by Edgar A. Guest

Often as we watched her there
From our lips there fell this prayer:
"God, give us the pain to bear!
Let us suffer in her place,
Take the anguish from her face,
Soothe her with Thy holy grace."

Then the angels came, and they
Took her lovely soul away
From the torture house of clay,
As we'd prayed, they brought release,
Smoothed her brow with gentle peace,
But our pain shall never cease.

Ours is now the hurt to bear,
Ours the anguish and despair,
Ours the agony to share!
When our hearts with grief were stirred,
Thus we prayed and thus were heard,
Shall we fail to keep our word?

Was our promise all in vain?
Would we call her back again
Just to spare ourselves the pain?
We are hurt, oh, that is true!
Desolate and lonely, too,
Suffering as we pledged to do,

Lovely now her life shall be
Safe through all eternity,
Always beautiful to see;
Now the pain is ours to know,
But we prayed to bear this blow
That she need not suffer so.

We love you Abigail. We miss you terribly. But we take comfort in the understanding that you live on, made whole and perfect in the presence of the Almighty. Your pain is now ours to bear, and we know that we will be with you again someday. We praise God who granted you the ultimate healing rather than to leave you living in the agony which mortal life afforded you.

He remembers

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 15:59:00 +0000

In church one Sunday morning about 6 weeks after Abigail had passed from this life into the next, I was broken. My arms ached with emptiness. My soul was bruised, and I wondered how I could even breathe. Yet I raised my hands in praise and choked out the words to the songs of God's faithfulness.

Pastor Scott got up and began an altar call. He asked all those with needs to come forward for prayer. I had a need, that was certain. I wanted to be prayed over. My spirit cried out to me that I needed intercession. But something held me back. Perhaps it was that I didn't want all those hundreds of people, who knew of our loss, to see me and, forbid it, pity me. I didn't want to be pitied. True, I was a victim of human suffering, a kind uncommon to most in that building. But my spirit was not crushed. I simply had a request to make of my Father in Heaven.

So I cried out to him in my heart, "God, I need you. But I can't go up there. I need you to meet me here. I know you can minister to me right here where I am. Father, my arms are empty. I understand what I must do, and that is to wait for your perfect timing. But I want you to know that I'm scared of your timing. I'm afraid my heart will break in two. I'm afraid that my spirit, though strong, will become crushed by the wait. And yet, I trust in who you are. You have brought me through so much. And I will trust in your timing. Just please, know that I feel as if I can't bear these empty arms much longer."

As I prayed these thoughts in my heart, I held back the tears. Then I felt an arm slip around my waist. I thought it was my husband's, but I turned my face to see a woman who had come down from the choir and made her way past the other worshipers down to the middle of the row where I was. She put her face against mine and started speaking: "God wants you to know that He hears you, and He is coming to you right where you are. He knows the desire of your heart, and He will give you what you need. You don't have to worry about His timing, because it will be sooner than you think. And He will hold you up. He will wrap His arms around you and you will not feel empty any more."

Through these words, I found that the tears had started to stream down my face. By the end, I was fairly sobbing. I had never experienced something like this before. I had been in love with my Heavenly Father since I had given my heart to Him at the tender age of four. I knew that He cared for me so much that He sent His only Son to die for me. But I never felt as loved as when He reached down and touched me that morning, through the words of a beautiful woman I had only just met. Suddenly it was me, there at the center of His heart.

How I wish I could express in words the jumble of feelings inside me as I left the sanctuary that morning. The God of creation had come to meet me where I was. No, I wasn't surprised. I knew He could do it. It's just that my expectation was to find a quiet peace come over me there where I stood. My envisioning was that I would find a spiritual connection such as the others that I had found throughout every other trial of my life. But that He would place it upon a relative stranger's heart to come and speak to every petition I had just made, and that she would hear it and command the courage to come down to me from the choir and deliver it, was greater than I could ever have imagined.

And yet, human as I am, fickle and often fragile in my trust, I left wondering if she had been right. I wanted to believe it. She had literally answered every private word spoken through an intimate conversation with my only Hope. And yet, there was a tiny seed of doubt lingering deep within my soul. And even the comforting words that His timing would be sooner than I thought (which, by the way, was along the lines of years) left me concerned. How soon did that mean? It's funny how I went before Him seeking merely peace, and He delivered much more; so I wanted even more yet.

But true to the words of that faithful acquaintance (now a dear friend), my wait was not to be unbearable. Only two weeks later, I had a positive pregnancy test. By my calculation, I conceived perhaps on that same day that I had poured out my soul to a God who really does care enough to meet me right where I am. And only a month away from the anniversary of Abigail's short life, my arms were finally wrapped around the answer to a promise. His name, Zechariah, which means "the Lord remembers."

And a few days later, I once more walked up those stairs, turned to my bedroom, and saw an empty cradle. But this time, I walked over and placed into it my beautiful baby boy. Then I sat on my bed and cried, just as I had only eleven months before as I looked upon it as empty evidence of her that was and is no more. There will never be a way to replace Abigail, and nothing will take the place of my love for her. But the faithfulness of the Lord is to be found in this: He not only held me through this terrible storm, but He also remembered my cry and gave me my heart's desire.

The Struggle

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Wed, 13 May 2009 18:43:00 +0000

When I first arrived back home, I struggled up the stairs. It was a physical struggle because of the C-section, but more painful was the emotional struggle. I knew I had left the cradle by my bed, ready to receive our little Abigail. I knew I had left a trail of blood all across the hall and into the bathroom. Memories of these images had flashed through my mind so vividly, and I was honestly afraid of losing myself to the pain.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I found the floor spotless. My brothers had cleaned away every trace of blood from the carpet. I had spent so much time worrying about that blood on my way home, and I was grateful to them for performing that difficult act of love for me.

As I turned and walked into the bedroom, my breath choked up inside of me as my eyes fell upon the little cradle. My arms instantly felt empty and cold, and for a moment I wondered how my heart could go on beating. My mom and Loren and the children had dropped me off and gone to handle something (I can't recall what it was), and I sat on my bed, alone, and cried. I think it was my first real chance to cry out to God with no one around. Everyone had been trying to be there for me and hold me up, and now I am convinced that I needed that time to learn to be ok all alone. I needed to be comforted by Him. Just Him. It was one of the most difficult moments of my grieving process, but it was important to me and has become one of my strongest memories of God's presence in my life. My own arms were empty, but He was holding me in His.

The emotions that surrounded Christmas only 5 days after our daughter passed away are difficult to describe. I felt so empty, but at the same time peaceful. I spent a vast amount of time on my knees pouring out my soul to my heavenly Father. Then He would fill me back up with Himself. But I had to do this over and over, day in and day out. I didn't want anyone to see this. Not my children, not my husband, not my mother. It was a private purging and filling.

Those lessons I learned on my knees were life changing. There was a cosmic shift in how I saw myself and those around me. I realized how much God in His infinite mercy, grace, and love had shaped my life...shielding me from harmful influences, humbling me by showing me all that I was capable of doing and being were it not for His guiding hand.

I spent countless hours on internet support boards for grieving parents, reminding those other hurt souls that their own pain didn't change the truth of who God is. I think the most important lesson those other parents and I solidified in our minds was that knowing and loving God doesn't shield us from terrible and tragic events. I'm not sure how we as Christians can sometimes come to that irrational conclusion, but it is so common. "How could God allow this to happen to me?" As if being a Christian is somehow supposed to guarantee us a life free of pain. But most of us wrestle with it. Or, "I prayed in faith, believing Him for a miracle. Why didn't He save her?"

But it was there in that place of countless questions and few satisfying answers that I found the comfort for my own heart. I learned that even when I don't know the mind of God and why he allows something to happen (His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts...Isaiah 55:8-9), I can trust His heart and know that He has only my best at the center of His heart (plans for a future and a hope...Jeremiah 29:11).

It still hurt. And I still had questions (still do). But I was not consumed by the struggle.

Christmas

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 01:38:00 +0000

Abigail had passed away late on a Saturday evening. We entertained the thought of going to church the next day because we felt the need to be in the presence of fellow believers and friends. We were tired, though, and there was much to do, and we weren't certain that we were ready to face the questions or even the silence of those who didn't know to ask.

We decided to go ahead and clear out of the little house we were staying in, even though we had been told we could stay as long as we needed. I wasn't sure I was ready to go back home. I knew that it would be difficult, but I also knew it wouldn't really get easier. Some things you just have to dive right into, and I believe dealing with grief is one of them.

With Christmas coming upon us quickly, we thought it would be good to stop by Toys R Us on the way back home from Atlanta. Again, it seemed like life was going on too effortlessly around me. Why didn't everyone else look like they could barely muster the will to even breathe? Why the carefree smiles on so many faces? Why the frowns and complaining about mundane things like having to wait in line or not finding that certain toy? Didn't they know they had so much to be thankful for? And then there were the babies being pushed around in buggies or straddling their mommies' hips. I remember feeling the aisles closing in around me.

I had decided to stay up near the front of the building as my mom and Loren and the kids wandered about the store. It had only been a week since I'd had a C-section, and I was still easily tired by too much walking. Suddenly I felt so lonely in that crowded place (and if you can think of what the stores look like on the last weekend before Christmas, you can imagine how many people there were). It seemed like we were there for hours.

I found a flat packed box and sat on it while I waited, and I tried to smile at the shoppers as they passed me. As I sat there, I wondered what Christmas would be like this year. I tried to envision myself portraying excitement as our children opened presents. I practiced feeling happy. Above all, I knew that I didn't want painful memories of Abigail to be the focus of this special celebration. Instead, I wanted us to celebrate her life as well as our Savior's.

It was something I had to practice repeatedly, not just that year, but in every year since.

Life should somehow have slowed down

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:04:00 +0000

In the days leading up to Abigail's death, Loren and I had been unable to really eat anything. When we had left the hospital's little chapel, we were both surprised to find that we were at last ready to eat. There had been a sense of finality and release once we had spent that time in prayer and praise. So we left the hospital and went to the only place we could find open so late at night, Waffle House.

It was a very strange feeling, sitting there in Waffle House with life going on all around us. Inside, I felt like life should somehow have slowed down. I wanted everyone who saw me to know that my daughter had just died and my heart was broken. Instead, I said nothing. Not even our waitress knew that we had just lost such a precious part of our lives. We ate our meal in relative silence and managed weak smiles as we were leaving. The waitress had been unusually kind and quietly attentive. It was another blessing.

When we got back to the little house that we had been staying in through the graciousness of strangers, my mom was asleep on the couch and our three remaining children were in sleeping bags side by side on the living room floor. We stood in the doorway and held each other as we watched them sleeping. After watching for a few moments, one of us said what both of us had been thinking. "We are so blessed."

Really. Just think of all those parents who lose their first child...or their only child. When we left that hospital, all our parental hopes and dreams were not imprisoned within it's halls. We had living, breathing, beautiful children waiting for us in that cozy little home. We had a reason to drag ourselves out of bed the next morning.

When we spoke those words out loud, my mom stirred on the couch. She looked up at us and asked, "Is she...?" We nodded, and the tears came to her eyes. As hard as it had all been for Loren and me, it had to be just as difficult for her. I knew her heart hurt just as much for us as it did for herself. But she stayed strong through it all. I love her for her strength, both then as she allowed me to be strong when I needed to be, and to let go and cry when I needed it, and now as she has read all these posts. I love her for never having to pretend that any of us have forgotten how very much we loved Abigail.

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 03:32:00 +0000

After Abigail had been pronounced dead by the NICU doctor, the nurses asked me if I wanted to help them clean her up. Immediately, Loren said, "No." One of the nurses very gently told him that they weren't really asking him. They were asking me. She explained that the fathers almost always answer the way he had.

I asked them what was involved and they explained that they would be giving her a bath and putting fresh clothes on her. At first I said no, but something in my spirit told me that I would regret it if I didn't. I wanted to try to explain to Loren, but the nurse beat me to it and told him that it would give me closure.

I wanted closure. Really, I did. But what was even more compelling to me was that not once since she was born had I been able to really take care of her myself. This was a way for me to care for my baby girl for the first and last time.

I helped them bathe her body, and we picked out an outfit from the hospital's stash of newborn clothes. Together we measured her length, something that had never been done because it wasn't medically relevant. She was just shy of 20 inches.

They clipped a bit of her hair for us to keep, and we made handprints and footprints in her journal. They gave us a beautiful keepsake box to hold on to the molds they had made of her foot while we had been away the night before. In it, we also placed the gown she was wearing as she passed from this life into the next, her journal, the little bit of her hair, and pictures of her that were made at the hospital.

We took pictures of us holding her, and we stood and looked at the tiny body that had once been the home of Abigail's spirit.

It was hard to actually walk away. She was all tucked into blankets, with her little stuffed animals all around her in the isolette.

There was a hospital chaplain there with us. Judy had called him before Abigail passed, and when we met him he told us he would be there whenever we were ready for him. When we were finally ready to go, we went to the chapel with the chaplain and our sweet nurse, Judy. We asked the chaplain (I'm sad that I can't remember his name. He was so kind.) if we could sing some songs together and share verses among ourselves. So that's what we did until well after midnight. We prayed and thanked God for giving us the beautiful gift of our sweet Abigail Noel. We thanked Him for having a plan for her life, and for loving us through the most difficult time of our lives. It was a worship service, and it held such healing for our freshly wounded hearts.

Loved to the end

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 16:31:00 +0000

They had told us it wouldn't take long. She might breathe on her own for 20 minutes. We had made the impossible decision. It really was the only choice we could make. Every other option was to leave her to a long and painful death. She was already in so much pain.

They could hold her for us, they said. Children's Healthcare never lets a baby pass without someone cuddling her. I tried to understand what kind of emotional detachment a parent would have for not taking every last opportunity to let their baby know how much they loved her. I would not allow myself to linger upon the thought that it was cowardly and cold.

Can it ever be easy to hold your child as she struggles for her last breath? No. Never. But we would do that most difficult thing. We would hand her over into the loving arms of her Heavenly Father ourselves.

Waking up that morning was so hard. I didn't want the day to begin, because I knew it would be the last day of our sweet Abigail's life. I still prayed, believing for her healing. But I knew in my heart that God was going to take her home.

I didn't want to go to the hospital. I didn't want to go to her room. I was worried that they would rush us, and I wanted to savor every painful and heartrending moment of our precious little time left together. I guess those kind people caring so beautifully for our baby knew and understood all of that. We had told them the night before that today would be the day. But when we arrived, they did not mention it. They were so wonderful.

We spent most of the day with her, letting all the family have a chance to hold her. We read to her, talked to her, sang. When it came time to remove the tube, we finally gave the nurse, Judy, the go-ahead to extubate. They might as well have removed mine too. It was so hard to breathe. I felt her pain as my own. Soon everyone but Loren and me left. It was a private time.

Loren and I held her. We read to her from Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go and from the Bible. We told her everything you could imagine a parent would want their child to know about life and our family and our loving Creator who had created her for a purpose. She would meet Him soon. We sang to her one of our favorite songs to sing with our other children: "This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." Our voices choked up as we sang it, but we pressed on.

Minutes turned into hours, and she still was with us. Judy came in to make some notes and stuff (she mostly just left us alone, telling us to call her if we wanted her for anything). She could read in our eyes the question. Why was Abigail still with us? I wanted to believe maybe she was gonna keep on breathing, just like I had prayed. Judy explained to us that babies whose parents hold them and love them take longer to pass. They hold on harder. They fight harder. They know we don't want them to go. But they do eventually lose the fight.

When Judy left, we held Abigail tighter and told her that it was ok for her to let go. But she held on still. And so did we.

Meanwhile, my dad had gone to the store to buy me some ibuprofen because someone had stolen my pain pills out of my purse when I left it in Abigail's room. I couldn't believe how calloused someone would be to steal medicine from a woman whose baby was dying. The only people with access to the room were the nurses and the janitorial staff. When Daddy called to tell me he had my medicine, he wanted me to meet him out in the lobby because he couldn't bear to see his granddaughter dying.

When I tore myself away from Abigail's room, her heart rate had been a steady 140 bpm. I went and fetched the medicine, indulged in a long embrace from my daddy, and headed back to my daughter and her daddy.

I walked into the room and was surprised to see a look on Loren's face that I cannot even describe. There were tears in his eyes as he said, "I didn't think you were going to make it back in time." I looked frantically at the monitor. Her heart rate was now 40 bpm. She was going, and fast. We watched helplessly as her labored breaths became farther and farther apart, and then finally ceased altogether. Incredibly, the monitor still registered 40 bpm. Her lips were blue, and she was growing colder in our arms. We looked at each other and at Abigail, wondering what was going on. After a few moments, Judy came in and said she had been watching the monitor and wanted to listen for a heartbeat. She could not find one. She explained that the monitor could still pick up residual electrical impulses and interpret them as a heartbeat.

Abigail's doctor had just gone home for the night, and they had to call her back so she could call time of death. It was finished.

Bye for now

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 06:08:00 +0000

On December 12th, Abigail Noel Hankins was born an unexpectedly very sick little baby. On December 17th, we learned that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her. On December 19th, we gathered all our family together to witness as we dedicated her to our Father in Heaven. Pastor Scott Sheppard came to Atlanta to perform the dedication service, and we asked him difficult questions.

If we knew that it was never too late for God to heal her, was it OK to let them remove her breathing tube? Could we do that and still be practicing faith?

He looked me in the eyes and asked me an even more difficult question. What do you feel Abigail needs?

I had to breathe a prayer for strength to say what I really knew deep within. Abigail was tired. She had fought so hard. She had been through so much pain, and all there was left for her besides our love was more pain and inevitably death. I didn't want to admit it, but I could see that she was even losing her natural newborn reflexes. There was no doubt in my mind that it was time to let her go and pray for a miracle.

Pastor Scott assured us that it was no lack of faith. He knew what we knew, and that was the simple and unquestionable fact that God could heal her with or without that breathing tube...and if it was His will for her life, that was exactly what He would do.

He proceeded to bless her, and to bless us. We promised to give her fully to our Lord no matter what. We dedicated ourselves to this, and our daughter to the Sovereign God who was already holding her in His heart. Pastor Scott wrote something beautiful in Abigail's journal, and I wanted to share it with you.

Dear Abigail,
What a beautiful little girl you are. Everyone is so very proud of you! The blessing these few days has been to your family and friends is a gift from God all wrapped up in "you." I am so sure God knows your every move and has your best interest in the center of His heart! Hey as pretty as you are he has to have your picture on his wall. Listen, I need you to promise me, if you get to see Jesus before me, tell Him how much I love Him. P.S. You are doing everything God wants you to do for your family. Keep up the good work! You are a special little Princess. Elizabeth, Hope, and Harrison wanted me to tell you hello and give you hugs and kisses. Bye for now, and God bless you forever.
Pastor Scott

I was standing nearby when he finished writing and stood up. He leaned over Abigail and kissed her head, then he whispered in her ear, "Keep on breathing!" I held on to those words. I prayed them over and over as I held her swollen little hand and breathed in the smell of Johnson's baby lotion that we had smoothed over her dry skin. I prayed them all that night and all the next day as we prepared to do what we had to do. Lord, just let her keep on breathing.

I thought I'd also share with you the note I wrote in her journal that evening too.

Dear Abigail,
You bring me such joy. It is amazing that it can hurt so much. I'm still praying for a miracle, but if you need to rest in God, that's a miracle too. Your light shines.
Mommy

Faith not built on circumstances

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 15:13:00 +0000

I remember sitting in the NICU/PICU waiting room the day after we found out that Abigail would not live. I had been pumping colostrum for her every few hours ever since she was born. Now I knew that she would never get to have it. Sitting there in that room full of people I didn't know, I felt my milk let down for the first time since she was born. My other children were playing a video game a few feet away, and my parents were standing with them. I sat there alone, feeling a very physical tie to my newborn baby girl. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to let her nurse. I wanted her to just live. I felt invisible as I sat there and cried. Why couldn't I shout to all these people in this room that my baby was going to die? I didn't want pity. I just wanted everyone to know...to care. I wanted them to think about her. Does that make sense?

Our children had been staying with some friends because we couldn't take them to visit Abigail since it was cold/flu season. But once the doctors knew Abigail was not going to make it, they told us we could bring her brothers and sister to meet her. We brought them into her little room and let them all see her and touch her. Joshua got to hold her for a little bit. Here is her swollen foot against his hand.

We explained to them that she wouldn't be coming home. It was so hard. They needed to understand that there was nothing more to be done for their baby sister, but they couldn't understand it. Couldn't the doctors keep trying? Couldn't they give her a bandaid?

Joshua, the oldest, was only 5. He had a basic understanding of death, having seen dead bugs and such. He realized that it was final. But he couldn't understand why a baby would die. Daniel was 3, and he really just wasn't very interested in the new baby. He never did really grieve her at all. Rachael had just turned 2 the month before. She was so excited about having a little sister. She didn't understand death at all. For weeks after Abigail passed away, she would come to me and say, "Mommy, wanna go see baby sister. I get my coat, ok?" I had to keep explaining to her that we could not see her again. I had to hold her as she cried. She just thought I was saying no. She couldn't understand that Abigail was actually gone.

The grief counselors at Egleston (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta) had explained to us that the children would have to go through the grieving process over and over again as they grew. They would reach developmental levels that would cause them to reevaluate their whole understanding of death, and they would have to grieve again. I was thankful that they had prepared us for this, but nothing prepared me for Joshua's question a year after Abigail had passed away.

We were driving to a friend's house, and I looked back and noticed that Joshua had tears in his eyes. I asked him what was wrong. There was a look of accusation in his eyes as he said, "Mama, I remember you telling me that if Abigail was born before Christmas she might not live. Why did you let them take her out of your belly? You knew she could die!" Earlier in my pregnancy, I had been trying to give him a frame of reference for when she would be born. I had told him it would be after Thanksgiving, after Christmas, and after New Years. He had asked why it had to be so long, and I had explained to him that she needed time to develop and if she came too early she might not live.

So now he wanted to know why I had let the doctors take her early. He thought I had not protected her the way I should have. I was prepared for all the questions about death. I was prepared when Joshua would walk up to perfect strangers in restaurants and tell them that his baby sister had just died. I was prepared for their not knowing what to say. I was prepared for nightly tears on Rachael's pillow. I was prepared for Daniel's apparent lack of concern about it all. But knowing that my precious little boy was grappling with the idea that his mama had caused his sister to die...it caught my breath. I had to swallow away the choking feeling in my throat. I had to blink back the tears. I had to stop the car.

Now Joshua was 6 years old. I explained it all to him all over again. Abigail was very sick in my belly. She was bleeding, and they had to get her out to try to save her. She would have died much sooner if they hadn't done it. They did everything they could do to save her.

"Well why didn't God heal her? We all prayed for her so much!" I took a deep breath. I asked God how I was supposed to explain this to him when I wasn't sure I understood it myself. I told Joshua that God had a plan for Abigail's life. His plan had been for Abigail to live a short life, but we had been so blessed by it. I told him how I had been able to minister to other women whose babies had died. I had been able to share the hope and peace that God can give in times of crisis. He began to grow into an understanding of how we can pray for God's will to be done and for His name to be exalted even when we don't get what we want. His understanding of God grew away from the idea of some genie who grants wishes when we pray. He also began to learn to trust that God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. It was the foundation of a faith not built on circumstances, and for that I can never be grateful enough.

A different kind of hope

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 14:23:00 +0000

How do you make a decision to let go? How do you give up on the hope you've held on to, that everything will be okay?

The doctor told us there was no hope. He said that even if, by some miracle, Abigail pulled through, she would be blind and have severe brain damage, perhaps even needing serious medical intervention just to live day to day.

I told Loren that I wanted another opinion. The other NICU doctor had always said more encouraging things from the very beginning. In fact, hearing from him was so different that I had my own names for these two doctors: Dr. Hope and Dr. Gloom. It was Dr. Gloom who sat us down and told us there was nothing they could do. But Dr. Hope had told me that Abigail's brain was young and still developing because she was born early. I wanted to believe that he meant she could be fine.

While I slept, Loren went and talked with Dr. Hope.

As I was waking up, I couldn't bring myself to move. I was tired, scared, and hurt. Lying on that little cot, I was separated by only a black curtain from other parents who were feeling all the same things. I didn't know their stories, and I barely recognized their faces. None of them had babies in the NICU, I knew, because in the 5 days I had been there I had never seen another parent come to be with their tiny babies.

I thought about the day before, when we heard a voice come over the loud speakers. "Code Blue, P.I.C.U....Code Blue, P.I.C.U" I thought about how I had walked toward the NICU a few minutes later, and there were nurses walking past us with red, tear-stained faces. We knew what had happened without even asking. They had held death at bay for as long as they could, but ultimately it had come. I had felt relieved knowing that my little baby was showing signs of improvement every day.

That was yesterday. Today had brought the death of my hope. I told God that I would still love Abigail even if she was severely handicapped. I knew He could hold us through that. I imagined our lives being redefined by the presence of a child who would never really grow up. I was ready for that. But I wasn't ready to let go.

Loren came and got me. He wanted me to go talk to Dr. Hope. When the doctor's eyes would not meet mine, I knew I didn't want to hear what he had to say. What he said didn't matter, and I can't even remember the words. It came down to this. Death was going to come to our baby girl. They could not say whether it would come in days or weeks, but it would come soon.

I would like to say that I immediately accepted this as the will of God for our lives, but I can't. I wanted to shut it all out. I wanted to fight. God could still heal our baby. I knew He could. No matter what the doctors said, Abigail's fate was in God's hands. He knew the plans He had for her.

That's what finally hit me. He knew. He knew what the plan for her life was. Verses started flowing through my mind, washing over me with peace. I started thinking of that old hymn, It is Well With My Soul: When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul. At the time, I did not know the story behind that song, but it ministered to me.

I had forgotten that my hope was in Him. I remembered the story of Job, and how he had said, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him." (Job 13:15) I prayed that God would save her life. That He would let us keep her. That He would miraculously make her whole. I would give Him all the glory, and praise His name. But if His plan for Abigail did not include a long life on earth, I would give Him all the glory, and praise His name.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from him. Ps 62:5

I remembered something said by Oswald Chambers. "No love of the natural heart is safe unless the human heart has been satisfied by God first." I committed myself then and there to dive into Jesus and find my soul's satisfaction in Him. Then my love for Abigail would be safe. Her life, and my hope, was His.

taking a break for Not Me Monday

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 17:28:00 +0000

I'm gonna take a break from my own thoughts and ponderings to tell you that I have been praying for a little baby boy named Stellan. He's 5 months old, and he is fighting for his life. I am praying that God will heal his little heart, and that He will hold his mama and the rest of his family in His comforting arms. His mama does this weekly blog carnival called Not Me! Monday, where people every week post little confessions about what they've been up to that week. This week we are coming together to let her know how our lives have been impacted by little Stellan over the last few days.

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her friend's blog to read what her friends have not been doing to remember Stellan this week.

This is not my very first Not Me! Monday post, nope. I haven't spent all week checking up on little baby Stellan and his mommy, not me. I haven't added the Mckmama group or Praying for Stellan groups to my facebook account, not me. I haven't mentioned him to all my friends or sent emails asking everyone to pray for him, not me. I haven't posted a Praying for Stellan button on my blog, no way, not me.

I didn't sit in my small group meeting this past Sunday evening at Pastor Steve's home and tell everyone about how I had prayed for Stellan while he was in his mama's womb and how he was once again fighting for his life and at the top of my prayer list, not me. We didn't circle up and pray together for this little guy and for his mama whose beautiful testimony of love and complete reliance on the God who gives and takes away is the very reason we are created. We didn't thank God for her and for the miracle of Stellan's birth and healing. We didn't all come out of there with teary eyes and hearts blessed by this family that none of us know.

I didn't get called aside by one of those friends to find that she also followed MckMama. I didn't greedily press her for details since I had not been able to log on yesterday, nope...not me.

I'm not fanatically in love with mamas who put their complete faith and trust in God when nothing makes sense...when they just want to be angry instead and then realize that they can be angry and trust at the same time...when they are faced with the knowledge that what they have is not really theirs after all and they just have to let go and believe that God has a purpose for even this...not me.

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 14:39:00 +0000

Once we were settled into the home that was provided by our new friends, we spent a few turbulent days between it and the NICU at Egleston.

I had procured a breast pump and was pumping every few hours, trying to preserve that precious small amount of colostrum for when Abigail was well enough to take it. I'm an avid breastfeeding fan, but I have always hated pumping. I've always been amazed by mothers who continue breastfeeding after putting their babies in childcare, and I've spent many moments wondering if I would have stuck with it like that if I weren't staying at home. But I found myself taking comfort in pumping for Abigail. It was really the only thing I could do for her at first. I couldn't hold her or even caress her swollen little body in the beginning. They stored all my little 2 ounce bags of colostrum with Abigail's name on them, encouraging me every time I turned one in with comments like, "Wow! You must be a pro! 2 ounces is a lot!" I couldn't wait for my milk to come in, because pumping out that colostrum was a major pain in my mommy parts.

Daily we were given little glimpses of hope. Abigail had been weaned off this medication and her dosage of that one had been lowered. She was on a regular respirator now, and was receiving fewer and fewer breaths per minute as she tried to breathe on her own. Her kidneys were not functioning, but there was time for that to come and they had options like dialysis and transplant.

It had been several days of getting little bits of encouraging news from one of the NICU doctors when we got the big blow. On day five, they had scheduled an ultrasound of her brain. They called us in to discuss the results, and when we got into the NICU we found that they had put Abigail into her own private little room there. The doctor sat us down next to her isolette and proceeded to tell us that our baby was bleeding into her brain stem. There was nothing they could do for her. Her kidneys still weren't functioning, and she was no longer a candidate for the other treatments because of the bleeding in her brain stem. That was when everything faded away except the sound of his voice echoing in my head. I was suddenly cold and trembling. He went on talking.

He didn't know exactly how much longer she would live. The bleeding in her brain stem would start shutting down her basic body functions like heartbeat and blood pressure, those things we don't consciously control. They could not feed her the IV nutrition any longer because her kidneys were not filtering. They had to stop giving her all but the most necessary medications. Her final passing would be caused by one of three things: because her kidneys weren't working she could die of toxins building up in her little body; because they couldn't feed her (because of the kidneys) she could starve to death; or she could die because of her other functions shutting down one by one. Or, we could post a DNR on her chart and remove the breathing tube to see how she did on her own. The Do Not Resuscitate meant that if she did not breathe on her own (which they expected she would not do for more than 20 minutes or so) there would be no medical intervention, and she would pass on to be with Jesus.

The doctor left, saying we had time to make our decision. I don't even remember if I cried. Loren was prepared to let her go. I didn't understand that. God could still work a miracle in her life, and we couldn't just give up on her! I was angry with my husband for being so quick to process it all. I was angry with him for not thinking of my feelings. I was angry with him for telling me that I needed to take a pain pill and a nap. I was absolutely certain that he couldn't possibly feel the pain I did, because he had not bonded with her before she was born like I had. He and my mom pressed me, though, and I took my pain pill, found an empty cot in the little sleeping area adjacent to the NICU waiting room, and waited for sleep to overtake me.

new friends

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 01:27:00 +0000

The first night after we arrived to visit our newborn baby girl at Egleston (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta), we were able to procure a room at the hospital. This was no small feat. There are a very limited number of rooms (and I use the term rooms lightly). They had these tiny closet-like rooms with a cot, and these were first come-first serve. The NICU waiting room receptionist snuck our name onto the list, knowing that mama who just had a C-section did not need to drive home or sleep in a waiting room chair. God bless her for that.

But it was not a proper place for us to camp out indefinitely (partially because we had to move out daily). I don't remember much about that experience, except that I was grateful for the opportunity, and I was grateful when it was over.

The next night, we had been told that my friend Valerye's mom could get us a room in the Atlanta hotel where she worked. What a blessing. While we were on our way back there, Valerye called and told us that instead, we would just stay the night with her parents whom we had never met. However, once we had arrived and introduced ourselves to Mary and Ed, they told us the most wonderful news. There was a home that was ready for us to stay in and have all to ourselves. Mary's aunt had recently passed away, and they were still working on going through her things and getting the house ready to sell. There was still power and water, and Mary and Ed had just stocked the fridge with some groceries for us. This home was to be ours for as long as we needed it to be near our baby.

The love I felt for these new friends was instant. But the feeling of being held so lovingly in my Father's arms was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. All the scriptures I had learned throughout my life came to me just as I needed them. A passage that I only remembered sketchily would flash through my mind, and I would look it up. These verses would minister to my heart, answer my deepest questions, and hold me up when otherwise I would have fallen. Loren and I clung to the promises, knowing that they were not promises that we would not experience deep pain or loss, but that our eternal God had a plan for Abigail's life...and for ours.

Reunion

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 14:44:00 +0000

When I next opened my eyes, it was nearly 7am. Before the cobwebs were even gone from my mind, I pressed my nurse's button and told them I was ready to go. I believe I was out of there in less than 20 minutes. My parents had spent the night at the hospital with me so we could leave right away. We had to go to Walmart to pick up a few things I needed, like some shoes to fit over my giant, swollen feet.

The drive to Atlanta was the most horrible part of that day. We were in a boxy old Jeep, and it shook mercilessly the whole way to Children's Healthcare (we call it Egleston around here). I choked down my tears of pain, and I reminded myself that we would be with Abigail soon. I had no idea what we would find when we got there. Every moment that I was awake, I was praying for the chance to hold my baby. But it was not to come that day.

We arrived at Egleston and found a wheelchair. It was such a strange feeling being pushed through the halls of that place. Obviously they had put much effort into making it feel fun and cheerful, but it was somber and maybe even erie to know that there were so many children inside those walls fighting for their very lives. I was wheeled past brightly colored children's artwork, a huge and fascinating fishtank, and a chapel where parents poured out their hearts to God...perhaps bargaining for their children's lives with heartful promises of good deeds.

Finally, we made it to the NICU lobby. After getting some pointers from the receptionist on how everything worked around there, we went through some doors and around a corner and through some more doors, finding ourselves in the NICU. We sterilized ourselves and put on masks and gloves and gowns, walked past isolettes holding the tiniest babies I ever saw, and made our way to Abigail. When my eyes found her, my heart sank, and I cried. She was so swollen that the skin over her belly was shiny and tight. Her entire body shook with the hundreds of breaths per minute being forced through her little lungs. My sweet hubby handed me a picture, taken the night before, of her tiny little hand inside his own. Her hand didn't even look the same any more. We took another one together:

I wanted to hold her, nurse her, sing to her. But it was not time. I had to settle for a kiss. It was more than I had been offered yet since she was born, and I took it greedily. Strangely, memories of the next few days are very mixed up in my mind. I may not put them all forth to you chronologically, but I think they will come together and form a picture of what happened and of everything that I kept in my heart. The story is full of blessing and hope, heartache and grief, and healing.

The Pain of Separation

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 18:15:00 +0000

They wanted to take my baby girl to Atlanta, a little more than an hour away. I knew she needed to go, and they needed an answer quickly. Abigail was on 100% oxygen to compensate for the lack of the proper machine, and pure oxygen carries all sorts of dangers. Already she was at risk for blindness from the time she had spent on it.

Loren and I made the decision to let her go. But it wasn't easy for me. I had just undergone a C-section, and I couldn't leave the hospital yet. How could I live with being so far from her. I needed to touch her...smell her sweet newborn smell...feel her heartbeat...before it was too late. I pleaded with God to keep her alive till I could join her.

And I couldn't bear the thought of her being with strangers. It was important to me that she have something to hold onto. I asked Loren to go with her. He wanted to stay here. We had the other children to think about, and how we were going to arrange childcare and transportation. Besides, there was nothing he could do for Abigail.

"You can let her know that her mama and daddy are still there and they love her. You can be available to tell me exactly what is happening. And you can help me feel like we are still together somehow." I don't know how to explain why this was so important to me. Maybe it wouldn't be to other people. But he agreed to go.

Pastor Steve offered to drive Loren to Atlanta. It was just the beginning of the many beautiful ways people supported us through this difficult time.

When the NICU ambulance from Children's Healthcare of Atlanta arrived at our hospital, the people who were going to transport her brought her to my room in her isolette to say goodbye. They were so sweet and hopeful. Their calmness and tenderness helped to ease my anxiety. The sense of urgency vanished for just a moment, and I took it all in. She was so beautiful, and so perfectly formed. It was the best I would ever see her look, and I treasure those few moments where her beauty could shine through all the machines and tubes and wires. But time was our enemy, and they took her away.

I will forever be grateful to my wonderful nurse from Labor and Delivery. Her name was Shelley, just like mine. When her shift in L&D was over, instead of going home, she stayed with me in our Family Care room. She held my hand, cried with me, and searched the hospital for some little clothes for Abigail. She nursed me with tender care, though I was no longer her patient. Another beautiful gift from a stranger.

Things progressed rapidly for my recovery. I was able to get up and walk, eat, and use the bathroom within around 8 hours. I had weaned myself completely off the Morphine, and I was taking my pain pills with less frequency. I don't know if it was because I was so ready to go be with Abigail, or if it was Divine intervention (maybe both). In fact, I was doing so well that the nurses called Dr. Sepesi and told him that I had all the markers of someone ready to go home. It had been less than 12 hours since my C-section. He was so understanding. He gave permission for me to be released after procuring my promise not to go home to my children, but to go straight to Children's Healthcare. I was to remain in a wheelchair, and I was to lie down when I felt fatigued. It was easy for me to agree to all this...I wanted to be healthy enough to care for her.

Excitedly, I called Loren to tell him Dr. Sepesi had agreed to discharge me. Have I mentioned that he was ever-practical throughout this ordeal? I cried as I listened to him tell me all the reasons he did not want me to come. There was nothing I could do there. I was in no condition to travel. It was dinner time, and I just needed to eat and get some rest. I could come in the morning, etc.

I was devastated. I argued with him. But Dr. Sepesi said it was ok! It won't help her for you to come right now. I wanted to hold her. You can hold her tomorrow. I wanted to hold her while she was still ALIVE. She'll make it til then. I didn't believe he could tell me that for sure. If the nurse says she'll still be alive when you get here in the morning, will you stay? I...guess so.

Abigail's nurse assured me that, although the outlook was uncertain at best, she was not in danger of passing during the night. Sobbing, I agreed to stay. My nurse got me something to calm my nerves and help me sleep. She told me she had my papers ready to sign as soon as my eyes opened in the morning. My mom made sure the room was packed up and everything was ready to pick up and go first thing, and I fell into fitful sleep.

Birth

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 14:24:00 +0000

When we arrived at the hospital, I got out and a man pushed a wheelchair to me. I was dressed in only a t-shirt and panties, with a towel covering the rest. Modesty had not even crossed my mind. He wheeled me straight to registration in the ER. That's what they do with pregnant women at our hospital. The woman at the desk asked me why I was there, and I don't remember what I was trying to say, but nothing really came out. My husband walked up after having parked the van, and said, "Did you tell her you are hemorrhaging?"

The woman asked me if my water had broken, and I said yes. She was up in an instant and getting me sent up to Labor and Delivery. This is when I finally remembered what I had heard in childbirth class again and again. At our hospital, the magic words to get things moving are, "My water broke."

Once we made it to Labor and Delivery, I remember trying to convince them that it was a large amount of blood. They just weren't listening. They decided to put me on a fetal monitor to check on the baby. When they first found the heartbeat, it was only about 40. But instead of rushing me for a C-section, they decided to "wait and see." Her heart rate soon went back up to about 140, and they were happier. But she still wasn't moving. I knew something was wrong.

At some point--my sense of time during all this is unreliable--a doctor walked in. I had made it a priority during my last few weeks of pregnancy to meet and get to know all the midwives in the midwifery where I was receiving my care. But the new, and very young, back-up physician...that's another story. He came and stood by the bed and explained that the baby's heart rate seemed too unresponsive. It was basically flatlined at 140. He felt like we needed to do an emergency C-section. I instantly agreed, but Loren, ever practical, started asking questions. I remember looking at him and saying, very convincingly, that I wanted the C-section right away.

He nodded his consent, but as the doctor was walking away, Loren asked, "Are you a praying man?" Dr. Sepesi stopped and turned, and said, "Yes. Yes, I am." He knelt and we all held hands, and this man we had never met instantly bonded our hearts with his own as he prayed fervently over me, our family, our baby's life, his hands as the surgeon, and the NICU team as they took over with the baby. His prayer was one spoken to a close friend and Savior, not a strange God in the sky. I was reminded that no matter the outcome, I still had a Comforter.

The nurses quickly prepped me for surgery, and they explained to me that I needed to go under general anesthesia in order to get the baby out faster. I consented, said goodbye to my husband after telling him to make sure he stayed with the baby, and fell asleep.

When I started to wake up, the nurse in my room had her back to me. I was trying to ask the hardest question of my life. "Is the baby okay?" But for some reason, it wasn't coming out right. It took me a minute or so to realize that I wasn't fully awake, but I had at least made some sound. The nurse asked me if I was in pain (I was), but I just asked again, "Is she okay? Did she make it?" She didn't know how to answer me, I could tell. Then Loren walked into the room. He could see I was in pain, and asked the nurse if she could give me something, but I said, "No, first tell me if she's okay!"

"She's alive," he said. "It's not good, but she is alive." I don't remember all the words. I only remember that I wanted to be with her. I was so afraid she would die before I ever got to tell her I loved her or kiss her head or hold her to my chest where she belonged. Somehow I got all the information that still floats around in my mind. I don't really remember who told me which details: She was 5 lbs 15 oz... She was nearly completely white at birth, needing immediate blood transfusions (the blood on my floor was hers)... They couldn't take her length measurements because it was not important to her medical care... She had pulmonary hypertension. Someone brought me a Polaroid picture of her.

At some point, they moved me from the recovery room to the family care room. I was wheeled straight passed the room where they were working on my baby. Loren came to me (this may have been before I was moved, I'm not sure) and told me that while they were giving her a transfusion she had hemorrhaged. Blood had come out of her eyes, nose, mouth, and vagina. This was not good. She had some sort of clotting disorder they thought. It was the most horrible thing for him to see, and for once, I was glad I had not been there. I had seen so much blood already.

So many details are all mixed up in my head, whether from the pain medication, the stress, or the amount of time that has passed. My mom and dad showed up early in the morning sometime. So did Pastor Steve Stringham from church. The senior pastor was out of town, but he called. Some other people visited, but I don't remember who exactly. I still had not even seen her. I remember calling my best friend, Valerye, to tell her the baby had been born. Her joyful exclamation was shortlived as I explained that the baby was not okay. She didn't know what to say.

Loren and I had disagreed over her name throughout the pregnancy. I had wanted to call her Abigail, and he had wanted to call her Sarah. He held my hand and caressed my face and told me he wanted me to decide her name. Really, there was nothing he could do for me, and he wanted to do something. It was a beautiful gift. I told him we should name her Sarah. This was my gift to him. But he understood why I said Sarah, and he said he wanted her name to be Abigail. So Baby Girl Hankins became Abigail Noel Hankins.

Finally, I was allowed to be wheeled in to see her. But I was not to touch her. Her fragile condition worsened in response to noises and touch. I'll never forget those first glances. She had cords everywhere, and she was still so white. The nurse allowed me a few moments to look at her before insisting that I get back to bed.

Later, a solemn looking doctor asked all our visitors to leave the room so she could talk with us. It seems like I remember us insisting that they be allowed to stay, but I don't recall whether they stayed or not. They had put our baby girl into an induced coma, she said. It was the only way she had a chance. She explained to us that Abigail needed a special breathing machine that our hospital did not have. They wanted to send her to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. There was a fancy ambulance headed our way. It was set up specially for transporting critically ill newborn infants.

Loren, ever practical, and not driven to thinking with his emotions even in times as tough as these, asked a question that took my breath away. "Do you really think we should? I mean, do you think there is a good chance of her survival, or do you think we should just let her go?" It was a question that angered me (you mean, give up on her?!) and then instantly convicted me that I may not have been thinking of what was best for our daughter. Should we make her life, however short or long, be full of painful procedures and cradled only by an isolette, or should we let her go peacefully in our loving arms?

The doctor's demeanor changed a bit. She relaxed forward, and said, "I believe in letting a baby go when there is no hope, and I understand how hard it is to even consider that, but I believe Abigail will have a decent chance if she goes to Atlanta."

I'm afraid I'll have to wait to share more. Thank you for your prayers and your patience, and mostly for your love which I can feel as I share.

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 04:22:00 +0000

As my story of life and loss continues, I want to take a moment to thank you all for being patient with me as I share with you my heart.

It was a Wenesday, Dec. 10, 2003, to be exact. I was 35 weeks pregnant and going in for my checkup and an ultrasound. With excitement about Christmas approaching, I drove to the midwives' office simply relishing the silence. I had been able to leave my three young children at home with family, my husband would be home from a business trip the next evening, and I knew we had much of our Christmas shopping done already. I was happy.

When the midwife was able to see me, things all looked great. Abigail/Sara (we had not yet decided) was finally head down, and she was already developed enough that the midwife felt confident in saying that if she came any time from then on, they would not try to stop my labor. YAY! I put my ultrasound pictures in my purse and rushed--no, hobbled--away in excitement. I had a strong feeling that she would come soon.

Of course, there was also this other feeling. I had fought it, and I had pushed it to the back of my mind all through my pregnancy. But it was there: the gnawing feeling of something bad to come. I had woken up sweating more than a few nights, having dreamed that something terrible had happened. I never knew what it was. Anyway, I knew that being pregnant always carried with it some amount of nervousness, and that's all this was. I was nervous.

I went to church that evening and shared with everyone the pictures of my baby girl who would be born quite soon. I was certain of it.

The next morning, I had a renewed energy. I was cleaning and straightening and trying to make everything perfect for when my sweet hubby came home that evening. My mother and my brothers were there, and they kept telling me to take it easy. Loren would understand if there were a few toys still on the floor and the cabinets weren't wiped down. There was no need to mop tonight...it could wait. And they were right. I was reaching up into a high cabinet to put something away, and I had a strange pain.

I figured I would sit down for a while, and it would go away and I could keep cleaning. But it kept on, so I decided to take some Tylenol and rest on the couch until my hubby showed up. The kids were all in bed asleep, and I tried to watch a little TV to get my mind off the pain.

When Loren got home, it was about 11pm, and I was still in a great deal of pain. I told him I wanted to go to the hospital, but he convinced me that I had just pulled something and needed to go to bed. About an hour or so after we went up to bed, one of the children woke up and realized that daddy must be home. Loren had missed the children and decided to go lie down in their room with them (they all three shared a bed). I finally went to sleep.

At 2am, I woke up to the feeling of having wet myself. I figured that the baby had just given me a jab to the bladder, and so I got up to go to the bathroom. There it was again: a tiny leak of fluid. Awake now, I instantly knew what it was, and went to get Loren. I was excited. I had been right...she was coming soon!

As Loren was crawling out of the bed, I said "My water just broke! We're gonna have a baby!" Then I flipped on the hallway light and looked down. To my horror, it was thick, red blood running down my legs. I quickly stepped into the bathroom, and immediately a huge gush of fluid and blood splashed out onto the floor. So much blood! This was not right. Then I suddenly realized...she wasn't moving. The baby had not moved at all since I got up. Oh, God, please let her be ok!

Loren was trying to call 911, but one of the phones had been left off the hook downstairs. He finally found it, and called to tell them that I was hemorrhaging. The dispatcher said, "She's bleeding?" Loren snapped, "Well, that's what hemorrhaging usually means! Yes!" I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I tried to call my midwife and got the answering service, of course. When she finally called me back, I had decided that I didn't know if it was me that was bleeding or the baby. I didn't feel at all faint, and it was a lot of blood.

The midwife started in with the speech. "You know...when your water breaks, a little bit of blood can look like so much blood." I told her, "YOU know that this is my 4th baby, and I should be able to tell by now what blood looks like. And the baby is not moving!" She asked me if I could jostle the baby to see if she would respond. When I put my hand on my belly, it was as if I were grabbing a baby wrapped in a blanket. All the fluid was gone, and I could literally feel the shape of her body. I grabbed her by the shoulder and gently moved her back and forth. No response.

By then, my parents were awake (we all live together). Loren had gone into their room tearing it apart looking for the phone that was off the hook. I don't remember how we told them what was happening. I wanted to be strong for them. No, I wanted to cry and let them hold me and tell me it would be ok. Then, I wanted to be strong for our baby girl, and for our children upstairs sleeping.

I asked the midwife if there was any reason to wait for the ambulance. We could get there so much faster ourselves. She told me to come on, and so we passed our ambulance on our way out of town. I was calculating in my head. The childbirth class told us that when there is internal bleeding, you have 17 minutes to get that baby out before brain damage starts to set in. Oh, God, how long had it been? Please, God, if she is alive let me know somehow!

There it was. It was very small, but she moved. I was certain. I grabbed my husband's hand and said, "She's alive. For now." I wished we could teleport ourselves to the hospital. Twenty minutes is such a long, long drive when your child's life is hanging in the balance. If we could just make it to the hospital.

As I type this, my whole body is trembling. I've never shared our story this way before. I'm sorry to leave it here, but I will have to because my tears are clouding my view. Again, thank you for being so patient with me.

Womb mates

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 19:37:00 +0000

Instead of sharing Abigail's birth story today, I want to share some things about the pregnancy itself. First, I became pregnant with her at a time of serious financial instability. Loren was working a job which only allowed him to be home on the weekends (most weekends, anyway). Then, one Monday morning after I dropped him off at work to go away again, he called me to come straight back and get him. His boss had called him into the office and told him that they didn't have any more work for him but might have more work in the spring. He was unemployed for about three months, looking for work, and doing odd jobs here and there. We, of course, were not eager to have a baby in this situation. But we've never been successful at waiting for our own timing to have a baby. I guess God's timing supercedes our own. :)

Shortly after I found out I was pregnant, I told Joshua (our oldest and the only one old enough to really understand) that we were going to have another baby. I asked him if he wanted us to have another boy or another girl. He said, "Both." I asked him "You want to have two babies?" That's when he told me there were three babies in my belly. I argued with him, but he was insistent that there were three. I told him that he would be able to see later when I had my ultrasound.

When I went in for my early ultrasound (I have irregular cycles so they had to date the pregnancy), I told the midwife what Joshua had said. She shrugged and said, "Well I guess we'll see!" This truly surprised me because I was thinking she would just get a laugh out of it, not consider it seriously! In the ultrasound room, she got really quiet. This being my 4th baby, I thought things looked a little odd, but I couldn't really tell why. When I asked what was wrong, she showed me a strong little heartbeat (Abigail's) and then she showed me a baby with no heartbeat and another mostly empty sac.

There had been three babies after all. One baby had already reabsorbed into my system. The other was still there, but had recently passed away. I have to be completely honest with you. I didn't really grieve these babies. I had not been aware of them, had not expected them, had not bonded with them, or even the idea of them. And, frankly, I was thinking how difficult carrying and caring for triplets would have been. Besides, here was a perfectly healthy little baby, complete with a steady heartbeat. I was okay.

I even told everyone, "Can you believe I was carrying triplets? God really knew what He was doing! I definitely did NOT need three more babies right now!" Maybe if I had known how things would turn out, I may have felt differently, but for then, I was just happy to have (only) one healthy baby.

When the doctor, whom I had not met prior to the delivery, came to talk to me after the C-section, he told me he had found what looked like a tiny, calcified baby along with Abigail. He had not known about the other babies. Here again, I wasn't all that moved by this news because I was in a great deal of pain and was entirely consumed with my concern for Abigail's health.

When I went back to the doctor for my 6 week check-up, I did talk to him about this other baby, and he gave me a few more details as to the baby's size and such. I remember asking him if there was any way I could see the baby, but I don't remember if that was after the birth or during the 6 wk checkup. They did not have the other baby and had not taken a picture.

I have been asked by a couple of people whether I had ever named these other babies. I hope that no one misunderstands or is offended when I say this, but I've never felt the need to do so. I'm not sure why. I have never really felt a sense of loss with these babies. Maybe that's only because the circumstances surrounding Abigail's birth and death were consuming all my emotions. Maybe it's because I never had a chance to develop hopes or feelings for them before finding out they were already gone.

But I can tell you that I do look forward to one day finding out whether I have more little girls in Heaven or little boys. And I take comfort in the thought that they are all three together there, just as they were once together inside of me.

Ending on a lighter note, my midwife told me I should be careful to listen to Joshua. He seems to have a perceptive nature that is rather amazing. And if you ever ask him, he's quick to tell you that he has three siblings in Heaven. He's really fond of saying that we have as many kids as Jon & Kate plus 8. :0) God bless him!

Okay, more tomorrow.

Bring the Rain...part 2

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 19:06:00 +0000

Somehow, I managed to put the wrong date on yesterday's post, so it posted as if I wrote it in August. I have remedied that now. So if you missed it, you'll want to scroll down and read it first. For those of you who got it, I know I promised that I'd share the story of Abigail's birth today, but unfortunately I smashed my right hand in the seam of my garage door today. So I hope you will be satisfied with the portion I had already typed before my unfortunate mishap. I don't enjoy typing with one hand. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow. So, here goes.

Please bear with me as I begin with a little background.
My husband, Loren, and I were married during the summer between our Sophomore and Junior years of college. Although I wanted a large family with lots of children right away, I went on the pill in hopes of postponing this phase of our lives till after college was over. It didn't work. We conceived our first baby only a month and a half after we were married.

The little guy was quite a surprise, but also a joy, and I know that God put him in our lives at that time for a reason. I even believe I know what that reason was, but perhaps that's for another post. We both knew right away that we could love someone fiercely and totally for the rest of our lives, and we thank God for the blessing that is Joshua.

Only a year after Joshua was born, I started getting sick in a painfully familiar way. Nine and a half months later, our second little blessing was tugged into the world. He came into our lives at a time of great uncertainty for us, but loving Daniel has been an amazing journey and we wouldn't trade it for anything.

Finding out I was pregnant for a third time was a bit unnerving because I had been through a near-fatal illness after Daniel was born, and no one knew how my body would react. I had to undergo a few extra tests, but everything seemed grand, and five days before Thanksgiving, Rachael came into our lives. At 9lbs 13 oz, she got stuck tight and when the midwives finally dislodged her, she was nearly lifeless and I was hemorrhaging and drifting in and out of consciousness. But before long, everything was OK, and she lost no time in stealing our hearts.

So sorry, but this is as far as I got. More tomorrow...or maybe Monday, okay?

Bring the Rain...it's time

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 00:53:00 +0000

I don't know about you, but sometimes there are things that I know I'm supposed to do, except I just really don't feel... ready, equipped, qualified, or even willing. This is the first post in a series that I'm not even sure I want to write. It's too raw, too personal, maybe even too private. It demands that I reach down into a place that I'd rather not reach into. It insists that I share a partly private pain that I'd rather not share. Maybe I'm afraid of being pitied. Perhaps I'm thinking that I'll relate to other women in a way I'm not ready. Maybe I have concerns that I'm holding on to something I should really...release.

Whatever my deep and truest reasons may be, I ask you to pray for me as I pour out to you a pain that time may lessen but will never heal. This seems a fitting time to me, because it all began five years ago tomorrow. Many of you know the background on this, some more painfully well than other. Bear with me as I share with you my heart on losing our daughter Abigail Noel Hankins. Because this is difficult, and because I need to maintain my composure around my children, this will take place over the course of a few posts rather than one. I will try to share as much as I can, as soon as I can.

Tonight, we will be celebrating her birthday, as we always do, at Chuck-E-Cheese's. We're celebrating a day early for a variety of reasons, but the main parts of the celebration will remain the same. We'll head to CiCi's for some cheap pizza, then across the street to Chuck-E's. We'll walk in the door, and we'll tell the greeter that we're there for a birthday party. They will reach for a baloon and a hat and ask us who's having a birthday, and our children will all yell out "Our sister Abigail."

Usually, the greeter will scan the children looking for the birthday girl, and our more vocal children will say "She's not here. She died. But it's her birthday!" The poor greeters usually don't know what to say to that besides, "Oh, okay, well here's her cup of tokens." Not much eye contact with that one.

We all file in with close family and friends, find a table, and set the kids loose to play. Later, we round them all up, gather around some cupcakes, and pray and thank God for the short time we had with a child we loved so dearly, and for the time He has allowed us to hold on to the ones we have here with us. We can never take it for granted any more.

We give each of our kids a small gift in remembrance of their sister, whom some never even met and others met only briefly at a very young age. It is not as easy for them to understand that a part of our family is missing as it is for us who remember it as both adults and as parents, but they understand one thing very well: the love we have for the sister they lost is as real and strong today as it has ever been, and the love we have for all of them will never change. They also understand that their mama and daddy have made a pledge to do everything possible to remember Abigail with celebration and song. It is our tribute to her little life and to the important lessons she taught us in such a short time.

So for today, celebrate with me the life of our baby girl. And for those of you who have lived through losses of your own, know that I am celebrating their lives with you as well.

Tomorrow, on her birthday, I will share with you the story of her birth.

Jobs you can't quit

Nelle78@gmail.com (Shelley) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 01:06:00 +0000

A few months ago, my hubby and I told our church that we wanted to resign my position as the Early Childhood Ministries Coordinator. But we weren't really sure we wanted to quit (I say we because we work as a team even though I'm the one on staff). We needed the money, honestly, and we loved the job itself. We were committed to the children, and to our church. But the time constraints as well as the continued changes in expectations for our family kept pressuring us more and more, and we were having some difficulties with our work relationships for a while. So after being a little wishy-washy about if and when we truly wanted to quit, we finally put in our resignation for the end of November.

That was over a month ago, and many things have changed...many things have improved. But, though Loren and I are still torn over what we want, we really feel moved to release the reins and take a back seat. So our last day was supposed to be Nov. 30.

Then it was... could we work through Dec. 7...then the 14th...then the end of the year. Loren and I love our work, and the kids we take care of, and we've put an awful lot of time and heart into remodeling the building and redefining what we do with the children. We just can't bear to leave it in limbo while they try to find someone else. And of course, there's the gnawing feeling that we really don't want to leave anyway.

But we really need this change. We'll actually be able to go to church during the 9am service, and lead Praise Park during the 11am service. We are so excited about being able to meet people in the church and having the chance to recruit them as volunteers to pick up the spots that are still not filled. And as volunteers, we will have more options for our level of service. We are tossing around the idea of maybe working the 11am service on the 1st three Sundays of the month and having the 4th off as well as the 5th when they roll around 4 times a year.

Anyway, I guess that's information overload. The point is, there are some jobs you just can't quit. You have to kinda slide away slowly. And that's where we are. No idea how long it's gonna take. No prospects for a replacement. No way we can leave without spending some time walking the new person through it. But there is an added benefit to all this: A little extra money through the holidays is not a bad thing!