Amelia Anne

  During my “Young Mom” years,  I was ever concerned with what others thought about the closeness of my kids ages and of the size of my family.  I tried to hide my new pregnancies for as long as possible.  When people asked me how many kids I had, I was always tempted to fudge my numbers.   I dreaded comments like,  “You do know how this happens don’t you?” 

  October 2009, I first learned of my ninth pregnancy.  Once again, I fell into my old routine.  I worried day and night about what people would say.  I did my best to hide my swelling belly, the nausea, the fatigue.  By December, when I finally shared my little secret, I had built a fortress dialogue; anticipating whatever came my way.   I told everyone that we were very happy and ready for our next addition.   Truly, many friends and family were loving and happy for us which helped balance those who weren’t.  Of course, comments like “What are you going to do with nine kids?”  still weighed heavily on me.

  The younger kids were especially excited, anxious for the new baby.  Their happiness was contagious.  During the weeks before Christmas we began roughing in a bedroom in the basement for one of the older kids,  making room for our new little bundle.  I started thinking about boy and girl names, wondering who was growing inside me. 

  On February 17, 2010 I went to my doctor’s office for my first scheduled ultrasound.  During both previous visits, the nurse and my doctor had struggled to hear my baby’s heart.  A few days prior to my appointment, a co-worker had noticed that my belly  “looked kinda small for a 5 month belly.”  I was becoming increasingly concerned about the amount of movement I was or wasn’t feeling from my little one.  I was looking forward to the ultrasound putting all my fears to rest. 

   Kelly, my technician,  came to get me from the waiting room, we chatted comfortably together as we prepared for the procedure.  She turned on the machine and laid the probe on my belly.  I immediately saw my baby, but it never occurred to me that the room remained silent.  After several seconds, Kelly turned away from the screen, her face stricken.  “I can’t find a heartbeat.”  I will always remember that moment.  “Oh, okay,”  I said weakly.   Kelly told me how sorry she was, she prayed with me, and went to find my doctor.  My head spun, all I wanted to do was turn back the clock to when my baby was still alive. 

  Dr. Hickner came in a few minutes later.  He hugged me, told me how sorry he was, and told briefly about what now had to happen.  Kelly had encouraged me to call Dwight to come and be with me, I did but he was unable to come.  Kathy, a grief counsellor and family friend, came in with literature for me.  She too, hugged me, told me how sorry she was, told me more about delivering my baby.  Within seconds, my whole life had changed.  I could hardly breath, let alone process it all.  I sat on the edge of the exam table, tears spilling down my cheeks, thoughts of telling my children filling my head.

  Kelly insisted on driving me home.  As we drove, my mind jumped from one thought to the next.  I wasn’t going to have a June baby after all.  I must not have been feeling little feet kicking.  No wonder me belly seemed small.  I kept forgetting to give Kelly directions to our house.  Once home, I thanked her, and walked numbly inside.  My mom had been watching Sam and Naomi.  Shocked and saddened, she did everything she could to help get the household under control for me.  I sat down, oblivious to everything around me. 

  Before I had left the office, Kathy had written down a favorite Bible verse that had helped her through the loss of her own son.  I opened my Bible to Isaiah 41:10.  “Fear thou not; for I am with thee:  be not dismayed for I am thy God:  I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness .”  And He did.  More than I could ever have hoped.  These words became some of my favorites as well.

  Through the delivery, He was with me; giving me peace and comfort.  Amelia Anne was born on February 19, 2010.  Dr. Hartman  quietly delivered her, telling me that she was a girl, perfect and beautiful.  She was.  Amazingly and perfectly formed; yet not squirming and crying, like I was used to.   I held her tiny little body, wrapped in a small blanket so tenderly by my nurse and friend, Heather.  How starkly different these moments were compared to 2 years earlier when she helped me deliver Naomi.  I would never rest Amelia’s soft downy head against my shoulder; she would never need me to comfort her.   Heather, gently stamped her tiny hands and feet in plaster,  sat on the side of my bed and cried with me.  

  Our pastors, family, and friends called and visited us, prayed with us, brought food, and cried with us.  We buried our sweet little girl a week later on a bitterly cold morning.  Pastor VanderZwaag spoke to us of the peace that came to David after he lost his child in 2 Samuel 12: 23.  “But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast?  can I bring him back again?  I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”  I couldn’t care for my daughter anymore, but what was my love for her compared the God’s?  And so He strengthened me.

  In the weeks and months that followed, I saw God’s promises in Isaiah 41 fulfilled in me over and over.  He daily gave me the will to get out of bed and care for my family.  Not only did friends and family lovingly carry us through, but others who had lost children before us stepped forward to offer support as well.  Unwittingly, we had become members of a Lost Child Support group.  People sent comforting cards, listing more of God’s promises to help me through.  Early on, one morning I heard the hymn, “Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my sorrows here.  Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment, I’ve no cause to worry or for fear.”    Another time, the hymn, “I need Thee every hour,” played from our CD player.  Truer words were never spoken.

  I stand amazed one year later.  Losing my baby has changed me forever.  I used to think that I didn’t cry easily.  Now I cry when I hear my children sing in church and realize that Amelia never will.  A sob breaks forth from within me as I watch a young bride walk down the aisle;  I will never see Amelia walk down the aisle.  However, I will never again be ashamed of the beautiful miracles of life that God gave me.  I will never again take them for granted.  I read a book last summer about a woman who lost her fouth child as I lost Amelia.  Her husband is a musician and together they wrote a song for their daughter.  The chorus refrain says it all.  “I will praise the One who chose me to carry you.”  I praise the Lord for the time I carried my daughter and the lessons she and He taught me.