“While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept, for I said, ‘Who knows whether the LORD will be gracious to me that the child may live?'” – 2 Samuel 12:22
“So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13
Hope
The last couple of blogs we looked at faith and love through the experiences of infertility and disability. Today we will talk about hope through the experience of death. Infertility can be a lonely experience. Having a child with Down’s Syndrome a “shock”. But words can’t describe the pain of losing a child. It is the darkest and deepest valley. At such a time sympathy is irrelevant. Only Truth will help you through.
As I mentioned previously, after struggling with infertility God decided to bless us with three daughters and a son, albeit spaced rather far apart. Around the time of our twenty-fifth anniversary, God decided to surprise us one more time. Our daughters had started to pressure us to adopt thinking we were too old to have any more children. Despite approaching the “Abraham and Sarah” age group, according to some, we were excited. How soon the excitement would give way to concern. Roughly twenty-two weeks into the pregnancy there were complications. At about the twenty-four-week mark our fifth child was born very prematurely. A fourth daughter we named Brooke. Brooke tipped the scales at 1 pound and eight ounces. What a journey this little blessing was going to take us on.
For years we prayed that God would bless us with children. The fervency of those prayers couldn’t match the desperation of the prayers we cried asking God to spare our child. Brooke’s little body was so underdeveloped internally that every day seemed to bring a new trial. Her health was so delicate that we could not hold her. To do so might endanger her life. If holding our daughter meant conceding, we chose to simply to look and “touch” through the little plastic “box”. Certainly not the way God “wires” us to nurture newborns but what else could we do? Like David, we could keep praying that our child might live.
We not only prayed, we held on to hope.
For every step forward, there seemed to be two back. Every encouraging sign seemed to be followed by a string of bad news, but like Abraham, “in hope, we believed against hope.” After all, we were once told we would probably never have children, and Brooke was now our fifth. We didn’t want to be naive, but we didn’t want to give up either. If only Brooke could communicate with us. If only God would give us clear direction. Were we fighting for the sanctity of life or were we being selfish? If dying is gain, what were we afraid of? How hard should we “push” our little girl?
Holding on to let go.
The day of reckoning finally came. It was a Friday, but not a good one. Much of the NICU staff asked for a special meeting with my wife and I. In no uncertain terms they told us they had never seen a baby survive with the statistics/vitals that Brooke had. According to them, Brooke was artificially kept alive by the ventilator. The time to concede had come. If the end was near, we could at least look forward to finally holding our daughter. How can we let go of that which we haven’t held? As much as I was anticipating holding her, deciding when to actually “Pull the plug” was a different story. Both would be emotionally charged.
The next day, arrangements were made for our immediate family to spend many hours in a private room with Brooke. I melted when I held her for the first time. But it didn’t compare with the privilege of seeing my wife hold Brooke. I am not sure there is anything more unnatural than for a mother not being able to hold her newborn child. After waiting for thirty-six days to witness it, I was greatly relieved. We were light years removed from her cry, “I just want to be a mother so bad.” Even though we knew the time was short, it was beautiful. Brooke’s sisters couldn’t wait to lavish her with affection. They too had pent up love to express. It was a memorable day, to say the least. Brooke’s nurse told us it was a miracle. According to her, there was no way Brooke should have been as alert as she seemed to be. Perhaps she was starving for the love she was finally receiving through meaningful contact.
Sunday. Resurrection day.
Now it was time for the extended families to meet their cousin/niece for the first and last time. As you might imagine it was very emotional. Not the way things are supposed to work in a perfect world. But these things happen in the world we live in. The mood was somber. What can really be said? When everyone finally left, God “spoke” through Brooke. As I was holding her in my arms she opened her little eyes. As her eyes met mine she lifted her arm and literally pushed the tube out of her mouth. In her condition, she wasn’t supposed to have the strength. In our condition, we didn’t. She was ready to go home. I immediately got up and placed her in my wife’s arms. That is where I wanted her to pass. Where else did Brooke belong? Brooke was not only in her mother’s arms for her last earthly breath, she was also in the arms of her Heavenly Father. He held her every day of her life, even when we couldn’t. He gives us a peace words can’t describe.
“But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.” – 2 Samuel 12:23
Although Brooke never made it home alive, her grave-site is visible from our house. Some day Caleb, my wife and I will be buried next to her. Our bodies will be buried, but not our hope. With Brooke’ death, David’s prayer gave way to David’s hope. We can’t bring Brooke back, but we shall go to her. There is no greater hope than that of the Christian resurrection. Even in our darkest valley, Truth was at our side every step of the way. Every time we felt we couldn’t take another step, He would extend His nail scarred hand. The hand He offered was Hope. We will hold it until our family is reunited in Heaven. There faith will become sight. Hope will spread it’s wings as enjoyment, and love will be made perfect. No need to fast and weep, God is gracious. Our daughter lives. I can’t wait to look her in the eye again, embrace her, and lavish her with love. What could be more natural in a perfect world?