Over and over, since Jack's passing, as the Lord has poured out His grace on me, I've thought, "This must be it. God has healed me totally now." But then, mercifully, He keeps on making me better than I ever could have imagined long ago in those days of intense pain and mourning. I realize that there will be no neat bookends to my mourning. There will just be steps forward into Jesus's loving arms until I see Him and my sweet child face to face.
So today, another step forward, chapter 2:
I got up from the sonogram table to move to another room to wait for Dr. Jack. Stacy, the sister of one my best friends (Kristen) had been in the sonogram room the whole time. She was a radiology student. I had not known that she would be there that day. She spoke to me as I left and put her hand on my arm as I walked to the next room.
I called Eric at school to tell him. At first he didn't understand. I had to repeat what I said. He told me that he would come to me as quickly as he could. I can't imagine how long that car ride felt for him. I called Rachel again to tell her that we knew for certain now. She arrived shortly after.
Dr. Jack came back visibly shaken. My heart ached for him too. I could tell he was in just as much shock as we were. He struggled as he told me some of the possible reasons for his death, but that we might not ever know. He explained that they would run tests at the hospital. Because I was a nurse, he asked questions about anything I might have been exposed to while working.
We had many questions. I confessed to him that I had not felt baby Jack move over the weekend. I knew that something was wrong and that I didn't want to believe it was true. He told me that by the time I couldn't feel him move it would have been too late anyway. He explained that I would need to deliver the baby, just like I would if he had been alive and that he would induce my labor.
He wanted to send me to the hospital right away but I told him what Amber had said about the birthing ward overflowing with patients that day. He went out to call the administrator and came back and confirmed that it was still very busy there. I told him that I would rather go home and get my things together anyway and tell the older children and the rest of our family. I was booked for an induction the next morning and he made me promise to come back if I began having pain or was just upset and needed to come.
Eric arrived. We relayed what we had learned to him and sat for a while absorbing what was going on. Rachel took my van with her and I went home with Eric. The staff at the clinic helped us out the back way so that we wouldn't have to go through the waiting rooms.
There were many phone calls on the car ride home. Over and over, we called. I would start with, "Jack's gone." The recipient of that information was always confused. No one saw this coming. There was no buffering between health and happiness and the loss of it. I would repeat my words but would end up saying, "He's dead," because no one seemed to understand until I said that. That harsh 4-letter word that should only be heard on crime dramas or to describe car batteries had to be uttered about my baby boy.
I remember holding hands with Eric and praying in between phone calls. We were quiet. Every so often I would pray out loud, "God help us." I prayed those words at least a 1000 times in the next 72 hours. Eric kept telling me how sorry he was that I had to do this hard thing. I would waffle between telling him that we could do it together and then crying and pleading, "How am I going to do this, Lord?"
We went to pick up Tess and Ty at the elementary school. Eric had called ahead and Mrs. Janet had them ready for us to bring them to our car. Sweet Mrs. Janet. The children didn't know what was going on at this point so they asked a lot of questions. We tried to be chipper and put the news off until we could get them home.
We stopped at Eric's dad's house to tell him. When we got there, we realized that he already knew. Most anyone who knows us, knows "Papa". Papa's birthday is February 19th.
My mom heard the news from my stepdad, Phil, after Rachel called him from the doctor's office. She was now at the airport in Florida, trying to get to us as soon as possible.
My other sister, Emily, left school where she was teaching to go get Amelia from day school and brought her to meet us at home. Eric and I sat the children down on Ty's bed and told them that Jack would not be coming home like we had hoped and planned. We hugged them, held them and cried with them. Ty was 8 years old, Tess, 6, and Amelia was 2 1/2. We told them the truth as best we knew it at that time and tried to put it into words that they would understand. They had many questions but the one that sticks out the most is one that Tess asked.
"Mama, how come God can't just make him be back alive? Jesus raises people from the dead."
How could I answer it? I wanted to ask God the same question. I knew He is a healer. I wanted my baby back. I answered it the only way I knew how and as honestly as I could.
"I don't know, baby. I know that He could but I also know that sometimes He doesn't do that. Sometimes things happen that we aren't able to understand."
I began to move about packing for all of us. Emily was there helping and I remember having to stop and nearly doubled over in pain with a contraction. After experiencing a couple of those a few minutes apart, I decided to call the hospital to let them know that we would be coming on to Tupelo that night. The supervisor knew who I was when I called and assured me that they were not as busy now and had a room ready and waiting for me.
We hugged and kissed the children and made our way south with uncertainty and trembling.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment