Kelly Gerken, Author at Sufficient Grace Ministries

Walking With You – The Sea of Grief

February 11, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us over the years, for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven’t joined us our private Walking With You Facebook support group, and would like to, you are more than welcome. This week, we are sharing our first steps into the sea of grief.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: A time to be born and a time to die…A time to weep and a time to laugh…A time to mourn and a time to dance…

A Time To Weep…

Grief has many stages. It is different for everyone and seems to come at will with a life of its own. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to the emotions that spill forth. You cannot predict when it will come, although there are certain triggers that you may come to know as you swim in this sea. It is a struggle to visit these places of early grief and to feel the weight of that great sorrow. But for those walking in that place of new grief, it is so important to know that there is a God big enough to carry us through this, that no matter how forsaken we may feel, we are not, that we are not alone, and that we will not remain tossed about in this relentless sea forever.

From a previous post: In the beginning, I felt as if I were drowning. The sea of grief was relentless. Soon, I learned to tread water, though, and the sea became less rocky as I stopped resisting the waves. One day, I realized that I had learned to swim in this sea. The waves of grief still rushed in at times, but I was learning to be a stronger swimmer.

It was a sea of grief that seemed to be choking the life out of me. I flailed about those first days. From the moment they wheeled me out of the hospital, past the nursery, and into the world without my baby girls, I felt like I was drowning. One of the first stark realizations was that life would never really be the same, that Tim and I would never be the same.

At twenty-one years old, we didn’t have a lot of experience with death. We had lost grandparents and that was difficult. But, grandparents are supposed to die. Babies aren’t. While most of our peers still partied through careless days at college, we stood over the grave of our babies. Words cannot describe the ache, the physical ache that began with my arms and went straight to the depths of my heart and soul. If you are walking with us, I don’t have to describe it. You know it well.

I cried buckets of tears. Cried by day and cried in my sleep at night. I would wake up already crying, still reliving the moment I said good-bye to my girls. I was too weak and broken to function. I didn’t leave the house for a couple months. I didn’t answer the phone or the door in the early weeks. Ginny, my mother, and Tim formed a protective layer between me and the outside world. Flowers came and I would sob. Christmas ornaments in memory of Faith and Grace (born in November). Ginny answered the door. I curled up in sorrow.

I struggled with going to church. I went, but it was so hard. We had been praying for a miracle, believing for a miracle. And the miracle that happened was not the one we had asked for. I wasn’t angry with God. It just felt so tender. The worship songs…the scripture…the prayers. Everything pierced my broken heart, welling up the emotions that were always waiting just below the surface. It was so painful to enter the world without the identical twin daughters that should have filled our household with the abundance of all things baby girl. That’s what we had been preparing for, hoping for, praying for. Not this emptiness…this silence. Not this agony of missing.

It may sound as if I were grieving without hope. The truth is, I was just grieving. I knew God was the place to go with my sorrow, and I went to Him. But, the hurt was still there. It didn’t leave right away. There was not a quick fix. It needed to hurt. The tears needed to fall. I needed to talk about my babies, to feel the weight of their absence. And, yes…even to wallow a little.

As Christians, sometimes I think we expect people to just always feel joyful, as if they are a failure when they feel sorrow; as if they are lacking faith. I really struggled with that. The thing is, our world had been turned upside down. We didn’t know which end was up anymore. I often felt guilty that I was so overcome with sorrow, thinking I was a failure as a Christian. When I did feel a moment of joy, I felt guilty wondering what kind of a mother laughs after losing her baby. I learned that guilt is part of the journey. Knowing that didn’t make it go away. But in time, God did ease that guilt.

In the last several years, I have learned a lot about grieving. I have watched many people walk through the sea of sorrow, and I’ve returned there myself a couple times. Today, I don’t judge myself or others and the way we choose to walk this path. There is no magic timetable for grief or a right or wrong way to do it. And, when someone is walking this path, it is no time to judge their performance. They are just trying to survive it. Trying not to drown under the tumultuous waves that continually crash into us, over us, and all around us. It is a time for mercy and grace. Not judgment.

If you are someone reading this and wondering when your friend will get over the loss of her child, the answer is – never. She will never stop missing her baby. In time, God can comfort her sorrow, ease her pain, restore her joy…but for as long as she walks this earth, she will have moments of missing her baby. She is forever changed. Don’t rush her. Don’t try to tell her she needs to move on. Do not assume that because she is grieving a certain way, that she is doing it wrong. Avoid telling her how she should be walking this path. She may feel sorrow. She may feel nothing. She may be angry. She may have peace. Or a combination of all of the above. Just let her and love her.

And, if you are a mommy in the new stages of grief, overwhelmed with sorrow…wondering if you will feel this way forever…please know this: You are forever changed. But, over time, those changes will become a beautiful part of the tapestry of your life. You will always miss your baby, but you will adjust to a “new normal,” You will not feel like you are drowning forever. You will laugh again and take joy in the pleasures of life again…you will. Your life may be different, but it is not without hope.

With our son, Thomas, my grief was different. I was so blessed and comforted in the moments I had as Thomas’ mother. Still glowing from the presence of Jesus when he carried Thomas home, my heart experienced so much healing. It meant so much to me to be the one to hold him as he left this earth. I was so shocked by the loss of Faith and Grace, so robbed of the chance to mother them, that the moments I shared with Thomas healed that broken part of me. I felt assured that my babies were with Jesus, and for several days, I just basked in the glow of that promise.

The other reason my grief was different was that I was a little rebellious. I steadied myself, digging in my heels in resistance when the first waves did indeed rush in a few days after Thomas’ funeral. My breasts filled with milk, and again, there was no baby to feed. As if my body were weeping, nothing would stop the flow. But, while my body wept, I did not want to give in to the depth of the sorrow again.

When sobs would threaten and waves of grief rushed in, I would start to cry and just shake my head, saying “NO!” over and over. I did not ever want to feel that out of control again. So, I would not allow the sorrow to completely overtake me. Not because I’m so strong or some great pillar of faith. Mostly because I just didn’t want to be at grief’s mercy again.

After Thomas passed, we were in the midst of searching for a new church. In a way, that made the whole church thing a little easier. It was a refreshing change to be in a place where no one knew where we had walked; instead of the small town we lived in where everyone knew and avoided the subject (and sometimes us!) like the plague. Indeed, I wonder if they almost did think that something akin to a plague had come upon us. I mean, let’s face it. No one wants to think that babies die, not even one baby. But three babies in less than two years. I don’t blame them, really.

If you are being too hard on those who stay away, think for just a moment of something that you haven’t endured: something that could be your biggest fear. Something horrible and unthinkable. Would you want to visit that situation, and look into the face of that sorrow if you didn’t have to? Of course not. We won’t get into the fact that people are often insensitive and just don’t get it (at least not in this post). We’re actually going to give that subject it’s very own post.

Another thing we will save for another post (next week actually) is the fact that couples grieve differently. And this can cause stress on a marriage. After losing Faith and Grace, Tim and I were drawn closer. But, losing Thomas was so hard on Tim. It just seemed like too much after losing Faith and Grace. A sorrow settled upon our household for a time. I delved into scripture…seeking the Lord’s comfort. Desperate to understand. I will share further on in this grief journey of the anger that came after losing Thomas, and the healing that followed. But…these were the early days. Messy and imperfect…just like grief.

He has sent me (Jesus) to bind up the brokenhearted…To comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion-To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. – Isaiah 61:1b-3 Next week, we will talk a little about the struggles for couple who face grief. We will share a little about the father’s perspective and the strain on marriage after the loss of a child.

Walking With You – Naming Our Babies

February 10, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Originally posted July 16, 2009

Welcome to Walking With You. Today, we are sharing how we chose the names for our babies and any special meaning behind them. I have previously written about the reason we chose the names for our babies in a couple older posts. While I feel it is important to share our stories, I want to remain focused on the hope we have in the Lord. We do not grieve as those without hope. Our sweet babies are alive in heaven. And I look forward this week, to sharing something special about them – something joyful.

Each of us gave our sweet babies a gift, a gift with meaning, from the heart. The gift of a name. A name we continue to hold in our hearts until we meet again. A name we long to hear – a name we ache for the world to recognize. A name that says this life mattered; this person was here.

It still blesses my soul when I hear someone mention the names of my Faith, Grace, and Thomas. Even so many years later, I long to hear their names spoken. Let’s face it, we moms love to talk about our kids. We love to tell funny stories about the things they do. We love to take pride in their accomplishments and seek comfort when we are concerned for them. We love to see them soar – to spread their wings and fly. I love to watch James slide into home plate, hit the ball to the outfield. Love to watch Timothy keep his cool on the pitcher’s mound and steal home. I love to watch the natural beauty of his golf swing. Love when they make good choices, learn lessons from not-so-good choices, and laugh their individual laughs.

It’s no different for my children who are no longer on this earth. I love to hear their names, to talk about them and wonder what their life is like in heaven. I love to see the effect their lives have had on others. It sort of feels like I’m watching them spread their wings to fly when someone finds comfort in our journey. Whether our little ones are with us or not, we are moms just the same. And each of our sweet babies have a name.

Faith and Grace

For it is by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. ~ Ephesians 2:8-10

When I was expecting our twin daughters, Faith and Grace, there were many complications. I lay awake in a hospital bed for weeks, praying, waiting, hoping, resisting doubt and fear. When we heard that we were expecting identical twin daughters, almost immediately, Ephesians 2:8 came into my mind. For it is by grace through faith you have been saved…

Grace has always been my favorite name, and that verse has always spoken to my heart. It was not something I did to earn salvation, but a precious gift from our Savior. So, it seemed fitting. They no longer were known as Baby A and Baby B, but Faith Elizabeth and Grace Katherine. I’ve been talking a little about names and what it means to have someone know your name. Their names had deep meaning, and more than I even realized. Webster’s definition of grace: “unmerited help given to the people by God….”. Unmerited. Undeserved. Given freely, not because of anything we did or could ever do to earn it. Grace that covers us. Grace that is given to us daily in a sufficient portion to meet our needs. Abundant, beautiful grace. Grace that saves…grace that carries…grace that comforts. I learned about His grace through being their mother. And I kept learning long after they left this earth.

At first, I thought that they were just beautiful names from a meaningful verse. When asked by one of our doctors why I chose the names Faith and Grace, I said, “Because it’s going to take a lot of both to get through this!” But even their situation – twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome made sense with the words in the scripture. Because in the condition of twin-to-twin the “lines are crossed,” so to speak. One baby, (Faith) gets too much fluid, blood flow, and nourishment, and the other (Grace) doesn’t get enough. In essence, Grace literally received her nourishment, her life…through Faith. And they were intertwined. Needing one another for survival. Interesting…It is by grace through faith that we are saved.

What I didn’t know is that there would be more. Carrying and saying good-bye to my Faith and Grace was only the beginning of learning about the faith and grace spoken of in these verses.

Thomas

Carrying our Thomas, we learned about true faith. Not the pretty word we Christians throw around…thinking it has something to do with us. Somehow, if we just have enough faith. Oh boy, do we miss the boat on that one. True faith is not some pretty little thing. It is found in the nitty-gritty journey through this life. It is not never feeling doubt or fear, but trusting in God anyway, when you are most afraid and filled with doubt and questions. Trusting when you don’t see. Believing without seeing. Believing when you don’t get the answer you want or when there seems to be no answer at all. Praising Him in the storm. Trusting Him to carry you. Surrendering to the arms of our sovereign God. Blessing Him when He gives and when He takes away.

It’s not about how much faith I have or how strong it is. It’s about how mighty, able, powerful, all-knowing, merciful and good my God is. So many times, we want to see the miracles with our eyes. We want proof that He is there. Proof that He hasn’t forsaken us. Proof that He lives. Proof that He will carry us. Proof that His grace is sufficient.

We want to see. Never have I ached to see Him more than when we heard the words “incompatible with life” in reference to our son Thomas. I have shared about part of that journey before, but today, I want to focus on the precious gift Thomas’ life gave to us…the reason he is called Thomas. His life taught us about “believing without seeing.”

Now Thomas, called the Twin, one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore said to him, “We have seen the Lord.” So he said to them, “Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” And after eight days His disciples were again inside, and Thomas with them. Jesus came, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, “Peace to you!” Then He said to Thomas, “Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing.” And Thomas answered and said to Him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. ~ John 20:24-29

ADDED: I just realized I didn’t mention how we chose the names for our two boys that are with us. Timothy James is our firstborn. He is named after his father and grandfather. His name means “to honor God”. James Henry is also named after Tim’s and my grandfathers. He is our youngest son. His name (although not at all chosen because this. I actually didn’t know the meaning until this morning when I looked it up online.) means “to replace”. Interesting. To us, it is just a biblical name that also honored our family. I also forgot to mention the middle names of Faith, Grace, and Thomas. Faith Elizabeth (just because I liked how Elizabeth sounds with Faith). Grace Katherine (because my mom’s name is Kathy). Thomas Patrick (because my father’s name is Patrick).

Next post, we will be sharing about the early days of grief. We will spend a few weeks talking about different aspects and phases of grief and its effects on the relationships in our lives. We will choose specific subjects to focus on for that week.

Walking With You – A Precious Goodbye

February 10, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

This week, we are sharing about saying a precious goodbye to our sweet babies and experiencing the memorial service or funeral, if applicable. You may visit previous posts by clicking on the Walking With You tag below.

Sharing the Journey

Jesus said to her, I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this? ~ John 11:25-26 I have shared before that I do not visit the cemetery often. This week’s topic is a rather difficult place to re-visit, and one I generally avoid. I would much rather focus on the hope of heaven than on the seeming finality of the grave. Knowing that our eyes should be fixed not on the seen (physical world) but on the unseen (eternal, heavenly world). But, I do feel it is important to share the pieces of our journey because there is a reassurance in knowing that we are not alone on this walk. There is a healing in the telling of the story. And every piece of our journey is another part of the tapestry that God is weaving into our lives. And all of it has value and beauty…even if it’s the kind that comes from ashes.

Faith and Grace

The first time I heard the word funeral in regard to my children, I was in the delivery room. I remember thinking that it seemed cruel. I hadn’t thought past the delivering of my babies, still shocked that there would be a labor and delivery. I hadn’t decided if I would hold my girls. It all seemed so strange and foreign – so surreal. I didn’t know how one faced the death of a baby in a place where new life should exist. Now, they were saying that we needed to plan a funeral. I did hold my babies, as you know if you’ve been here before. And slowly the reality of what was happening sunk in. I realized that these were my children, and a funeral would indeed be necessary.

Still too weak and overwhelmed, too shocked and overcome with grief to plan a funeral, I left the planning to my mother. I asked that she find identical pink lace dresses with ribbons for the girls. She picked out the casket, met with the funeral home and shopped for the dresses (which has its own story, but I’ll share it another time.) I cried in my hospital bed. I asked our pastor to perform the graveside service.

We were very protective of Faith and Grace and of ourselves. We did not want anyone around us who may judge us or make an inappropriate comment about our girls. They were bruised and broken, although quite beautiful.

Our extended family is large and not always supportive of one another. Our parents are divorced and re-married. There was a lot of brokenness and tension. We just couldn’t accommodate all of that in the midst of our grief. Our mothers and stepfathers were there for a brief viewing the night before the funeral. We held each other and cried. My mother thought to take pictures. If those pictures would have turned out, they would be the only ones I would ever share with others (not because I am ashamed, but because we are protective parents)…but, sadly they did not turn out.

Faith and Grace looked beautiful, laying side by side in the white casket with pale pink lining in their pink lace dresses, and their dainty faces side-by-side. They had bonnets on their heads that were too big, but just made them even more precious. It was a dark gray day in early November. The chill in the air matched the chill in my heart. I can’t remember anything that was said by the pastor at our graveside service. I can only remember standing by the side of their grave…and the emptiness I felt. I stood with tears streaming down my face – frozen, unable to move away from the place where my daughters lay. Tim stood beside me in silence for a few moments.

“It’s time to go,” he said.

“I can’t,” I cried. “I can’t leave my babies here in this cold place. I don’t know how to do this.”

I felt his arms around me as he said, “They aren’t here. They are in heaven, and they will always be in our hearts.” Slowly, he led me away as I leaned on him for the strength to take each step.

Thomas

With Thomas, we were given the gift of time. We knew in advance that we should prepare for a funeral (even as we prayed for a miracle). I wish that I knew more than I did, but I certainly was more prepared than I was when we lost Faith and Grace. This time, I knew babies could die. I knew more than I wanted to know about what that was like. I chose the scriptures that I wanted read, the songs I wanted sung, the outfit he would wear, and the people who could attend.

Still protective of our grief and one another, I respected Tim’s desire that we keep the funeral private, inviting only a few people. I now wish we would have been able to have more people meet our Thomas. I think they would have a better understanding of our grief and the significance of this sweet life that was lost. And, I think they would have been blessed to know him – to meet our precious son. I also wish that we would have allowed Timothy (our son, who was 4 at the time) to be more involved. I wish I would have brought him to the hospital and included him in the entire funeral. I did bring him to the viewing and allow him to meet Thomas there.

Our friends Dan and Dinah were there. Our mothers and stepfathers, our brothers, and Ginny (the one who walked with me). Thomas was beautiful, taking our breath away. He was wearing a baby blue soft outfit I had chosen for him, and his casket was white, lined in blue. He was covered in a white blanket my mother made with her own hands, a cross with a little boy praying, and a little teddy bear dressed in blue. The day was beautiful…a blue sky with fluffy, billowing white clouds. A picture identical to the one we had chosen for the cover of Thomas’ program and thank you notes.

Our friend, Dan, gave a beautiful message, shared comforting scripture, and prayed. We all sang Amazing Grace. I had wanted to sing a song myself and was unsure if I would be able to. But, I stood and smiled as the breezed swept past my cheek and the sun shone on my face. When I opened my mouth to sing, the words poured out.

When this journey is finally over, And life’s sun sets at last, Will I find your hand in my hand? Oh and all life’s sorrows past. Just to stand in Thy fair city, With the multitudes unknown, Is the goal of my heart only, Just to sit before Your throne. Just to sit before Your throne. (Unsure of the name of the song or the author?) That’s all I can remember. The beauty of the day, the song on my lips, the peace in my heart, and the undeniable presence of the One who put it there.

…And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. ~Revelation 7:17b

Resources

If you are waiting for the birth of your baby, and facing the possibility of a funeral, there are some resources that may be helpful in the planning. Please just do what seems best for your family. Don’t worry about how others may view your decisions. They are not walking this path. It is yours to walk, and you are free to do it your way.

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us, for courageously sharing your stories. Join our support group to share your story here, or feel free to share your story in the comments.

Walking With You – Meeting Our Babies

February 6, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Thank you for joining us on Walking With You Blog series. This week, we will be sharing about meeting our babies – the birth and loss of our babies and the moments we spent with our children after they were born. I have been so touched to read each of your journeys and to pray for you on this walk over the years. If you are just joining us, we are mothers who have lost a baby and who are walking in different places on that path. We have joined together, that grieving moms may know that they do not walk alone. We will be meeting in our Walking With You Pregnancy, Infant, and Child Loss Facebook Support Group to pray for and encourage one another each other, sharing pieces of our journey, scriptures, resources, prayer requests, and more.

Sharing the Journey

Faith and Grace

After spending a couple weeks in the hospital with various complications stemming from twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, I was home recovering. I hadn’t felt active movement from the girls in a few hours. It was late in the evening and something didn’t seem quite right. I called my mom, and then Dr. C. and told Tim my concerns. Everyone was on alert in case we needed to go to the hospital. For some reason, that I have wondered since that day, I decided to go to bed and see how I felt in the morning.

In the morning, I was not feeling any movement. Tim was at work. So, my mother drove me to the hospital. We were not rushing. Not feeling a sense of urgency. We stopped to get gas. On the drive, I felt the sense of a slight flutter. Was it movement? It was hard to tell. Movements were hard to discern with all the excess fluid surrounding Faith and Grace.

They admitted me to the triage area and began to search for a heartbeat with the Doppler. I smiled and reassured the nurse that it was often hard to get a heartbeat on the Doppler because there was so much fluid. “They’re in there,” I said confidently. She went to get an ultrasound machine to make sure. This is where everything gets blurry. I wish my mother was here for me to ask about the details, so that I could share them more clearly. But, maybe they aren’t meant to be clear.

I think the nurse may have begun with the words, “I’m sorry…”. I don’t know what else came out. Maybe that “there is no heartbeat.” Maybe that they were gone. I don’t know, because at that moment her words were drowned out with a choking sob, a twisted, agonized, primal cry that was coming out my mouth in a voice that I didn’t recognize. The family on the other side of the curtain was being escorted away, so that my cries did not disturb the pregnant patient. The agony ripped through me with swift devastation. I heard that unrecognizable voice screaming, “No! My babies…”

Through the fog, I heard my mother talking to the nurse. Arguing. She was saying I could go home and wait or induce labor. My mother said I would not be sent home. Labor. The word cut through the fog. And slowly understanding permeated. I don’t know what I thought would happen…but labor was not on the list. It had never occurred to my twenty-one-year-old mind that I would have to endure labor and deliver babies that would never cry, nurse, or fill our house with life.

I guess I thought they would just put me to sleep and perform a C-section. But labor? How would I do that? Phone calls were made that I can’t remember. I called Tim and cried that they were gone. Our babies were gone. He sped to the hospital even though there was no need to hurry.

I was taken to a private room that would have been lovely under different circumstances. I showered and prepared to be induced. How, Lord? How will I have the strength to go through labor, knowing that I will not be rewarded with the glorious sounds of new life…but silence? How? Nurses spoke foreign words that had no place in the delivery room…words like stillborn and funeral. Burial. What were they talking about? It was more than I could process.

At some point in the early hours of labor, I looked out the window. There were giant, beautiful snowflakes – so perfect and beautiful – just like my Faith and Grace. Each one unique and created by God. They fell silently, peacefully, such a contrast to the turmoil in my heart. The peace washed over me, and I turned to face the next thing.

The labor. It was long, lasting through the night and the better part of the next day. Mom and Tim were there. On November 3, 1996, Faith was born first and minutes later Grace came. Silence. I held them in my arms, one in each. And although they were bruised and broken, I saw them as they were meant to be – beautiful. They looked like their brother, except a daintier more delicate version.

Tim leaned beside me as I held them and we cried together, allowing the brokenness to wash over us…forever changing our once young and invincible hearts. I sang Amazing Grace and prayed over them. My mother also held the girls and said hello and good-bye. Physically, there was relief, after all the struggles of carrying Faith and Grace. Emotionally, we were heartbroken, lost without our girls. We were expecting the unique honor of parenting identical twin daughters. And we were leaving the hospital with nothing, except a little care package with a tiny baby gown, some mementos, and a couple polaroids. The emptiness smothered me, and my arms ached with longing, as I was wheeled out of the hospital past the nursery where new babies cried.

Thomas

My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in your weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9

I had wondered from the time we heard the words “incompatible with life” how we would face another labor that ended without the sounds of a newborn baby cry. I had wondered if carrying Thomas was causing him harm. Wondered what we would be faced with the day we met our sweet boy. And my answers would come soon.

I was admitted to the hospital to induce labor at about 38 weeks gestation. My labor was long and intense. Contractions came fast and hard but were not effective. I dilated slowly, as I labored throughout the night. I read scripture and prayed, reciting scripture when I could no longer read. The waves of pain were like nothing I had experienced before.

I called the nurse telling her that I was going to throw up and needed a bucket. She gave me one of those tiny kidney shaped things that would hold a teaspoon, and said, “You’re fine. You’re not going to throw up.” No compassion. I felt the waves of nausea with the waves of pain, escalating as one. In a tangle of cords, I forced myself out of bed and drug the IV bag with me as I lunged toward the toilet, screaming in pain, I made it to the bathroom just in time. Tim had fallen asleep…and the nurse certainly wasn’t going to help. But I wasn’t alone.

I clung to the Lord, like never in my life. And He carried me through. He was my focal point. In the wee hours of the morning on July 14, 1998, an epidural brought sweet relief and a little rest. I opened my eyes to see the compassionate face of Dr. M, and I was wheeled into a special delivery room with an adjoining room where they could work on sick babies. I prayed throughout the pushing, and then – weighing in at more than four pounds- he was born. Alive.

“He has red hair!” Dr. M proclaimed as my boy was whisked away by the capable team. Praying, as tears streamed down my face, I was still asking for the miracle of Thomas’ life. I had wondered all those months what would meet me in the moments of Thomas’ birth, and the answer washed over me. The answer to the ugly question on that first day of the bad news, “Where is your God now?” The answer filled me with peace.

I knew the sufficient grace spoken of in scripture, as it surrounded and carried me. And the answer to that ugly question: “Where was my God”…He was right here. He met me here in this place. His grace was waiting. He sustained us. And His presence filled the room.

I was taken to a room to rest while they still worked to stabilize Thomas. With prayers still on my lips, I fell asleep, exhausted. Someone came to tell me that Thomas was stable and we could go see him. I needed some help getting eagerly into the wheelchair. I was about to meet my baby. And, when I did, he took my breath away. His beauty was astounding. I was afraid for so long and what I may see when I laid eyes on him. And, I had nothing to fear. He was breath-taking. Perfect. One of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen.

I leaned down and stroked his cheek, whispering that he wasn’t alone, that Jesus was with him, and his mommy was here. I held his hand and touched his head, kissing him softly (although, I sadly cannot remember that anymore. But my friend Ginny assures me I did). His lung collapsed and the machines that he was hooked up to, the ones sustaining his life, beeped and blinked. Alarms went off. The nurse rapidly informed me that they would have to work on Thomas, and I would need to go back to my room. They would get me when he was stable again.

I didn’t know about comfort care or birth plans. I knew I wanted time with my son, alive, if possible. I knew that I wanted them to make sure that there was nothing that could be done, before we let him go. Potter’s Syndrome is fatal, but I wanted them to make sure that he didn’t have kidneys, that there really was no way to sustain his life. Because if there was a way, I wanted them to save him.

They came to get me after some time went by, and I held my Thomas for the first time. The machines made his little body shudder as they breathed life into him. I asked if it hurt him. The nurse assured me that they were making him comfortable. As I held him in my arms, a sweet nurse snapped photos with a disposable camera. At just the right moment, he opened his eyes and looked up at me, just as she snapped the picture!

I talked to him and prayed over him with Tim beside me. I sang to him. After all the tests concluded that indeed Thomas did not have kidneys, and his lungs could in no way sustain his life, we handed him back to the nurses. They took me to a room to wait as they removed the machines sustaining his life on this earth. The nurse laid him in my arms, and I began rocking him and singing praise songs, and the most glorious peace and joy filled the room. “His grace is sufficient for me”. His presence was so evident, so real. It occurred to me that I had been given a great privilege. I had been chosen to sing to this beautiful baby as he went straight from my arms to the arms of Jesus. I will never forget the gift of those moments. I was blessed among women that day, blessed among mothers. There was so much healing in the meeting of my Thomas. An unspeakable gift.

There are many things that I wish I knew to do or felt more confident to do during my short time with my sweet babies on this earth. So, I want to share a little with you, here. Please contact a remembrance photographer. You may not think you will want pictures. You may feel shocked or think it will be too painful. Please just get the pictures anyway. Because you cannot get these moments back once they are gone. Also, I would suggest a birth plan stating your wishes before going in to deliver your baby. Plan for memories. We have several memory-making materials that are helpful for this and there are other places to go as well. Get as much as you can. Do as much as you can to cherish the time you are given.

Don’t let anyone talk you out of it or make you feel uncomfortable for your choices. I wanted to give my sweet Thomas a bath and a nurse said, “We don’t usually have our parents do that.” So, I didn’t. I immediately felt squished and like my request was strange. And I missed out because I let that nurse’s opinion rob my confidence.

Thanks so much for joining us again, and for allowing us the privilege of walking with you. Next post, we will be sharing about planning a funeral/memorial service, along with our memories of that day.

Walking With You – Waiting

February 6, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

This week we are sharing our experience after we heard the news that changed our lives. If you are joining us for the first time, or if this topic doesn’t apply to you, please share part of your journey anyway. I know the Lord will use our stories to encourage those walking this path.

If you are a mother who has heard the words incompatible with life, what happened next for you? Share about the waiting if your journey continued. How did you walk that path? What were some of your feelings? What did you do to form lasting memories? What were your struggles? Things you found comfort in? If you chose to induce labor and deliver the baby, rather than waiting, you are welcome to share your story, as well. Although we would encourage a mother to continue her pregnancy, if possible, this is a place to come for love, comfort, support, and healing. And all are welcome. We are all mothers who loved and wanted our babies, babies who are no longer with us. We want to minister to each other in the place we are in, no matter how we ended up here.

Sharing the Journey

Faith and Grace

My time waiting with Faith and Grace after the diagnosis of twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome was sort of a whirlwind and much of my time and energy was spent on survival. Mine and theirs. The size of my uterus was pushing on my organs – heart, lungs, stomach, all digestive areas, bladder – you name it. I was measuring more than 43 cm at just 20 weeks. And, that was a lot for my 5’3″ frame.

The magnesium sulfate was no fun and brought its fair share of unpleasantries to the table. I vomited bile and blood as my uterus stubbornly contracted, and the mag doses continued for about a week. They gave me various meds to help control my growing list of symptoms. I spent many hours that first week listening to women laboring in the rooms on the OB floor and would pray, thanking God for every newborn cry, wondering if my babies were born right now if I would be able to hear them cry. When I asked the nurse in the middle of the night, she shook her head… “Probably not…”

I was then transferred to a high-risk specialist who officially diagnosed the twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome and admitted me for an amniocentesis procedure to remove the fluid from the sac and relieve the twins from its effects, as well as my poor overwhelmed organs.

My uterus contracted painfully, and I shook uncontrollably. They drained liters of fluid from me, as med students surrounded my bed like I was a specimen. Except for one. One stepped out from among them and looked on me with compassion, speaking words of comfort. I spent another week or so vomiting blood that looked like coffee grounds as my esophagus was shredded.

During that week, I had daily ultrasounds to monitor my girls. We had named the “bigger twin” Faith and the “smaller” was Grace. I looked forward to that time each day, soaking in the images of my precious daughters. Faith would quietly suck her thumb and Grace swam wildly about, bumping her sister and everything else in her path. I knew them, because they were my own. I imagined Faith’s quiet strength…like her daddy. And Grace’s feisty spirit…like her mama and grandma Kathy. We dreamed of pink lace and ribbons and a nursery filled with two of everything.

Much of the rest of my time was spent just trying not to throw up and to endure the discomfort. My heart was palpitating. Sometimes it was hard to breathe. There was a lot of pain – contractions, discomfort, and the constant vomiting were taking their toll. My liver was starting to malfunction as well. Churches all over were praying for me and the girls, and we plowed on. After weeks of the vomiting and not eating, they began giving me nourishment through the IV, like someone may get in a coma, I think.

Then, just as quickly as the vomiting came, it stopped. My mother was bringing me sweetened iced tea. She had learned where it was on the floor so that I didn’t have to wait for the busy nurses. The other thing that sounded good was this popcorn that they sold in a big bag at the gas station in our hometown. Tim gladly brought me some. Much to the perplexed gastro-intestinal doctor’s dismay…gas station popcorn was the first food I kept down in weeks. And, it was wonderful.

I was released from the hospital with plans to return for an appointment a few days later. During an ultrasound, our doctors were concerned with the condition of Faith’s heart and sent us promptly to the pediatric heart specialist at another hospital. She was in heart failure. It was the first time that I let myself even consider that we might lose one of our babies – an unthinkable realization. Mine were going to be among the 20 percent that emerged from this syndrome unscathed. My mind had not even allowed the possibility that they wouldn’t make it to term. These were my girls – daughters from a long line of strong women. We had prayed and fought this battle hard. They would make it. But that day, I couldn’t catch my breath and the possibility smothered me. I was given steroid shots to hasten lung maturity and told that I would probably deliver soon.

Thomas

The news of Thomas’ life-limiting condition, Potter’s Syndrome, brought with it a choice. We were told that we had about a week to decide if we wanted to induce labor early, terminating the pregnancy or if we wanted to continue the pregnancy, knowing that our baby, short of a miracle, would die. There were four more months. I’ll be honest, the answer didn’t come right away for me.

Yes, I am a pro-life Christian. But, this didn’t seem so black and white. At least not the way it was presented. The doctors had described what happens to babies who grow in a womb for months without amniotic fluid…the deformities and contusions. My own regular OB doctor (not our amazing Dr. M – the maternal-fetal medicine specialist) had advised us to induce labor, saying if it were his own wife he would not prolong the inevitable but would perform the procedure immediately. This was a man who had walked with me through the loss of the twins. Who had stroked my hair compassionately when I was confused and consumed with grief after another procedure performed from delivery complications.

I consulted Christian friends, who gathered with me around my kitchen table talking and praying. I talked with nurses who had walked through this with us. I wrestled with the image of asking my family to walk through this again, knowing the grief that we had already endured.

Could I ask Tim to look at me for four more months, knowing that I carried a baby who would die? And, poor Timothy – would this be what he thought of when he thought of pregnancy – sorrow, loss, the robbing of joy? Could our family walk through this again? Could we handle the waiting? I didn’t know what to do.

Tim was fairly quiet on the subject. So, I prayed day and night. I searched the scriptures. It was Holy Week, and I had been reading the parts leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion. I came to the verses documenting the conversation between Pontius Pilate and Jesus, and the Lord spoke the answer to my heart, as I read about Pilate washing His hands of the situation. The decision didn’t need to be in our hands. We could just leave it to Jesus. We chose to wait – to trust Him to carry us and our baby through this journey.

If you are reading this and made a different choice, whether because of medical necessity, feeling this option was the best for your family, or just not having a full understanding of the options (many doctors don’t even present the option to continue), please know that we understand how difficult it is to face this impossible situation – this choice that no parent should have to face. We know that we are all parents who loved and wanted our precious babies. Whatever the path to this point, we are now parents who have grieved the loss of our children. And there is healing in the arms of the Lord for all of our hurts.

So, what was it like – waiting with Thomas? I wish I could say that I knew I could fully embrace our time with Thomas…like my beautiful friends, Angie and Stacy and so many of you I have had the blessing of meeting. You have inspired me…to see your strength to cherish every moment of life you are given with your baby. It was before all of the wonderful organizations we have today. There was no Sufficient Grace Ministries or Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep organizations to photograph my pregnancy or the meeting of Thomas. No perinatal hospice and no Waiting With Gabriel. No String of Pearls. We were charting our own path, and it was lonely at times. I regret that I didn’t know how to do it as beautifully as some of you have, that I had doubts and fears that often overshadowed my hope.

I prayed every day that our decision to carry him was not causing him harm – that he was still alive. I prayed for a miracle, believing with all my heart that God was able, while still planning a funeral. Because of the lack of amniotic fluid, I felt little movement, so there were few indications that Thomas was still alive and well. I literally lived from ultrasound to ultrasound when I could see my sweet Thomas and know that he was still with me.

I worried about my oldest son’s grief; about all the sorrow he had endured at such a tender age (he was 4 at the time). I felt the burden of the sorrow caused in Tim’s heart from seeing his wife pregnant, knowing that the baby within my womb would die. And the grief would overwhelm us once more. The pain tore at our hearts and our marriage. We held on, but sometimes it felt like only by a thread.

I sang to Thomas and stroked my belly and talked to him. I chose an outfit. I searched online for some missing miracle answer. I consulted other doctors. Talked incessantly to Ginny (who walked courageously with me) and Dinah and others who would listen. I cried, prayed, and clung more desperately than I ever have in my life to God’s Word.

I never regretted for a moment our decision to carry sweet Thomas, for giving him a chance at life -and even more so in the moment we finally met him- but more on that in the next post. I struggled with faith; did I not have enough? If I did, would Faith and Grace have lived…would Thomas live…if I could just figure it out. And, God gave me the answers. He taught me about believing without seeing as I stumbled in the fog…hoping that I didn’t fall of the cliff before me…wondering if I did, would He catch me? The answer was yes. I might fall off the cliff, and if I did, He would catch me.

Looking back, I can see His hand carrying us through that time. But, in the moment, I couldn’t always see or feel His presence. I felt overwhelmed with the unknown. And, what I learned in the thick of that fog was that true faith wasn’t the absence of doubt or fear. It was trusting God anyway when you are most afraid and filled with doubt – when the answer isn’t what you hoped or there seems to be no answer at all. I looked to Jesus as the author and finisher of my faith, wanting desperately to do it right. And what I found is that it’s not about my ability to do it right, but about my God who is able to carry me no matter what. I have written about believing without seeing, the truth about the saying, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle”, and what faith looks like. Click here to read more about the journey of Faith, Grace, and Thomas.

A few more excerpts from previous posts:

I couldn’t sleep that night. The tears wouldn’t stop. The pain wouldn’t subside. There was nowhere to find relief. Desperate for comfort. Desperate for hope. Just desperate, I searched the scriptures, struggling to read through my tears. “Jesus is my example,” I thought. “Show me, Lord. Show me the way to walk this path. I want to please you… I want to trust you…but I don’t want to lose another child. My heart is broken…”

The first verses I read were in Hebrews 12:2 …looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Two truths slammed into my heart. 1. Jesus endured the cross, despising the shame. It wasn’t easy for Him. 2. He did it for the joy set before Him. There was a purpose…our salvation and His glory.

There would be joy on the other side of the suffering. Then, I looked to Luke 22:39-44 and focused for the first time on the agony of my Savior. What did He do when He was in agony? He prayed. He asked the Father three times “Father, if it is your will, take this cup away from Me”. Then He said, “nevertheless not my will, but Yours be done.” Then, an angel appeared and strengthened Him. And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly. Then His sweat became like great drops of blood falling on the ground. (verse 44) This was our Savior, our Redeemer, our King…in agony. What did He do? The more agony He felt, the harder He prayed. He poured out His requests to the Father, but inevitably trusted the Father for what was best. Faith. Trust. Abide. Humble to the Point of Laying Down His Very Life. He accomplished the task, and all the while, He kept His eyes on the prize…the “joy that was set before Him”.

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Resources If you have just heard the news, and you are facing a difficult pregnancy diagnosis, or if you are waiting on the journey, Sufficient Grace Ministries has resources to support you as you walk this path:

Support for Families – Sufficient Grace Ministries

SGM Perinatal Hospice and Bereavement Services – Sufficient Grace Ministries

Books for those waiting with a difficult diagnosis – Sufficient Grace – Standing on the Sacred Ground Where Heaven Meets Earth by Kelly Gerken, I Will Carry You by Angie Smith, Waiting With Gabriel– Amy Kuebelbeck, Empty Arms – Sherokee Isle (secular book, but good practical answers for preparing) In Faithfulness, He Afflicted Me – Lynette Kraft

Please take the time to check out these resources. I know it can be hard and sometimes we think in our pain that we may not want these things. But, truly it is a time that we cannot get back. There are so many things that I regret not doing and photographs especially that I wish that I had. We would be glad to set up a perinatal hospice consultation to help you with a birth plan or send you a Dreams of You Comfort Package and other materials you may need to help prepare for meeting your baby, so please just email us if you have a need: [email protected].

Text originally posted on June 25, 2009