Kelly Gerken, Author at Sufficient Grace Ministries

Walking With You – The Ripples Flow to Our Relationship

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 the impact our loss(es) and how the waves of grief ripples flow to our relationship.

Tim and I were married very young and we had a two-year-old when we faced the loss of our twin daughters, Faith and Grace. I had endured a long and extremely difficult hospital stay that caused a great deal of stress and concern for my young husband. We were twenty-one years old at the time. Losing Faith and Grace was such a shock for us. We had prayed and hoped for a miracle. Quite honestly, I just didn’t think that our babies would be among those that didn’t make it. Maybe I was just young enough that I still thought I was invincible, and that covered my children as well. I don’t know what Tim thought at the time, and I was too absorbed in my own pain to ask. Just the same, we were shocked and devastated.

Some of the details are fuzzy for me, as time has marred the clarity of my memories. I do remember Tim missing me and worrying about us during the long hospital stay. It took all my strength to survive, so I didn’t feel the missing as much at the time.

He tried to make me laugh while wheeling my ridiculously large pregnant self to the specialist. I remember his smile when we found out we would have identical twin girls. And I remember the anguish on his face as the tears fell while he stood beside me while I held our baby girls and sang Amazing Grace. Once more, he tried to make me laugh and succeeded some hours after our daughters were born sleeping. He slept in the recovery room watching some random movie with me. I could never forget the ache of leaving the hospital with empty arms and a canyon of emptiness in my heart. Leaning on him for strength as we stood by their grave on that cold November day. The agony of sorrow when he went back to work. He held me often during those early days, as I cried.

Even while we were in the hospital, I knew that we were forever changed by the loss of our girls, that we had shared something that only the two of us could ever really understand. It separated us from the rest of the world and bound us more solidly as one flesh. I believe it drew us closer. He was quiet with his grief, having to remain strong. He needed to return to work right away to support our family and pay the mountain of medical bills.

There came a time when I knew my need to grieve openly and talk about the girls brought him pain, and I was grateful to share all my emotions and words with my friend, Ginny. I respected Tim’s need to protect himself and our family from the emotions in planning the memorial service, keeping it private. We didn’t want to add the family drama that often came with any event on both sides of our families to an already painful time. We weren’t prepared to have a funeral for our children. It seemed so unspeakable to us. And we both felt protective of our girls. It was important to me to respect his need to keep things private.

Months later, we began trying to have another baby, and I think Tim wanted to help ease the ache of emptiness for me, for both of us. I have often felt a great burden for the dads who grieve for their babies in a world that doesn’t allow them to express their feelings openly. They have to be strong. A father doesn’t just feel the weight of his own loss, but the pain he sees his wife enduring – a pain he can do nothing to fix. A pain he couldn’t protect her from. He couldn’t protect his family from this.

Finally, after many complications that left my body battling infection for about a year after the birth of Faith and Grace, we conceived Thomas. We felt relieved, apprehensive, and excited. Midway through the pregnancy, we sat in that room and heard the words “incompatible with life” in regards to our precious son. I looked over at Tim, and I saw the life drain out of him. It was as if the light went out and darkness filled his face. Hope left. I have never felt more darkness, myself.

I remember him convincing me to take the steps to leave the hospital. Next, facing “the choice.” He was quiet, but seemed relieved when I chose to continue the pregnancy. He supported that decision. As I watched him agonize over the fact that he was helpless to protect our family from walking this path again, I struggled with the burden of being “the one” who brought this pain on our family. I know that wasn’t really true. But, I felt that burden.

To this day, one of the hardest things, the thought that brings tears to my eyes each time I think of it, is the grief of Tim and Timothy; the fact that I couldn’t spare them of this pain. The sorrow it caused them to watch me carry our sweet Thomas, knowing we would have to say good-bye to him. The stress of that time was heavy on us. I wish I would have had the knowledge or support of those who had walked there, like so many of you. I did have the Lord, and He was enough. He carried me and poured out His grace on our family. But, sometimes, I think I could have done more to cherish that time.

I felt that my presence caused pain to my family. A reminder of impending sorrow. It may not have. They didn’t say that to me, but there was a distance. Mostly because of the stress of the situation. Tim was quiet and distant as the time grew near to meet our Thomas. The pain caused him to delve deep into a protective shell. I clung to the Lord for strength, and leaned on Ginny and Dinah, as he wrestled with what was happening within.

When Thomas was born, the pain was so great for Tim. I felt the joy of meeting Thomas, while Tim’s sorrow broke forth heavily. We leaned on each other once more in those early days. He respected that I needed to talk about and remember our children, and I respected that he often needed me to do that with someone other than him. After the initial days of grief, we talked little about the experience to each other.

This time when the desperate ache for a baby to fill my empty arms came, neither of us had the courage to say that we were ready to try for another baby. Fear of another loss was so strong. Tim was very protective of the threat of additional pain for our family. When we were surprised with James’ conception, it was a time of great trepidation and anticipation. I wanted to hold on to hope and joy, knowing that I would not get this chance again. I wanted to cherish every moment I was given with this precious baby. But, for Tim, all that we had endured had taken its toll, and the stress of watching me struggle through another pregnancy and the possibility of another loss was just too much. It was a very difficult time in our marriage.

God brought us through so many trials over the course of our marriage. He has healed our brokenness, renewed our love and strengthened our joy. We walk with Him and trust in Him together, now. But it was quite a journey to this place. There is so much about that time between us that needs to stay between us. But, I want to share a few things because I know that many of you struggle with the fact that men and women grieve differently.

Some of the main topics we are asked about are marriage concerns and grieving differently as a couple. Men and women are made differently (as you well know!). And we grieve differently. Every individual, actually, is unique in their grief. Your partner may be quiet, distant, angry, protective, or tearful. You may feel like talking about your babies, need to be close, may feel angry, tearful, or distant. You may not be feeling the same things at the same time. This can cause division and resentment when we do not understand that our spouse is still grieving, even if he/she is not grieving the same way we are.

Tim and I shared this sorrow, and this entire journey, but we rarely talk about it. We are able to talk about pieces of our story more now than we did years ago. He supports this ministry and all that we are doing. He is part of this ministry, and he helps make decisions, often reaching out in his own way to those who cross our path. We have always respected each other’s need to grieve differently and communicate that grief in different ways. It doesn’t mean that we did not offer love and support to each other. We did and we do. But, sometimes, I went to a friend to talk or share a memory that I thought may be painful for him. And we did not allow that to come between us.

It’s okay that he didn’t want to go to a special remembrance service years later. And it’s okay with him that I did need to go. I think it is important to recognize and free each other from expectations here. It will prevent being hurt when we feel that our expectations are not met. And it prevents resentment and division from forming between the two of us.

We are not some perfect example to be held up for display. Indeed, our path to the beauty we experience today was once covered in tattered ashes of brokenness. It is a messy journey, and we often didn’t “do it right.” We are truly bathed in God’s grace. I could write several statistics stating that there is no way Tim and I should still be married. We were married young, parents young, from divorced families (generations of divorced families actually), and we lost three of five of our children by the time we were twenty-three years old. And yet, here we are loving each other and the God that kept us through it all.

I do not say that as any great success on our part, but as a testimony to the greatness of the God we serve and the power of His grace that is always sufficient. We share a love today that is deeper and sweeter because of where we have walked. It is true that our God does “make all things beautiful in His time.”

Here are just a few words of wisdom we have gleaned:

1. Respect each other’s need to grieve differently. If at all possible, do not do things that may bring pain to your spouse. At the same time, do not deprive yourself of doing the things you feel you need to do to honor your baby your way. Find a way to honor your baby that also honors the feelings of your spouse.

2. Find time to laugh and do things that you enjoy together. Grieving is hard, heavy work. Find some time to keep it light.

3. Keep life as simple as you can. Try not to take on too much for your family schedule. Protect yourselves and each other from extra stress or things that may bring unneeded sorrow.

4. Find ways to honor the memory of your baby as a family.

5. Communicate with love and respect.

6. Take comfort in physical affection. Do not turn away from each other but turn toward each other.

7. Pray together and for each other. God is able to mend your broken hearts and keep your marriage. Guard your marriage and bathe it in prayer. You may feel too weak to pray sometimes. That’s okay. Saying, “God, help me…it hurts too much to even pray.” is still a prayer. It’s been a prayer of mine many times.

Two are better than one, Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, For he has no one to help him up. Again, if two lie down together, they will keep warm; But how can one be warm alone? Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken. ~Ecclesiastes 4:8-12

Thank you again for joining us. Please let us know if we can support you in any way as you grieve the loss of your baby. I would be happy to send you a Dreams of You Memory Package and to pray for your needs. Also, it can help to share with someone who has walked this path. It is our desire to encourage you in your marriage…to pray for you…and offer any support we have to give. Next week, we will be sharing about how our other children faced their grief and ways to support them as they grieve their sibling. If you do not have children, we will also include facing another pregnancy after the loss.

Walking With You – The Sea of Grief

February 11, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

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.