One of the things David and I began saying after Brielle died was, “Maybe we shouldn’t have any more kids. I don’t want them to be a part of this awful world.” We’d talk about how disgusted we were. David and I have seen some of the worst parts of humanity during our time and research with anencephaly and it has made us embittered.
People are at each other’s throats over politics, we’re plagued with terrorism, corruption, war, hate, and greed. We watch our friends and family lose pieces of themselves in exchange for hate and bitterness. And David and I wonder why we would bring innocent children into such a terrible place, to be surrounded by the darkness of this world.
The world has been much darker in the past, but it is still such a terrible world. And so we talked about it, until one day we realized that you can’t make the world better by avoiding the problem. It is up to us and others to have children and raise them to know what is right and what is wrong. To raise them to be good people.
I feel like we’ve lost sight of that. We (myself included) seem to be more interested in raising successful members of society. We measure success by a paycheck, cars, a house, a tailored suit, and 2.5 kids. But at the end of the day, if I’ve only raised Brielle to be successful, but not caring and generous, what good have either of us done?
The world is always going to be a bad place. And bad things will always happen to good people, its just the way of things. But my children don’t have to add to the darkness. My biggest hope is that I can raise children that are good and honorable. I hope for a world where more people are concerned about loving each other than what their political party is doing. When did that become more important? Why do we hate each other over silly things?
We (myself included) ignore travesty and get so caught up in ourselves, in our opinions and beliefs, that we forget what is important. I hope that I do better. I hope that I am better for our future children. I want them to be better. I want them to do better. I want them to add light into the world, I don’t want them to be consumed with bitterness. A life of bitterness, really isn’t a life worth living.
When I was eight we had to put, Rascal, our dog down. I loved Rascal. And I begged my parents for another dog, Mom wasn’t ready for that kind of heartbreak again. So every night I prayed that God would let me have a dog. For three years I prayed this prayer. And one day, Mom came into Dad’s office and said, “I want a dog.” At the time, that moment was the happiest moment of my life. That night we found a golden retriever breeder and went to look at pups to adopt.
There were so many cute little puppies, but there was one in particular that loved my shoe laces and followed me everywhere. I loved her. We chose her and I named her Lacey. Lacey was exactly like me and she became my best friend. She followed me through some of the toughest years of my life. She was there for me when the kids at school bullied me. There for me when I had my first heartbreak. She slept with me at night and kept the nightmares at bay. She was there during my awful teenage years and the incredible lows of that time. The most heartbreaking thing about moving out when I was seventeen was that I had to leave Lacey.
My first spring semester at college my Dad called me around four in the morning. I ignored his call, I thought he had butt dialed me or something. Until he called again. He called to tell me Lacey had died. I lost it. Dad picked me up from my dorm and drove me to the vet so that I could say goodbye. I sobbed over her and tried to ignore the clumps of hair coming off of her and her stiffening body. I couldn’t understand why she had to go then. How could she go now? Why would God do this? Why now?
The following July I found myself ready for another dog. I was moving into my first apartment in a month and wanted a companion. I searched and searched and eventually found a beautiful flat-coated retriever. She had been a rescue and her current owners didn’t want her anymore. Emmy and I became inseparable. We spent quite a bit of time together and she quickly became my first “child.” A year later we moved to Athens, GA to be closer to David. Eight months later, I adopted Rosie, my next dog daughter, from a kill shelter – four hours before her death. I made wonderful friendships. David and I built a relationship together.
David proposed, we were married, we moved into a wonderful home, I became pregnant with Brielle and we had some of the best times of our lives with her. So many wonderful things happened in the past six years. A lot of awful things happened, but good things too. I found myself thinking about Lacey’s death the other day on our way home. Lacey left at just the right time. It broke my heart, but none of these things would have happened if she were still living or had not died when she did.
I would have never moved away from Texas, I wouldn’t have been able to leave Lacey. I would have never adopted Emmy. Rosie would have died. I would have never married David. I would have never had Brielle. I would have never made the friendships I did. Now I see how Lacey’s life was exactly what it needed to be. I had prayed for her for so long and she had been exactly what I needed. I don’t know why Brielle couldn’t stay as long as she did, but I’m thankful for the time I’ve had. I wouldn’t trade that time with her.
I hope that one day I’ll know the reason for her death. Or at least see the good that came from her death. Just like the good that came from Lacey’s death. I don’t know why Lacey died when she did, but I do see how God has blessed me through the years following her death. And this is one of the many reasons I have faith. Throughout my life I have seen how God has provided and blessed me and my family. That didn’t mean we didn’t suffer or have hard times. But he was always there, still helping us, loving us, and taking care of us. And taking care of others too.
I think that’s the whole point of faith. It’s all about hope. I have hope that Brielle’s life will do good. Her life has meaning and value. And I know and can trust that God will use her life for good. When we’re in the midst of grief it can be hard to see how he is caring for us. We can become so caught up in pain, anger, and bitterness that we miss all of the good things around us. And sometimes it can even take another tragedy for us to look back and see how wonderful our lives have been because of loss.
Lacey’s life saved the lives of four other dogs (that we know of). How much bigger then will Brielle’s impact be?
“For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it…And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8: 24-25, 28
Take this fainted heart
Take these tainted hands
Wash me in Your love
Come like grace again
Even when my strength is lost
I’ll praise You
Even when I have no song
I’ll praise You
Even when it’s hard to find the words
Louder then I’ll sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
Take this mountain weight
Take these ocean tears
Hold me through the trial
Come like hope again
Even when the fight seems lost
I’ll praise You
Even when it hurts like hell
I’ll praise You
Even when it makes no sense to sing
Louder then I’ll sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
And my heart burns only for You
You are all You are all I want
And my soul waits only for You
And I will sing till the morning has come
Lord my heart burns only for You
You are all You are all I want
And my soul waits only for You
And I will sing till the miracle comes
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
I will only sing Your praise
Even when the morning comes
I’ll praise You
Even when the fight is won
I’ll praise You
Even when my time on earth is done
Louder then I’ll sing your praise
I’m twenty five today. Brielle is 37 weeks today. My Mother and I have individually spent the day thinking about how I am almost in the exact same situation she was in twenty five years ago. She didn’t know it, but she was about to have a daughter (she was expecting a boy) and I am a few weeks away from having a little girl as well. Today is a strange day, it should be a happy day.
When I was a little girl I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, a mom. When I was four I “married” Batman and we had twelve kids. Twelve. Over the years I’ve been asked to choose a profession, a degree, a goal in life. Being a mother was never an acceptable answer, but it is all I’ve ever wanted to be. So I should be happy, I’m twenty five today and I am a mother. I’m a mommy to the best little girl that could ever exist. But I’m not happy. I’m grieving, I’m afraid, I’m deep in despair, and I just want all of the pain I’m in to stop. I want to hold onto Brielle and never, ever let go. My body is ready for Brielle to arrive, my heart and my mind are not. It’s the last thing I want. But my body can’t keep up anymore. So I’m sitting at home crying, because the day she arrives is getting closer. And I just want to keep her inside me for forever. I’m spending the day mad at myself for being upset, when I should be celebrating a milestone that I share with Brielle.
Last week we had such high hopes and great news from our visit to the doctor. Thursday we went back for another scan. David and I fully expected to see improvement or complete healing. We got the opposite. My fluid levels were up to 44 cm, Brielle wasn’t breathing, and my placenta, although still in the normal range, is not doing as well as it used to. David has remained optimistic, but I am not optimistic by nature. In this way, I struggle much more than David does. It’s not uncommon for a baby at this stage to not show signs of breathing, so it may not be a bad thing. She was moving so much we couldn’t get a clear picture of her bones, so who knows if anything has changed. And my fluid levels? We’re completely confused. My body is doing better than it was at 30 cm, David can wrap his arms around me and grab his wrists, and the areas of my skin that were stretched to the max at 47 cm are flabby and loose. My body is showing no physical sign of increased fluid levels (quite the opposite), but the scan says differently.
I spent the rest of Thursday crying or sleeping. And today I’ve just hurt, pain so deep that every breath hurts. David keeps telling me he won’t give up, and that I shouldn’t either, God’s not finished yet. And I won’t give up, I haven’t. But I’m tired. The past seventeen weeks have pushed me mentally, emotionally, and physically past my breaking point. And I’m exhausted, in every way. I don’t have the strength to hope, to grieve, to even think.
My Mom raved about a Bible study she did on Esther by Charles R. Swindoll. So I bought the book and have started the study. Last night, after I had cried my eyes out talking to Brielle, I picked up the book and read the second chapter, hoping to find some comfort. It was interesting, nothing too comforting, until about eleven pages in.
“God can move the hearts of the rulers of this world wherever and whenever He wishes. And, in case you’ve forgotten, He is in no hurry. We tend to think that if God is really engaged, He will change things within the next hour or so. Certainly by sundown. Absolutely by the end of the week. But God is not a slave to the human clock. Compared to the works of mankind, He is extremely deliberate and painfully slow…This is the big picture that we need to see if we are to put our anxieties on hold. God is at work.”
I wanted complete healing for Brielle for my birthday, but that’s not what God wanted. He has a different and better plan and I have no idea what that is. I don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to trust or hope, and quite frankly, I’m too tired to actively learn. So I’ll wait and believe. And I’ll believe that God understands my pain and that he will be patient with me. I don’t like this, I want relief and I want things done my way. But that is a rather petulant attitude to have. And God is undeserving of this. He has answered every single prayer I have asked of him. And, in the past twenty weeks he has saved mine and Brielle’s life at least four times. I shouldn’t complain or doubt, he’s taking care of us. But I would be very grateful if he would give David and I a break from this rollercoaster we’ve been on. At least I know he understands and he isn’t angry with me for my weakness.
“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him, for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust…” Psalm 103: 13-14
So today I will be sad, I will cry, and wallow in my own misery. But I will continue to believe that God isn’t finished and that he will completely heal Brielle. I’ll also grieve knowing that he understands and doesn’t expect me to be strong all the time, I’m allowed to be weak, because I am just dust. And he is far greater than I could ever imagine or understand.
