Three Years Later

Three years ago tonight, I didn't have a clue what was about to hit our family.  I knew I was in labor, and I was so excited to see the end of my pregnancy and meet our sweet baby girl. 

And then the clamor.  And the quiet, fervent panic.  And the denial, hand in hand with sheer horror.  Quinn was beautiful.  Her life, short. 

It's hard to go back to those beginning moments when we were forever changed.  Even though I miss her every day, I have distanced myself from the detailed tragedy of losing her, a coping mechanism.  You can't live without forward movement, without laughter, without healing.

Jason and I grabbed the opportunity to run to her grave this afternoon, a 6-1/2-mile round trip.  In south Alabama, September is still full-blown summer.  The humidity was blessedly down, but the heat was in the mid-to-low-90s.  Additionally, I woke up from my Sunday afternoon nap with a giant lump of chocolate peanut butter pie sitting securely in my stomach, where I had put it earlier, bite by delicious bite.  And additionally, it had been a long time since I had run that far.  All that to say the run was hard, and we took a necessary while to cool down at the graveyard before we started for home.

During the run, in between my mind repeat-tracking a goofy Mr. Mom song from the MOPS of Atmore playlist, I tried to process what her death has meant in my life.  Running is a tool for bringing clarity to my thinking.  It may have been the heat, but it hit me that Quinn presented me with a crisis of faith.  I was brought up going to church, my parents taught me about God at a young age. I went to a Christian school.  I knew all the right answers about the God of the Bible, and I truly believed them.  I was the Good Girl who did and said the right things for the right reasons.  But while I never doubted my faith, I sometimes wondered if what I believed in was true and real, even though I knew it was.  Follow?  Doubt is sketchy territory.  It's hard to quantify, hard to articulate. Scary business for a Good Girl.

Soon after her death, I was having a cry-it-out moment in the shower, pitying myself, trying to process my feelings, and as I stepped out, I so clearly heard God speak to me, saying, "Do you think this is all about YOU?!  This is about ME and my story for Quinn."  The thought was a lion's roar out of nowhere.  The holiness of God took my breath away, left me reeling, and I could only respond in repentance and worship. 

He had my full attention.  And His sweetness and kindness blew me away.  I felt his care through my friends.  I connected with songs that displayed glimpses of his character.  I soaked it in as I read.  A James McDonald book on the subject of God using pain as discipline was a surprise blessing to me.  More passages in the Bible made sense to me.  The words I had been saying I believed all my life, I still believed, but now I knew they were true. 

And that is where I am today.  I stand, not on my faith, but on God who is holding my heart.  The God of the Bible is who He says He is, a Holy presence that directly calls us out of darkness, and then steadfastly changes us to reflect His glory.  Would I know (that I know that I know) this if I was able to tuck Quinn into a sweet pink bed tonight and kiss her cheek goodnight?  I can't answer that question, but I know that God allowed pain to touch our lives because it was the only way He could accomplish a specific purpose for something far more important than my happiness.  He didn't have to, but He has proven Himself completely trustworthy.

More Memories of Quinn

What followed Quinn's death was a blur. Family members were waiting for us back in our hospital room. The nurses brought our precious girl to us, all cleaned up and ready to be held, loved and admired. She wore a little white outfit printed with soft pink angels that had been Helen's. And then our kids came. We heard their excited voices in the hall.

How do you explain death to children?

We could do nothing but tell them the truth--that she was dead. There was something very wrong with Quinn's lungs, and she couldn't breathe on her own. Her body died, and her spirit went to live with Jesus in Heaven. Their hearts were broken. We gave them their gifts from Quinn; a Leapster case for Owen that his nosiness already knew he was getting, a cute doll for Helen that she named Nicholas, and a homemade hobby horse for Jack.

Auto-pilot kicked on and we smiled for family pictures. We passed Quinn around, savoring each moment, delaying the inevitable end.

Here we are, finally holding our baby!

Some sweet moments of Daddy and his little girl.


Gene helped out with positioning. I may have been having one of many wardrobe malfunctions.Our kids couldn't wait to hold her.
Our family for a moment in time.

We treasure our pictures. It's what we have. One of the kindest things our hospital did for us was to call a photographer, whom we happened to know! I can't imagine that it was easy for Abbie to take pictures, but we were so grateful she used her talents to give us such a priceless gift.

After all of my reminiscing, I would be absolutely lying to say I'm still overcome with grief. Of course some moments are still very hard, and not a day goes by that I don't think of my little girl. But slowly, surely, I've yielded my hurt to God, trusting Him with my heart. In spite of my stubbornness, He has done amazing things in my life.

I'm letting go of bitterness.
I'm learning to empathize with others in their pain--it doesn't scare me so bad anymore.
I'm reevaluating where I find satisfaction and what really matters.
I'm realizing that my children do not belong to me, but are merely entrusted to my care for a time.
I'm gripping hard to Truth--that Jesus, the Son of God, the Creator, has overcome Death and Hell, and His power is at work in me!

Stay tuned for pictures of Quinn's one-year birthday!

It's Time

Three weeks ago, we found out we're having a boy! He looks healthy so far, but I'm having a hard time simply believing and hoping that everything will turn out according to the way I want. I want this baby to make it to my due date alive, survive the labor and delivery process, and be totally healthy and normal, where my worst problems might be colic or regurgitation issues or a bit of jaundice, but I know that I'm not guaranteed anything. I have a more in-depth ultrasound scheduled for next week with a perinatologist. My regular OB assures me that although this pregnancy is technically considered high-risk, he is treating me as a low-risk patient with the exception of referring to Dr. Maher, a consult which I requested.

When our 17-week ultrasound showed male anatomy, my heart sank. I had hoped so much for a little girl to step into the empty nursery that Quinn wasn't able to use, to wear her special clothes and to use the girly things I had made and bought for her. In a bizarre sort of way, I thought having another girl would keep me from having to sort the baby room, keep me from going through memories that I didn't want to face, and allow me to deny how great a loss we have.

Our gigantic church yard sale is coming up next month, and with that in mind, something clicked inside me. Without a lot of forethought, I walked into Quinn's room, opened up drawers and started removing all the baby girl things. Pretty onesies, pink sleepers, cute pacifiers, hair bows, tights--all on the floor. I opened her wardrobe doors, and the pink hangers went flying. I soon called Helen to help me, and we admired all the little clothes that she had worn as a baby. Somehow I was able to handle all those precious things without sitting in a puddle of tears. I had angry moments and sad moments, but overall it felt good.

And then I saw this:Quinn's sweet, sweet dress that my mother-in-law made for her. Ruth had picked out the fabric, and I chose the cut, smocking pattern and colors of embroidery floss. She used antique buttons from my stash to close the back of the dress. It was and is precious, and it's not going anywhere.
At the MOPS Convention in Nashville, I had the privilege of hearing Mary Beth Chapman speak about the loss of her five-year-old daughter. Those were tender moments, but believe me, I saved my ugly cry for meeting her at the book signing. Oh yes. She said that her grief had been like a dark forest that she didn't want to leave, for fear of leaving Maria behind. God showed her that all around the forest was a beautiful meadow of flowers, and that Maria wasn't in the forest, but in the light, joy-filled meadow. Leaving her intense darkness behind was actually a step toward her daughter. She also said that you never get OVER it, but you get THROUGH it.

Here's the thing: Heaven is real, and Quinn is there with Jesus. She is not living in my memories. She actually is alive in Heaven, right now. As someone told the Chapmans, my future with her is definitely going to be longer than my past with her! It's those truths and the grace of God that help me move forward in hope. Knowledge of an eternity in Heaven helps my situation fall into perspective.

So I do wait in hope for this new baby boy, with the confidence that God's grace and compassion are perfectly sufficient for me in any situation. (And we're still stuck on the name!)

Dreams of Cupcakes

After my earlier post about Helen wanting to see Quinn again, my sweet cousin e-mailed me.

"I just read your latest post about your sweet and precious Helen's thoughts and wanted to write you. It got me thinking... I just wonder if it would be appropriate to pray with Helen and ask Jesus for a special dream meant just for her. A dream where maybe she can give Quinn a great big hug and kiss... I don't know. I have just found in our family at least, that there have been times when -as a mom- I don't know how to respond, and sometimes Jesus can take care of things in really creative ways. Does that make sense? You might not be comfortable with that, but it may be something to consider?"

I never would have thought of asking God for something like that. As Jason and I tucked Helen into bed that night, we talked to her about it, then prayed that God would give her a special dream about Quinn.

In the morning, I asked her if she had a dream about her sister.

"Yes," she said, as if I were doubting. "There was a cake and cupcakes and butterflies and sprinkles!"

"Was Quinn still a baby or was she a little girl?"

"She was still a baby."

"What color was her hair?"

"Brown." Then, "She didn't have any hair!"

We tried not to suggest anything with our questions, but since it wasn't our experience, we didn't really know what to ask or think. She is not characterized by lying, and furthermore, her details stayed the same all day.

She was very happy about her dream, and we reasoned that cupcakes and sparkles are the happiest things that Helen can think of. Maybe God used Helen's own personal symbols of happiness to communicate to her the excitement of Heaven, and that Quinn is having a great time there.

Thinking about...

...dead babies and crooked landlords.

One gracious hand of God holds us tightly. The other is hidden, for the time being.

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
my hope comes from him.
Truly he is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge."

Psalm 62:5-8