The Cemetery

It was time for us to plan a funeral for Madden, only months after losing Max.  It seemed to be easier this time...maybe because we knew what to expect, or possibly because it was a small, private ceremony.   At Max's funeral, I remember the long procession of family and friends.  The line seemed to be never ending.  One after another, they hugged us and cried for us.  Everyone was repeatedly telling us..."I'm so sorry."  I appreciated everyone's kind words and gestures, but it was hard to stand and face all those people. 

This time was different.  Most people didn't acknowledge our most recent loss.  I'm sure people just didn't know what to say....two losses within a year?  It's unimaginable...what do you say?

We had a nice, intimate mass at our home.  Every Sunday at church, we recite the words, "I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof...".  Never before have those words had so much meaning to me. 

The following day, we had a nice ceremony in the cemetery.   I remember being so sore, and so swollen.  I could barely walk.  I had to be assisted out of the car and helped to my seat.  I think I was still in shock.  I couldn't believe I was sitting there again...burying another son.  Madden was buried right above Max. 

While Father was speaking, I imagined two little boys.  They were young, maybe two and three years old.  They were wearing denim overalls, the older boy had a frog sticking out of his front pocket. They stood there looking at us, smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other.  They watched us awhile, and then took off running in circles, chasing one another...giggling and squealing.  It was so real to me...I can recall it so vividly.  I wondered at the time if it was my imagination, or if I had actually seen it. 

I often recall that image as I visit the cemetery.  They were so happy, and that's how I like to think of them.  I know many people find peace while visiting the cemetery.  I don't.  It's something very unnatural to me.  I hate to stand by my son's graves and think of their bodies lying six feet in the earth.  I have unreasonable questions..."are they hot?  can they breathe?"  I know it doesn't make sense, but that's where my mind goes...to the physical needs of my boys, even though they have no more physical needs. 

I visit the cemetery mostly out of duty...or if I feel like I need a really good cry.   I don't believe my boys are actually present there.  I feel more connected to them at Sunday mass than I do at their graves.   After sitting, praying and talking out loud in the cemetery, I usually stand up and say, "okay boys, let's go."  I truly believe they come with me, and leave with me. 

I am so thankful for my faith.  I know how difficult it is to think of the physical aspect of death.  Imagining my boys little bodies, lifeless in the ground, is nearly torturous.  Thank God I believe in more than the physical.  The spiritual aspect of death is refreshing, uplifting and full of hope.  If I didn't believe in the spiritual side of it, I don't think I could make it through the physical. 

"And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.  Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." -Matthew 10:28

"Fathers and mothers of families should bring up their children virtuously, looking at them rather as God's children than their own; and to count life and health, and all they possess, as loans which they hold of God." -St. Philip Neri

Beautiful Baby

Although my mind was foggy, I remember clearly the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes...Aaron's face.  He was sitting right beside me, praying for me to wake up...and crying.  He wasn't just crying, he was sobbing.

I knew that face.  I had seen that face many times since losing Max.  And on this day, on January 12th, I knew he wasn't crying for Max.  I looked down, and in his arms was our baby.  He was holding Madden, all bundled in a blanket, instinctively rocking back and forth.  And as he shook, I asked, "he didn't make it, did he?"  And he just shook his head, no. 

He said they worked on Madden for forty five minutes, and they just couldn't bring him back.  Once again, I found myself weeping uncontrollably in a hospital.  How could this happen?  How could tragedy strike our family again, and in such a short period of time?!? 

When Max died, I tried my best to stay positive...to trust in God.  And finding out I was pregnant with Madden, so soon after losing Max, made it easier for me to see God at work in my life.  But now...where was He?   What sense did this make?

Our family was there, crying, along with all the nurses and medical staff.  Our local priest came by, held Madden, blessed his little body and wept with everyone else.  The funeral home was called to come pick up our son.  We had a couple of hours with him before they arrived, and experience had taught me to hold your child as long as you can. 

And that's what I did.  I held him close.  I rocked him, kissed him and stroked his little face.  I didn't want to let him go.  He was so perfect...so beautiful.  Five pounds, eight ounces of perfect little boy.  As I write this, my arms ache for him.  I so badly want to be able to lay him on my chest, and smell his little head. 

They took me to the critical care unit, to be watched carefully overnight.  The last thing I remember in that room was Madden being taken from my arms.  I knew I had to let him go, oh...but God, I didn't want to.

They took him, and that was it.  I was left with no baby.  I had to stay several days in the hospital, to recover from my c-section, but I had no baby to care for.  My milk came in, ready to nurse my newborn son, and he wasn't there.  I had to deal with all the post pregnancy stuff, minus the baby.  It was a horrible time. 

Immediately, I thought of the story of Job.  In the bible, Job was a faithful servant.  Yet he was tempted time and time again to turn away from God.  His riches, his livestock, his family, his health...it was all taken from him.  But he never cursed God. 

I was angry with God.  How could He allow this to happen? 

But I found hope in Job's story.  It was satan who was tempting Job.  God allowed the temptations, but He knew He would win.  And He did, He was victorious...Job was victorious.  The book of Job teaches one really hard lesson...we have no right to question God, we have zero control and absolutely no power over Him.  Whatever happens, is going to happen.  You don't have a choice....go with it and continue to lean on your hope in the resurrection.  This is my motto, today and everyday.



"And I saw the river over which every soul must pass to reach the kindgom of heaven and the name of that river was suffering:  and I saw a boat which carries souls across the river and the name of that boat was love." -St. John of the Cross

"Then Job answered the Lord and said:  I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be hindered.  I have dealt with great things that I do not understand;  things too wonderful for me, which I cannot know.  I had heard of you by word of mouth, but now my eye has seen you.  Therefore I disown what I have said, and repent in dust and ashes." -Job 42:1-6

A strong heartbeat...

**Just a little disclaimer before you start reading...this post is really not intended for people with a weak stomach.  It's pretty graphic...some probably need to skip this one (you know who you are.)  Also, pregnant women may want to reconsider before reading...**



We had a heartbeat...a good, strong heartbeat.  The doctor left for a minute to call my ob/gyn.  Aaron stepped out of the room to tell our family, who was waiting outside, that the baby's heart sounded great.  I heard them all cheer and praise God.  He came back in and stood by my bedside, and in an instant, it was gone.  Madden's heartbeat...155 beats per minute, Madden's heartbeat....silence.  There was never a sign of distress...just heart beating strongly, to heart stopped. 

I looked at the nurse, who was also a friend of mine, and told her I couldn't hear his heart.  She was very calm and responded, "don't worry, we'll find it."  She moved the monitor around...a little at first, to the left, to the right...lower , higher.  Then she started searching farther, moving it clear across my belly.  I knew that she couldn't find it, and I knew that she was starting to worry. 

The doctor stepped back in the room and she told him she was having a hard time finding the baby's heartbeat.  He checked me, blood gushed forward and he shook his head.  He stood up, took off his glove and told her to get the section kit.  I remember that she questioned him, "the C-section kit?"  I'm sure she was surprised.  We were in the labor and delivery room, not the operating room.  This was definitely no controlled environment..."the C-section kit?", I thought to myself as well. 

And within five minutes of arriving at the hospital, I watched the doctor insert a local anesthetic into my lower abdomen, three shots.  Then I watched as he began to slice my belly open in an attempt to save my son.

I wanted this more than anything.  I wanted Madden out.  I knew if he had a chance to survive, he needed oxygen, and the only way he was going to get it was by taking his first breath.  I wanted to be so strong.  I had planned on delivering Madden naturally, with no epidural.  But no amount of "hypnobirthing" classes could have prepared me for a C-section with no anesthesia.  I tried my hardest to be tough, but I moaned in pain.  It hurt, and my body instinctively took over. 

At some point, the anesthesiologist came.  It's a rural hospital, and he was on call.  So, it took him a while to get there, although he was driving 120 mph.  I'm not sure how far along in the procedure we were when he arrived, because he gave me something that would put me out, but also make me forget.  I don't actually remember any of the pain except for the first initial cuts and stretches. 

In an attempt to protect me, Aaron hasn't been very forthcoming with sharing any of the information with me.  He did tell me that he was holding my left arm down and at one point my right arm swung and entered into my incision.  I try to imagine it.  I picture a scene from the exorcist, Aaron standing there in his dirty work jeans trying to hold me down, while I possess what seems to be super human strength and the inability to control my actions.    I know my family could hear me screaming from outside the room, although I don't remember actually making those screams.  I am thankful for this drug that made me forget...I just wish Aaron could have gotten a little of it too. 

From what I'm told, the small labor and delivery room was swarming with people.  Another doctor showed up to help Madden.  I think there were four people working on him and another three people working on me.  I had lost a lot of blood and my blood pressure was dangerously low.  The doctor warned my family that there was a possibility of me losing my life.

That was the closest that I have ever been to death, and I find it very comforting that I wasn't scared.  Not once, since the bleeding started, had I worried for my own life.  I was consumed with thoughts of Madden, it never occurred to me that this was a grave situation for myself.  If I had died on that table, I would have considered that a peaceful death.  Maybe that's the magic of the drugs, but still I find it comforting.  At that moment, without a doubt, I would have laid down my life for my son. 



"Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends." -John 15:13


"I am attacked on all sides, yet I will not fear, for I keep myself strongly entrenched in my secure fortress  -- the Sacred Heart of my divine Master.  Like a wise leader, He deals out to me just strength sufficient for each occasion." -St. Margaret Mary Alacoque