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

Maybe, just maybe...

Lying on the couch, waiting for the ambulance...I had never hated living in the country more than I did at that moment.  It seemed like it took them an eternity to get to our house.  Our small town of Sheridan doesn't have their own ambulatory service, we use the county.  But we do have a small group of first responders.  These people arrive before the ambulance and attempt to provide help. 

When they arrived, they looked at me and immediately asked how far along I was.  I responded, "34 weeks and 5 days".    They were surprised.  They had been told I was 12 weeks along.  They tried to calm me down...put an oxygen mask on me.  But I just couldn't take it.  Here these people were...trying to help me and all I could think was "get out of my way!  I've got to go!  Where's the ambulance?!?" 

One of the ladies asked me, "Ma'am, is there a reason you won't leave the oxygen mask on?"  And totally out of character, I snapped back.."because I'm not an idiot!  I don't need oxygen!  I need to go!"

I laid there on the couch, looking at a large photo of Max that hangs next to the fireplace.  As I stared at his picture, the same lady commented, "It'll be okay.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."  With tears in my eyes, I just shook my head and told her she didn't understand.  I'm a pretty calm, patient person.  But at that moment, if I hadn't feared harming my baby, I would have probably punched her in the nose. 

Once the ambulance finally arrived I felt some relief.  I knew we would be getting help soon.  The paramedic on the ambulance crew was great.  But again, it seemed like it took forever before we actually left the house.  He had to check all my vital signs, check my bleeding and start an IV.  Patiently, I prayed....God's will be done.  Everything was completely out of my control at this point. 

Aaron rode in the front of the ambulance and we flew down the highway towards Eagle Lake, lights flashing, sirens blaring.  In the back of the ambulance, the paramedic asked me if I would mind taking my shirt off.  I thought it was a funny question.  There I am, sitting with no pants or panties on, holding a bloody towel between my legs and he was kind enough to think I had an ounce of shame left in me.  When in reality, I would have marched naked through the streets if it had meant helping Madden survive. 

I was surprised how quickly we actually arrived at the hospital.  We must have been going really fast.  As we pulled in, there were people waiting to help us.  And I was so thankful...I saw a familiar face.  The on-call doctor was a family friend.  He knew us.  He knew our story.  And I knew he would do everything he possibly could to save our son. 

They wheeled us back to the labor and delivery room.  And I couldn't help but think..."this was the place that I did not want to be."  I chose to change doctors and to deliver Madden in Victoria because I didn't want to be in this room...the room where I delivered and first held Max.  But there I was...in the same exact room, in the exact same bed. 

I just kept telling them they needed to get the baby out.  All of the staff was calm.  They checked for the baby's heartbeat.  And they immediately found it.  His heart was beating strong.  There were no signs of distress.  The doctor knew I was bleeding a lot, but he had seen similar bleeding before, and the baby sounded good.  He called for an ultrasound technician and left the room to call my doctor.  And at that moment, I had hope.  And I found myself thinking once again..."maybe, just maybe."

Call 911!

Today, I woke up with Madden on my mind.  I always think of him and Max....pretty much constantly.  But this morning, my heart was focused on Madden, and in my first waking moments I replayed January 12th over and over in my head.  It was a horrible day...and I just want to warn you, if you are squeamish about blood or pregnancy related discussion, you may want to skip this post.

But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy.  Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of.  We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls.  A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th.  Everything looked perfect.  We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.

That week I went home and prepared Madden's room.  His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope.  Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night.  I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time.  The girls played great together.  I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal. 

After getting home, I started to feel a little sick.  My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort.  I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth.  Madden...his usual self, kicking away. 

My parents came to get the three kids.  They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together.  As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well.  And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out." 

The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again.  Aaron and I were on the couch together.  Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid.  Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken.  But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad.  I didn't have to say a word.  Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch. 

I began to panic.  I got up and ran to the bathroom.  I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop.  It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was. 

I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted.  And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it.  I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped.  Maybe I've dilated.  Maybe his head is low.  Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now.  I checked myself, but I could feel nothing. 

Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead!  He's dying!  He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!"  And I remember Aaron  just asking, "what do I do?"  And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911!  We have to go.  We need help!" 

I also remember Aaron calling out to Max.  It really caught me off guard.  He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive.  And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again.  Aaron called his parents to come help.  They live right down the road and were there in minutes.  But there was nothing they could do either.  I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited.  Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers. 



"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8

"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila

One day...

Madden was due to be born in February.  While I was excited to meet him, hold him and kiss him, I was content being pregnant and in no hurry to go into labor.  I just knew that this little boy was sent to help our family heal...it was the only thing that made sense to me.  I looked forward to mending my broken heart, but was also hesitant to let go of the heartache of losing Max.  I knew that Madden wouldn't replace Max, but I was afraid that I would start my new life with a new baby and my memories of Max would fade. 

As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his.  I loved this baby.  I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me.  He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night. 

But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death.  But ready or not,  his due date was approaching fast,  and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival.  So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag.  Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle.  But, there was still his room to deal with.

It was Max's old room.  Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings.  I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house.  So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring.  My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time.  And once it was completed, it did feel different.  I no longer dreaded entering the room.  Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach.  I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears.  We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother.  I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's.  The second week in January, I finally completed his room.

We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born.  After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market.  To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor.  They were interested in our home.  They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract.  So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet. 

I have my memories of Max here.  This is where I was pregnant with Madden.  I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave.  I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go.  But I am afraid of losing memories. 

However, I am looking forward to starting over.  In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone.  I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed.  I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet.  I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost.  I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden.  I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.   

What I want really doesn't matter.  I want my family to be complete.  I want to hold my babies once again.  I want us all to be together.  I want to feel normal.  I want to feel whole.  I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time.  I want to scream, cry...disappear. 

No...none of it matters.  Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time.  I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan.  I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete.  On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be.  One day....



"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word.  My eyes long to see your promise.  When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82

"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid.  All things pass away.  God never changes.  Patience obtains everything.  God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila

He has risen...

Easter has already come and gone.  And it really wasn't easy for me to stay strong through the Easter holiday.  It was our first attempt at going to a family gathering since we lost Max.  The kids enjoyed it.  The company was pleasant.  But I was just so very uncomfortable, and I am sure some of our family members were too.  I don't know if I'll ever feel normal again, but I know I need to take steps in the direction of normalcy.  My kids deserve that.  My husband deserves that...and so do I.

Max in his Easter shirt last year. 

On the bright side, I have to say that Easter had more meaning to me this year than ever before.  No matter what you think of Jesus, you have to admit that he changed the world.  Some people believe He was just an eccentric magician.  History tells us that He was crucified, but the thing that people debate was His resurrection.

I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today.  He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him.  But the result was the exact opposite.  His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion.  They were scared.  They denied Him.  But after His death, something changed.  They grew bold.  They became fearless.  And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause.  They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God. 

What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths?  They believed.  They saw Him...and they believed.  They knew He had risen.  The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed.  With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion.  Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations.  He wasn't a magician...He was God.  In my eyes, that's really the only explanation. 

I am so thankful for his resurrection.  Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it.  I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone.  While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son.  Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it.  He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me?  I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random.  I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.

In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix.  You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross.  And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches.  Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore.  He has risen.  Why leave him up there?"  Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain.  It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love.  It is a perfect way to show love.  Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others.  I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this?  And I think...yes.  I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation.  For my children,  I could do anything.  But could I offer one of my children?  Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no.  No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.

Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human. 

"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me.  Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42

"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed;  you cannot drink grapes.  Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed.  I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers