Phebe and me...
Phebe and her Grandpa...
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my efforts in trying to adopt my daughter from Haiti Haiti 
Phebe a few weeks after I found her...
I love to hear her laugh...
Phebe and me...
Phebe and her Grandpa...
Phebe and me...Phebe and her Grandpa...
I would have never guessed that filling out a survey on my stay in the hospital would be so painful. One of the questions – Did you have enough time to bond with your baby? Yes or No…NO, I DID NOT HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO BOND WITH MY BABY!!!
I was thinking today about our last day with Uriah. How I wish I could redo that day. Not that I would change much, but I just want to hold him and kiss him again. Looking back I recall holding him and wishing I was alone with him. I’m very thankful for all my family and friends that shared the day with us. It’s just that when so many people are watching you hold your baby for the first and last time you really can’t get all that comfy. I wanted to talk to him but I felt silly talking to him in front of everyone. I told him I loved him but that was all. There were so many things I wanted to share with him, to teach him, to sing to him. I can’t believe I never sang to him. This makes me so sad.
My parents held him. When I first asked them to join us they didn’t want to be in the room. Not long after we had gone to the private room they came knocking on the door. I’m so glad they did…precious memories. Soon it was time to take Uriah off of the respirator. They brought him to me. His breathing was so labored. I instantly remembered being with a friend of mine who had three babies that passed away shortly after birth. One of the hardest things was listening to them gasp for air. I had asked God back then to never let that happen to me. Now here I was faced with that awful sound. I thought my husband probably wanted to hold Uriah, but I couldn’t let him go. I tried to place Uriah on Jesse’s lap while continuing to hold him. After about half an hour I was sure he was gone. You could no longer hear him breathing, but when the doctor checked he still had a heartbeat. Dr. Knee came back about ten minutes later and little Uriah had left us. Although I’m so sad that Uriah never saw us I’m thrilled that the first time he saw anyone it was our Lord and Savior!
Everyone started to trickle out of the room to go home. Jesse and I were finally alone with our son. I can’t speak for Jesse but I didn’t want to ever have to leave. Even though I knew Uriah was no longer with us I didn’t want to let him go. We stayed and held him and talked and laughed and cried for another four hours. When we finally left the hospital I could hardly take the pain. I didn’t want Jesse to see me cry anymore so I held it all in, but it was harder to walk out of the hospital without Uriah than to hear him take his last breath. No mother should have to leave the hospital without her baby.
The pain is lessening but it is still so strong at times I feel it might overtake me. It’s a pain that you can’t describe. I had a woman say to me, shortly after Uriah died, that she knew exactly how I felt. This woman doesn’t have any children. She has no clue how I feel. There are many people that do know how I feel and I hate it for them. I wish now I would have been more caring and thoughtful when friends of mine lost their babies.
I realize that many of you are waiting to hear the rest of Uriah’s story and also the story of God finding Phebe for me. Before I continue with those I feel that I must share what God just revealed to me.
Many times since Uriah died I have worried that people are confused by my smile. I’ve talked to my husband about it and tell him I’m afraid that people may think I am no longer grieving Uriah’s death because I’m seemingly always smiling.
I tend to smile a lot!!! I remember as a child I smiled all the time. I was happy and felt that I had the best childhood. Even into my early adult life I always had a smile on my face. Then in my late twenties some really horrible things happened in my life and I didn’t know how to cope with them. I tried to give these things to the Lord, but then I would snatch them back and try to figure it all out on my own. During this time I continued to smile but that smile wasn’t real. I was only smiling because that’s what everyone expected of me. I have struggled with the fear of disappointing people since I was a child. I felt at this time in my life I had disappointed everyone around me. So the least I could do was give them that famous ‘Hannah smile’.
I hated smiling because I knew it was a big fat lie. It seemed to me that people may know that it was a lie, but they wanted to believe it to be the truth…Hannah’s happy, look at that smile. I was so unhappy for ten years. I craved happiness and peace. I longed to be loved by people and God. I envied others around me because I assumed them to be living a life of peace, happiness, love and truth.
On November 15, 2009, I heard a message that finally made me realize that God loved me. I had convinced myself that He didn’t. I had told myself for ten years that there was no way that God could love me! I believed that He loved everyone…just not me. So when I finally understood the truth that God did love me just as much as He loved His son Jesus I finally had peace in my life again. I could accept that not only did God love me, but so did my friends and family. I had been telling myself that my children only “loved” me because they had to. My parents only “loved” me out of obligation. My friends didn’t really “love” me; they just tolerated me. So when I finally accepted God’s love I could accept the love from people. I can’t begin to tell you what peace I had in my heart because of this truth!
When Uriah died my biggest fear was that I would grow bitter again and not have the peace from the Lord any longer. I was terrified that this would happen. I realize that it has only been a month since Uriah went home to be with the Lord, but I still have God’s peace. Not only do I have His peace, but also I still KNOW that He loves me. God didn’t “do” this to me because I did something wrong. God loves me and loves Uriah even more than I do. I pray that no one takes what I’m about to say wrong. I would much prefer Uriah to be in Heaven and have the peace of God than to have Uriah here with me without God’s peace. Don’t get me wrong - I crave to hold my son and love him and watch him grow into a wonderful godly man. However, I can look forward to seeing him someday. I cannot live without God’s peace!
I know I need to finish writing about Uriah’s last day, but I can’t seem to get myself to do that. So instead I thought I would write about another important day in my life.
When I was 22 years old I was able to go and spend a summer with the Walls, a missionary family in Haiti. I had been there the year before with my family and fell in love with the country. Before I left that summer my mom suggested that I should try to adopt a baby while I was there. I passed this on to the Walls, and they were very willing to help me in my endeavors. The Walls had been in Haiti for close to 20 years. Their two youngest daughters, Dorothy and Rebecca, were still there with them. Rebecca and I really hit it off. We had such a great time working with Mrs. Wall in the clinic, teaching an English class, and teaching a Bible class for the children. So many people would come in to the clinic with such serious medical problems and poor Mrs. Wall didn’t have much to work with, but always seemed to come up with something. Many of the mothers that came would hand their babies to me and ask me to take them. My dad had informed me, before I left, that if I was going to adopt I couldn’t adopt a boy. I really wanted a son, but knew my father knew best. Every baby that was handed to me was a boy. I kept praying that the Lord would help me find the baby He wanted for me.
Rebecca was 17 years old and was starting to miss her nanny, Elia, whom she had grown up with. Elia lived in Cap Haitian, about a four-hour drive away. Before I arrived Rebecca had asked her dad if she could go visit Elia and he had told her no. Once I arrived she had her mom ask if Rebecca and myself could go visit so that I could see what it was like to live in the “city.” He again said no. Because she figured he wouldn’t tell me ‘no’ she had me ask him some time later. He told me we could go but not right now. Week after week went by and Rebecca and I were beginning to think he would never let us go. After I had been there for six weeks he came to us one Saturday evening and said we would be traveling to Cap Haitian the next day to go to church, and that Rebecca and I would be able to stay with Elia until Tuesday when he came back to meet the plane for supplies. To be quite honest we were a bit upset. We had hoped to stay down there for a week or two, so two days didn’t seem like much.
Now that I look back I can see that he was worried. There was much unrest in Haiti. In fact, only a few months later all Americans were forced to leave the country because it wasn’t safe for them to be there. The Haitians were not happy about many things and decided killing the Americans was the answer. At the time I knew that it was a bit dangerous but really didn’t have any idea how much danger we were really in.
When we arrived to Elia’s house after church we had dinner and then Bro. and Mrs. Wall headed back up the mountain. We sat with Elia and planned out the next two days. That evening Rebecca and I wanted to go to the English church. She said that should be ok. On Monday we planned on going to hospitals and orphanages to see if I could find a baby girl. Then Tuesday morning we would head out to the airport to meet Rebecca’s dad. We were about to get ready for church when Elia informed us that she had changed her mind because she didn’t feel we would be safe. Rebecca and I begged her to change her mind. In the middle of our pleading we heard gunshots. She said, “See…it just isn’t safe here after dark.” We asked her what we were going to do. We didn’t want to just sit in her house too scared to go anywhere. So she said she thought it would be safe to walk down the street to her sister’s house and visit with them. I have to admit I wasn’t too happy about this. I only spoke English so the only people I could talk with were Rebecca and Elia. I had longed to go the English church so that I could sing songs and hear a sermon in a language that I spoke.
We headed out for her sister’s house. It was such a nice evening. It was no longer scorching hot outside and there were kids running around, pointing and laughing at us. We stood in front of Jacquelyn’s house and chatted and played with the kiddos. We went in the house because the sun was going down and it wasn’t safe. It was dark inside, but as we entered I could see that the one room had its walls covered with magazine pages. Rebecca explained that this was their wallpaper. There was a dark hallway that led to the back door. Along the wall was a cot that Elia told Rebecca and I to sit on. She stepped out the back door and we sat and stared at the wall in front of us and attempted to read the Haitian magazine pages. I could hear everyone talking in Creole in the back yard. It sounded like there were 4 or 5 people out there. I asked Rebecca what they were talking about. She said they were talking about me wanting to adopt. She said, “Wait a minute…someone just said there is a baby out there with them.” I stood up to peek out the door. There were a handful of people sitting on the ground and in the middle of their little circle was an old stained mattress. It looked like one from an old pullout couch. In the center of this grubby mattress was a little baby.
I asked Rebecca to see if they would let me hold the baby. They said I could but I could tell there was a problem. Rebecca informed me that they were afraid the baby would wet on me since they didn’t have a diaper. The baby was naked with a very thin peach colored bath towel that had been ripped in two wrapped around her bottom. I told them I wouldn’t die if she wet on me. They thought that was funny and handed the baby over. I had to peak under the towel to see if it was a boy or a girl. It was a little girl. She was so cute. She looked up at me with her almost black eyes. I asked for her name. It was Weedlyn. I started to talk and coo to little Weedlyn and she started to smile and coo right back. She had big ole dimples in her cheeks. I thought she looked to be about 4-6 weeks old. I have no recollection of how long I sat playing with Weedlyn, but I was sad when it was time to head back to Elia’s house. The mother of the baby, Linda, said if I wanted I could take Weedlyn with me and she would pick her up later. We decided to do just that. Linda came and got her quite a few hours later, and poor little Weedlyn was getting quite hungry.
After Linda left Elia told us that Linda was considering giving Weedlyn to me. I couldn’t believe it. I started asking all kinds of questions. I found out that Weedlyn was actually three months old and that Linda had just arrived in Cap Haitian from the mountains to let her family see the baby. Linda was only 15 years old. Her father was coming into the city the next day and Linda had to get his permission before she could say for sure. I remember going to bed that night praying that this would be God’s will, and that little Weedlyn would be mine.
I find it amazing that things I once thought were so important I now couldn’t care less about. I just want to hold my son. My arms ache for him. My ears long to hear him. My heart seems to break a little more each day I go without him. People have told me that the pain never goes away, but that it will lessen. I pray they are right.
Day three I woke up around 5:00am and wondered if I should try to go back to sleep. I decided to go see Uriah instead. The NICU was quiet. I noticed a new baby had been brought in and was just across from Uriah. This new little guy was squirming and crying as the nurse cared for him. I looked at Uriah and wished he could squirm and cry. I could hear the respirator breathing for him. I noticed some changes in him. His “hiccups” were not as frequent or as strong. His little eyes were swollen. His left hand was clenched tight. His little arms and legs kept jerking and shaking as if he was cold. I did not like these changes because he seemed to be slipping further away from me. His nurse seemed to sense the pain I felt and tried to ease the pain. She talked of only positive things about Uriah. We discussed a book she was reading. We complained about the weather. We talked about everything but the inevitable.
Jesse and his mom arrived around 10:00am. The doctor had just started talking to me about what our options were. There weren’t many. It was more of a question of when. When were we going to choose to say good-bye to our son? I didn’t want to say good-bye. I begged God to let me keep him. The staff kept telling us about a private room they had just for saying good-bye. I didn’t want to go to that stupid room. I wanted to go to the “hello room.”
My parents arrived a little later and brought Phebe, our oldest daughter. She’s sixteen and we felt she needed to be a part of everything. At the last minute we decided that Abner, our 10-year-old son, should be there as well. My friend Loni was gracious enough to go pick him up for us. I also contacted my niece Lois who is a professional photographer to ask her to take some pictures of Uriah’s last hours. The pastor that counseled us before we were married and also performed our wedding ceremony came. We love Pastor Mead so much. In fact, Uriah’s middle name was partly for him. He told us that day that we needed to realize that we had done nothing wrong to cause this and that it was not our fault. He made reference to John 9 when the disciples asked Jesus who had sinned to make this man blind and Jesus answered, no one. I sure needed to hear that. He also told us that God loved us, and that God loved Uriah even more than we did. His words of love and compassion comforted us deeply. He hugged on us, cried with us, and prayed with us.
I had gotten pregnant with Uriah before we were married and I was sure I would somehow have to pay for that sin. Pastor Mead helped me realize months before that Uriah was not a mistake and that if I confessed my sin it was forgiven and paid for. It wasn’t until that day in his office, months earlier, that I allowed myself to love Uriah. It was also during this time that Jesse and I decided that we needed to rededicate our lives to the Lord and get back in church. We didn’t want to raise this baby outside of church. It was because of Uriah that we ended up back in church. This seems so ironic to me now.
Around 3pm Jesse’s mom, Jesse, Phebe, Abner and I went to the private room. The team of nurses brought him in. The respirator was still breathing for him. We sat on the couch not quite sure what to do. His nurse finally said we could hold him. I had Phebe sit in the chair and I placed Uriah in her arms. It was so bittersweet. I loved seeing her hold and love on her baby brother, but I hated knowing that it would be for such a short time.
Then it was Abner’s turn and I recalled him asking me about a week earlier if he could be the second or third person to hold Uriah after he was born. I had told him I would do my best. I never dreamt it would be a one-time event.
Grandma Olson held him next. Jesse and I just held each other and hurt for her. She was so strong. She smiled and had such sweet things to say about her grandson, but we knew the pain she must be feeling inside.
Finally Jesse was able to hold his son. I recall the look of anticipation on his face. I also remember the look of pain. He had his little boy and had to say good-bye to him way too soon.
Then Jesse handed our son to me. I will never forget how Uriah felt in my arms. He was heavier than I imagined. He fit perfectly in the crook of my arm. I kissed his soft little head and tried to soak in his smell, his softness, and his newness. I never wanted to let him go. He was perfect. He was beautiful. He would soon be gone.
Grief is quite mysterious. Why does it hit at the strangest times? I went to the doctor’s office today and it hit me. I had imagined bringing Uriah in and showing him off to the staff. All I had to show off today was my fat rolls. Tears…
Monday morning came with not much change. I waited for Jesse to get to the hospital before going to see Uriah. To be honest I can’t remember much from this day. Uriah had never quit having the “hiccups.” I asked the nurse that morning what they were. She said she had just asked the doctor that same question. He didn’t believe they were hiccups at all. Instead he thought them to be a spinal reflex of some sort. He thought that sometime the night before Uriah was born either the umbilical cord became twisted or the placenta started to pull away from the uterus causing Uriah to not get enough oxygen. Uriah then tried to breath and this is what caused the reflex.
The doctor that delivered Uriah came to see us that morning. He sat on the other side of Uriah’s bed and just stared at him and shook his head. He said, “Hannah, I’ve been doing this for over 30 years and have never seen anything like this.” I immediately wondered if this was supposed to make me feel better or worse. I was so angry. I wondered then why it had to be Jesse and me that had to go through this? I knew we would be hearing people say that God wouldn't give us more than we could handle. I hate when people take that verse (I Corinthians 10:13) out of context. The verse is saying that we will not be tempted above what we are able to handle, and that God will make a way for us to escape the temptation. This was not a temptation, and yes many people said that to us. After the anger passed I started to ask God, and myself, “Why us?” Was it because we were strong enough to handle it? I don’t think so. Was it because we deserved it? I don’t believe that either. Was it because the devil wanted to prove to God that we weren’t serious about serving and loving Him? I’m leaning toward believing this. I then asked myself, “Why not us?” Why did I think myself so special that something like this couldn’t happen to us? Since starting this blog I have been amazed to find how many people have had to deal with infant death. What made us any different or better than them?
We waited half the day Monday to find out if they were going to do a second EEG on Uriah, and then the rest of the day to find out the results. We didn’t hear anything until early evening. The results were that nothing had changed. In my heart I had known that this is what they were going to tell us, but I sure had hoped for quite the opposite. I tried so hard not to cry. Jesse and I were standing there staring at our son and I just buried my head in his shoulder and cried. I realized then and there that I would never hear Uriah cry. I would never see him try to toddle through the house. I would never hear his giggle. I would never feel the warmth of his body next to mine. I wouldn’t be able to rock him to sleep or sleep with him on my chest. I wouldn’t get to stand up for him to his siblings for getting into their things. I would never see him on the basketball court, on stage, on the baseball field, or running over the hill to see his grandparents.
Jesse and his mom went back home that night with heavy hearts. I went to bed wondering if I really wanted to live. I talked with three different friends that night. They were all so loving and caring. They helped to lessen the pain as I fell asleep. Jesse and I had to decide within the next few hours what we were going to do. How does a parent decide to take their son off of a respirator? This is not a decision any parent should have to make.
I have to say, after reading in Job the last few days that I sure have much to be thankful for when it comes to my friends. The Lord has blessed me richly with good godly friends. I can't imagine for a second getting through the last couple of weeks without the Lord, family, and friends. They all love me and want to help!
I finally made it to my room and my friend Melissa was there. Looking back I don’t think I even greeted her. I sat on the bed and stared out the window and tried with all my might not to cry. It didn’t work. I didn’t want to make small talk, but I didn’t want to talk about what had happened either. My mom, who knows me inside out, could sense that Jesse and I needed some alone time so she and Melissa left for a bit. I remember Jesse holding me and we sat there and cried and cried. I told him I was so sorry he had chosen me to be his wife. I felt that if he hadn’t married me he wouldn’t be going through this pain. I also said, “Everything in my life falls apart Jesse!Nothing works out for me. All I’ve ever wanted is children and now I have one given to me and he gets torn away.” Jesse understood but wasn’t very pleased with what I had to say. He quickly informed me that I needed to stop thinking this way and that he never wanted me to regret us getting married. He was thankful for me. I couldn’t comprehend this. I felt like it was my entire fault. I was sure I had done something to cause this to happen. I told him I wasn’t going to go back to see Uriah…it was just too painful. He didn’t say anything.
Mom and Melissa returned and Loni arrived. She just hugged me and cried. We all sat and just talked. Loni kept turning the conversation back to Uriah. I finally told her that I wasn’t going to go back to see him. The room was quiet. Jesse had taken Melissa down to see the baby and Loni kept encouraging me to go see him. She explained that I may only have a few days or even hours with him and that I needed to make memories. I knew in my heart she was right but oh the pain.Melissa returned alone and I knew the man I loved was suffering alone with our baby so Loni loaded me in the wheelchair and took me to them.
At the entrance to the NICU room I saw my husband looking at his son. His first son. His first son that might soon be leaving him. The sadness on his face broke my heart.
I got out of the wheelchair and went and stood next to him. We just stared at Uriah. Words wouldn’t come. There was too much pain. I touched Uriah’s little arm. His little forearm had soft brown hair. I held his hand. I noticed that his nails needed to be cut. I rubbed his head. He had so much soft brown curly hair. The nurse again said it was ok to kiss him. I was torn. I wanted to kiss him terribly, but knew when I kissed him I would bond to him even more. Loni kept saying to make my memories. So I kissed him. He smelled different. He smelled like Uriah. He was soft.He was cold. The little blue mat under his body was doing its job in lowering his body temperature. Jesse then took his turn and kissed our son. I loved seeing father and son together if only through a kiss.
So much of the rest of the day runs together. My mother-in-law came, but I don’t remember when. I ordered dinner but don’t remember eating. My dad called but I don’t remember the conversation. Melissa and Loni went home. Jesse took his mom to our house for the night; he wanted to come back and spend the night with me but I insisted he stay home and get at least a little rest. I think I needed to be alone to try to process what was happening.
I struggled with the decision of pumping milk for Uriah. I asked his nurse what I should do. She just stared at me. I knew then that she didn’t think he would survive. There was another nurse standing near us and heard my question. She asked me if I had originally planned on nursing him and that if I had I should follow through with that plan. I was praying that God would heal him. I dreamt of taking him home and he being completely fine. I knew God could heal him, but didn’t know if that was part of God’s holy plan. So I decided that just in case it was I better have some milk on stand by. As I pumped the milk I imagined cradling little Uriah in my arms and feeling his weight in my arms and his mouth tugging at my breast. I couldn’t stop the tears.
That night the nurse came and gave me a sleeping pill. I fell asleep as the tears continued to flow and as my prayer continued that God would heal our little Uriah.
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