The Day She Left for Heaven.

This part of our lives looks like the darkest spot, but it’s where God’s light shined the brightest.  It’s where, as new believers, we learned what it means to fully rely on God.  We learned that bitter roots need torn out, anger needs to be righteous anger, sadness at loss here on Earth should equal gladness for the loved one now rejoicing in the presence of Christ.

I wrote this many years ago on a support blog I used to write with 2 others who had children in Heaven.  Truth be told, I’m literally pasting it here from that other blog and can’t find the gumption to read it today.  I was a new believer then, in the early baby steps of faith and theology.  I’m pasting it into this post because I know other women want to know they aren’t the only ones with these dark stories.  They want to know it’s not just them.  So, that is why I share.  I didn’t know anyone who had lost children and had been searching for understanding with people who knew.  You’ll likely see a difference in my understanding from back then, see my struggles.  I’d also like to note that the coroner who we felt treated us badly during all of this- got dreadfully ill on vacation and suddenly died.  He was a man of too much power in a small town, and he had hurt a lot of people as we found out over the years.

On January 31st of 2008 the weather channel forecasted that we’d be snowed in the next morning. It was a Thursday, and Josh and I were pretty certain he’d be off work the next day because the roads were supposed to be completely lost in the massive amounts of snow. We’d just gotten back from the Urgent Care with our kids, Maddie- our oldest was sick, and we’d taken her to see the doctor. Lila was extremely quiet all evening, we took her to bed at about 10pm 9and hoped we’d all be home enjoying ourselves in the snow the next day).  I kept trying to get ready for bed, to take my shower while Josh watched the girls.  Something kept nagging me, pulling me back into the room to hold the baby, kiss the baby one more time.  Josh asked me why I was acting strange.  I told him I had a terrible feeling.  He said everything was fine, to go take my shower.  I believe now that was God allowing me to love her extra in those moments, as they were some of our last.

Somewhere during the night I awoke and decided it was time to change and feed Lila. She wasn’t stirring, so I don’t really know why I woke up, but I changed her diaper and tried to feed her. She didn’t want to eat, instead she acted super sleepy and barely noticed the diaper change so I put her back to bed and fell asleep shortly after that.

I didn’t wake up until sometime after five am when I heard my husband up – getting ready to try to get to work. That’s when I heard his voice in our dark bedroom.

Something’s wrong with Lila, she’s not breathing! Carrie, Lila’s gone.

I dove out of bed, flipped on the light and there she was. Purple and Blue. There was no life in her, she was bloated, COLD, lifeless… it was horrific. I heard my husband saying he was calling 911, but we both knew it was too late. We did what we could, tried to do CPR, over and over and over… Josh took over and I was yelling my baby! and pounding my fists on the floor. He called our neighbor and babysitter because she was trained in CPR and she could get there before the ambulance. And she did. She got there in less than 10 minutes, she worked on her while her husband checked for a pulse. They looked up at us now and then with so much sadness in their faces because they knew she was gone, they were doing CPR for us. They knew it was the only way to stay sane, to think we could help- to stop it, to back it up.. But we knew it couldn’t really be stopped. It was reality. She had died while we were sleeping. Stopped breathing, right there in her bed. She went to Heaven, her soul leaving while mommy and daddy slept, unaware.
The ambulance took 40 minutes to get to our house.

Forty minutes of terror, panic.. We thought Maddie was still in her bedroom, but our little 2 ½ year old had climbed over her baby gate to see what was going on. She saw the paramedics when they arrived, she watched from behind us as they worked on her. To this day she still brings up things she witnessed.. We never meant for her to see that… but we were so caught up in the pain we couldn’t think straight.
We got in the car to follow the ambulance, I tried to load Lila’s baby carrier into the car, Josh pulled it from my hands.  He knew my struggle, he could see my disbelief.  I called my father on the phone. They lived just a handful of miles away, I wanted them to be aware, to follow us to the hospital, but when my dad answered the phone I was crying/bawling gibberish… words would not form… He kept asking me to calm down and start over so he could help me, so he could understand.
The ambulance made it 7 miles and stopped in town to take on another paramedic who could shock Lila’s heart. We sat at a snowy intersection waiting for them to pull away and head to the hospital. My husband got out, went to the ambulance to find out what was going on. My parents stood by the door of my car asking me what was going on, would she be okay? I told them I didn’t know. I couldn’t say she was gone. I wouldn’t say it even though I knew it was true.  I just kept shaking my head.
The rest of the ride to the hospital was painful. The snow was so deep, it took over 30 minutes to drive what should have only taken 15, I sat in the passenger seat pleading, bring her back, I’ll do anything if you bring her back.  Josh told me starkly to stop…  He reminded me that once you are with God, you wouldn’t want to come back..
At the hospital I saw them bring her in on the stretcher, they’d cut her clothes down the front and she was in just a diaper, cords attached, needles inserted. I can’t even explain what I felt. It was complete insanity- I had just birthed this baby three months ago and she was gone.
The hospital hallway started to fill up with people who came to be with us, my husbands parents, close personal friends, the pastors from our church, our neighbors, they all held me quietly, rocking me back and forth, their tears dripping off their faces onto mine. I hadn’t thought to put in my contacts, everything was blurry, I was there in my pajamas in a hospital before sunrise mourning the death of my daughter. It all didn’t make sense, it was a night mirror, I thought if only God would wake me up… this isn’t real.
I went into the hospital bathroom, leaned against the wall and slid all the way to the floor. I wanted to die in there. I didn’t ever want to walk out. I was silently begging God to undo the day, to start it over again.
Josh and his mom were both in the bathroom with me, they lifted me under the arms and helped me walk to the room where I was told I could say my goodbyes. My mom stayed by my side holding my arm, it was like we were clinging to each other on the side of a mountain.. There was Lila, dark purple, wrapped in a tiny pink blanket she’d been sleeping with, some sort of clip on her tongue, lifeless and gone. I cradled her in my arms, and held her to my cheek. At that very moment I felt warmth through her, she was being held by Jesus, no doubt in my mind. I remember telling her you’re safe with Jesus, I love you so much, You’re safe with Jesus. It’s gonna be ok.
I knew then my life WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME. I was not going to be a typical person, with a typical life, I would never be normal.
While I was saying goodbye there was another family on the other side of the curtain at first. Their baby had be found unresponsive that morning too, but it had been found in time. I looked them in the eye one time and thought to myself that I hoped they knew how fortunate they were. They looked at Lila with panic and pain.
Before we left, we stood in a circle, there were many of us from our church and family, we prayed, we cried… then it was time to go. To go home without our child.  The snow was deep outside, everything was covered in perfect white snow that hadn’t yet been plowed. It was silent, peaceful, eerie though.  Lila had had a short stay in the ICU when she was born for cleft palate and Josh had kept telling me, “I know you want her out of the ICU, she’ll probably get to come home when it snows, she’ll get to see the snow.” That was around Thanksgiving, she got to come home after 13 days, but it hadn’t snowed. That morning as we were driving away from the hospital I cried and told Josh, “You were right, she went home when it snowed.” She went to her heavenly home.

Then, in these difficult hours, CPS decided they were going to come to our house that day and interview us. Within four hours of us leaving the hospital. They didn’t wait for an autopsy, they decided to see if we were unfit, which we are the farthest thing from unfit… they came – toured our home with wet, snowy shoes on, wreaking of cigarettes,to see if WE were good parents.  They asked us to show them where she slept, wanted to see our other child. It was awful. They woke Maddie from her nap and hovered over her.  To have strangers in your house checking to see if it was your fault.. That seems rough, then- add to that the fact that three days later our local coroner came and did the same , thing. He came to our home, made us put a baby doll in her bed just the way she was when we found her and then he took pictures for his files. Can you imagine the anger/grief/hatred I felt that day. I couldn’t believe that we were being put through this- it was enough that our baby had died. He told us he was working on the autopsy, that he didn’t want to say sids, that she had tiny spots of pneumonia in her lungs, but it didn’t look like enough to have killed her… He said if he couldn’t give a conclusive answer, it would look like he couldn’t do his job.  He went back and forth and eventually I guess he ruled with viral pneumonia, but our doctor scoffed at that. When I questioned the deputy coroner she made me feel like a moron. She informed me how “important” the coroner is and how “respected” he was in our community. I was angry, I didn’t care how respected he was, he had made my heartache so much worse. Our pediatrician thought for sure it was a sids death. Lila had just been at the doctors office two days before to be seen for a cold. They had listened to her lungs and checked her for everything including rsv and found nothing, just a sniffle. Listening to the professionals go back and forth about her death did not make it any easier. It did, however, make me realize that only God knew the answer.

Years later, as a photographer, the deputy coroner and her daughter came to my studio for senior photos.  The DC did not recognize me.  Toward the end of her session, I reminded her who I was.  The color drained from her face, and she grew tense.  It was easy for her to forget me, but I hadn’t forgotten her.  A similar situation happened when I was photographing a little girl’s Audrey Hepburn session at a small theater in the next town over.  The coroner owned the theater.  He was behind the counter chatting with me.  He had exponentially increased our grief, but easily forgot us.  My blood felt cold in my veins while he talked to me casually.  I didn’t bother to tell him who I was.  I knew nothing I could say would bring me any justice.  I prayed God would work it out for me, in my heart and in his.

My family on my mother’s side had to experience double loss that weekend.  They drove from Pennsylvania to Indiana for Lila’s funeral, then back to PA for my second cousin’s baby Arwen’s funeral who had also died from SIDS the same weekend, (and oddly enough the baby was born the exact same day as Lila…)  They told us that she had no autopsy, no cps, no coroner to deal with…  I wished I had known my rights then… That I could have been strong enough to stand up for myself, and keep them out of my home.  I hope and pray that never happens to another mother. That they never know the pain of wrapping up a fake baby and placing it in the bed so some man they’ve never met can photograph a “reenacted death scene” right there in their bedroom.

Until God takes me home, I’m going to keep on reaching out to other mommas because that is the best way I know how to deal with all of this.  Know that God loves you, He gives, and he takes away, but he’s in charge. I don’t understand why He allows these things to happen to us, all I need to know is that faith in his son and his work on that cross is my saving grace. I honestly don’t know where I’d be right now without it.

He gives and He takes away, but He holds us the whole way.