Thanksgiving

It is so hard to understand.. to accept. The Doctors tell us that Molly got an infection from the tube placed through her belly button, and the bacteria traveled to her bloodstream. At least that's the medical reason why she's not here.

We were so prepared. For months we were ready for her, for the problems we knew she was going to have. But they were all treatable. And now this? It doesn't make sense.

Molly is already gone, but we sit there and cuddle her for another several minutes. The color in her face quickly changes, just like our lives. I keep thinking this can't be real. This can't be happening.

We finally decide to bring her into the hospital room where we had been staying. We slowly walk down the hall through the NICU. I cradle my Molly tightly and the sorrow is almost more than I can bare. This walk feels like an eternity.

We enter the room and my family is there waiting for us. I'm so grateful they are here and I feel how much they love me. They take turns holding her and there is a special feeling in the room.

The nurse comes in to let us know we can take our time and to let her know when we're ready.

Ready? I will never be ready to hand Molly over and walk away.

I ask the nurse about calling a photographer from the company, As I Lay Me Down to Sleep. They have a group of photographers who volunteer their talents taking pictures for terminally ill children, and those that have recently passed. At one time in my life, I thought about volunteering for this company. I never thought I would be on the receiving end.

She calls a photographer and lets us know she will be here in one hour. I will be eternally grateful to this woman, for dropping all of her Thanksgiving Day plans and coming to take photographs that we will cherish forever.

We start the photo session and again I have that intense feeling of gratitude for my precious family. The photographer takes several pictures and I want it to last forever.

But it doesn't last forever. And my family starts to leave. And the sun starts to go down. And I'm feeling completely desperate to spend just a few more moments with my Molly.

Tyler and I sit on the bed for another hour snuggling her. We cry and pray and then cry some more. And finally, it's time to go.

Tyler calls the nurse and tells her we are ready. She comes into our room and I completely lose it. I cling to Molly and I don't think I can let go. The nurse waits patiently as we tell Molly goodbye and kiss her face over and over. Then, together, we slowly hand her over to the nurse.

And my heart breaks all over.

Today is Thanksgiving. It's the day we give thanks for all of our blessings. What do I have to be thankful for right now, you ask? Although my heart is completely shattered, I have a daughter who has made it. She doesn't have to go through this life with all it's trials and hardships. She's done. And now she is rooting for the rest of us.

I know these things, but right now, I just hurt.

I'm still so grateful for the occasional glimpses of the sun.

Together Forever

Time is passing too quickly. I want this hour to last forever. And I want it to end at the same time.

It’s torture.

Family members come in to say good-bye, my mom and dad, brothers and sister. They all give Molly a tender kiss.

They slowly file out, feeling the deep sorrow in the room.

Now it’s time for Lucie and Brigham to come in. They haven’t seen her yet. I’m dreading the moment they step through the door to meet her, then kiss her good-bye. I don’t want to explain to them what is happening, that Molly isn’t coming home, that she won’t wear the clothes they helped fold for her, that she won’t sleep in the crib we lovingly put together. They’ve waited so patiently my whole pregnancy to meet their sister. They knew she was very special from the beginning. 

I think about the paper chain they made, and how they diligently cut off links everyday. Lucie counted the links often and screamed with excitement. Brigham gave my belly hugs daily, telling Molly he was so excited to be her big brother.

After Molly was born, we found out Lucie and Brigham couldn’t come into the NICU to see their sister. They were heartbroken, especially Lucie. We explained the reasons why they couldn’t see her, that the doctors couldn't risk any germs getting to all the babies. So they continued to wait patiently. 

And now it has come to this. They will meet her the same day they have to say good-bye. I don’t think I can take it.

Tyler and I calm down a little so the children won’t see us this way. We cover Molly’s tubes and “pokes” the best we can so Lucie and Brigham aren’t too nervous or scared.

They walk through the door. I can’t describe what I feel as I sit here with my family. I look at my three amazing children and wonderful husband and feel an overpowering love for them.

Why am I so blessed?

Lucie and Brigham hesitantly come over to Molly. It doesn't take long until they are doting on their baby sister. She has her eyes open and she takes it all in. 

Lucie is so sweet and keeps changing Molly’s hats and wants to take lots of pictures. 

Brigham keeps looking at her fingers and her piggy toes and says how cute they are.

 After a few minutes, it is time for them to leave. Tyler and I want it to just be us in the room when Molly passes. We want to send her to her Heavenly Father, together.

Before the children leave, we sit close. Lucie and Brigham give Molly one last kiss. It is a moment I will never forget. 

We then sing, “Families Can Be Together Forever”, a hymn we sing at our church. The words touch me like never before,

“I have a family here on Earth, they are so good to me.

I want to share my life with them through all Eternity.

Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan.

I always want to be with my own family, and the Lord has shown me how I can.

The Lord has shown me how I can.”

 Tyler and I can’t sing the last two lines, we’re so overwhelmed. We sit and listen to our children sing, “The Lord has shown me how I can”, and there is an incredible peace in the room. The spirit is so strong and all of a sudden, I KNOW Molly was meant to come to our family. She was meant to live on this earth just a short time, then return to her Heavenly Father.

I am so grateful for this knowledge. I’ve always had a testimony of the Gospel, of our Heavenly Father’s plan, but in this moment, it is so clear. The LORD has shown us the way to be with our families forever. And I want to share the eternities with them.

More than anything.

Brigham and Lucie leave the room and it’s just the three of us again. I know the time is close. With our other children gone, we both break down.

I hold Molly close. I kiss her face over and over, letting my tears fall freely. I touch her button nose and look into her eyes. I tell her over and over how proud I am to be her mama. I tell her what a good fight she gave. I ask her to watch over us, over Lucie and Brigham. I tell her to give her brother Sam a hug, and to look out for him. I am clinging to her so tight, as if I can keep her here if I hold on tight enough.

Molly is suddenly gasping for air. My world is crumbling. The end is so near. I can’t look at her anymore so I bury my head into Tyler’s shoulder. I can’t breathe and I’m halfway aware that I’m praying for Heavenly Father to take me instead. I’m begging. TAKE ME!

Tyler and I hold each other so tightly and wait for it to come. And then….

Molly gives one more gasp.

She’s gone, just like that.

I can't even begin to describe the sorrow I feel. But in this very same moment, I feel an unexpected peace. My heart is overflowing. I think again about what it means to catch a glimpse of the sun during a storm.

The verse from the song we sang echoes in my mind, “I want to share my life with them through all Eternity.” I suddenly have a fierce desire to do everything in my power to make that possible, to be with my Molly again.

I won’t let her down.

The sun

It rains a lot in Washington.

When it’s stormy outside, how much do we appreciate a glimpse of the sun, even for a moment? For me, it’s just enough to get me through the storm.

As I sit there holding my Molly, feeling as though I can’t survive another minute in this storm, I catch a glimpse of the sun.

It is hope.

This feeling is a grace from our Heavenly Father. At a time when I literally can’t do it anymore, He gives me the strength to go on.

The hope I feel lasts only a few moments. But there is an unexplained warmth lingering in the room.

I cling to this feeling as I continue to cling to my Molly.

no words

I want each of you who are reading these next posts to understand that I’m letting you see a glimpse of an experience that is very personal to me. I never thought I would share this publicly, but I feel that I need to. Thank you for being sensitive and respectful.

How can a mother describe what it is like to watch her child die? There are no words.

I will do my best.

We frantically enter the NICU just as the Neonatologist is listening to Molly’s heart. He is so tender with her and I’m already crying. We rush to Molly’s side and the Doctor slowly lifts his stethoscope. He looks at us with an unspoken sorrow in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “She has maybe an hour.”

My insides feel frozen and I can’t breathe. I want to scream and shout and throw myself on the ground, but I don’t. My ears hear what he says, but my heart refuses to accept. Tyler is by my side as this unseen battle rages inside me.

“Do you want to hold her?” the Doctor asks.

I haven’t held her yet. I’ve wanted to so badly this past week. More than I can say. But to ensure a proper placement for her breathing tube, the Doctors thought it best to move her as little as possible.

Although I desperately want to yes, I almost say no. I feel that if I hold her now, we will be giving up. This is my child and I will never give up hope that a miracle can happen.

The Doctor sees me hesitate and says, “I think you need to hold her. We’ll keep her hooked up to everything.”

My throat is so tight and tears stream down my face. I surrender and silently nod.

The nurses put up partitions to give us privacy. Everyone is quiet and respectful. Tyler and I sit close together as a nurse carefully places Molly in my arms.

As I cradle my baby for the first and last time, I feel a wave of emotion I can’t explain. I look into her face. Her eyes are open and I feel that same bond I felt the first time I saw her eyes. I feel our spirits connect in this very moment. I will be her mama forever and she knows it. She loves me as much as I love her.

Suddenly, its almost more than I can bear.  I don’t think my heart can take it. I don’t think I’ll survive this next hour. I feel Tyler's arms wrap around me and Molly, and I let it all out. Every emotion, every feeling comes tumbling out as we sob together.

In the Night

I hold my Molly and stroke her cheek as she quietly nurses. It’s 2 am but I don’t mind. I lean my head back and smile, feeling completely content as my little one nourishes her body.  I take her chubby hand in mine and hold on.

And I never want to let go.

I jerk awake and find myself in a dark room. Was I dreaming? I’m confused. My head hurts. My body aches. And there is a heaviness in the air that I can’t explain. Then all of a sudden, the disorientation I feel slowly dissipates and reality sinks in.

Oh no. No. No. No.

I wrap my arms around myself and begin sobbing. I want to fall asleep again and dream that wonderful dream. Even more than that, I want it to be real. I want her to be Ok, to come home. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life.

I sit up in the hospital bed in our room across from the NICU and the questions fill my mind.

Why me? Why her? Aren’t we good parents? Don’t we deserve a miracle? There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people praying for Molly. Why can’t Heavenly Father just heal her? I KNOW with all of my soul that this can be done.  I KNOW it!

I can’t stop praying and sobbing. It seems like hours.

Tyler slips through the door and comes to me. We fall into each other’s arms and sob together. We decide to take turns praying. We both pour our hearts out like we’ve never done. The words we speak are filled with a desperate plea for a miracle. It would be so easy for Him to heal her. And our faith is so real and pure. We know it can be done.  I picture our Savior there with us, wrapping his all encompassing arms around us as we pray.

We start to doze, exhausted from crying and praying all night. Suddenly, my Mom comes bursting through the door. She tells us the Doctors want us to come. We quickly walk down the hall with our heads held high, but I can’t help but feel a deep sorrow like I’ve never known.

The beginning of the end

Tuesday, November 20th

I have an appointment today with my O.B., so I figure I can swing by the hospital when I'm finished. My mom and I drive the 10 miles to my Doctor's office. While I'm driving, I get a call from the Neonatologist. He informs me that they suspect Molly has pneumonia, that they're starting her on a round of antibiotics. He sounds calm on the phone, but I can't help but notice an underlying worry in his voice.

We arrive at my O.B.'s office, finish the appointment, and make our way to the NICU. After scrubbing down, we walk into the room. Molly's incubator is the first one as you come into the NICU but I can't see her. There are doctor's and nurses around her bed, bustling back and forth from the monitors. 

A feeling of absolute dread enters my stomach. 

The Neonatologist spots me as I enter and rushes over. He quickly tells me the problem but I don't think I hear him right. All I can make out is "septic shock" and "touch and go". I glance at my Molly and fight back the tears. And then the thought crosses my mind, why am I fighting the tears? The floodgates open and I can't see straight. Its all I can do to not scoop her up. I don't know a lot about septic shock, but I know enough. 

The nurse comes over and puts her arms around me. I cry all the more. She offers me a box of tissues and says she will get us a room next to the NICU, so we can be close by. That's when I know this is serious. 

The rest of the day is a haze. Tyler comes from work. Specialists run test after test. Molly's heart rate jumps to 250. They ask us to step out as they place a different respirator. The doctors continue to give us updates, but it's all the same.

It doesn't look good.

And all the while I feel like I'm falling, not knowing when I'm going to hit the ground.  

sleep

I can't sleep. Or I guess I should say, I can't stay asleep. The nightmares come freely. Every time, Molly is born with a different problem.

And every time, I can't fix it.

As a mother, I'm used to fixing. When Brigham gets a scrape from a fall, Mommy is there to make it all better. When Lucie is upset because Brigham won't take off her princess dress, I am there to smooth things over and talk them through it.

I've never felt so helpless, watching and observing as Doctors and nurses care for my Molly. The worst is when the nurse needs to reposition her. Molly's legs are out of socket and she has a broken femur. So even the slightest movement, Molly winces in pain and can't catch her breathe. It's like a dagger to my heart watching, and not able to DO anything. I want to fix everything. I need to fix everything.

One morning after a fitful sleep, I kneel to pray to my Heavenly Father. I am feeling so inadequate and need some comfort and guidance. I pray and pray and finally it hits me. My Savior can fix her. I am nothing, and He is everything. I raise my white flag to my Savior and surrender to Him. I am His completely. No matter what life brings and what challenges I am asked to endure, as long as I realize my total dependency on my Savior, I will make it through. This is totally out of my hands. It is in the hands of my Master, in the hands that were pierced for me, for Molly. He knows the end of this trial and only He can give me the comfort I so desperately need.  

I surrender.

The next night is the first time I sleep without waking.