Walking With You - Thankful

Walking With You is an outreach of Sufficient Grace Ministries, led by Kelly Gerken. Walking With You is a group of mothers who have lost a baby or child who gather together each month to share our stories, to encourage, and pray for one another as we walk this path together. Our hope is that you will be comforted when you join us here...and maybe that we can offer some grace for the journey as we look to the Lord for comfort and strength.

This month we are focusing on our gratefulness for the gifts we were given and the ways our lives were changed by the lives of our babies. I know that many people are busy, so this can be as simple or in-depth as you wish. I hope you will link your own post with us, sharing ways that you are thankful. I do think that reflecting on gratefulness is very valuable...especially in the throes of grief. Grief is big and consuming. The simplicity of counting our blessings refocuses a grieving heart from the giants of pain, sorrow, and hopelessness to the hope, comfort, peace, and eventually joy that waits for us on the other side of the valley. The comfort that waits for us in the arms of our Savior.

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1. When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed,
   When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
   Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
   And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.
   • Refrain:
     Count your blessings, name them one by one,
     Count your blessings, see what God hath done!
     Count your blessings, name them one by one,
     Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.
     
2. Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
   Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
   Count your many blessings, every doubt will fly,
   And you will keep singing as the days go by.
3. When you look at others with their lands and gold,
   Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold;
   Count your many blessings—wealth can never buy
   Your reward in heaven, nor your home on high.
4. So, amid the conflict whether great or small,
   Do not be discouraged, God is over all;
   Count your many blessings, angels will attend,
   Help and comfort give you to your journey’s end.

~Count Your Blessings, Johnson Oatman Jr, 1897

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I am thankful. As weird as those words taste to me, and probably sound to you, I am. I have been blessed in uncountable ways by my daughter's short life and Homecoming.

I have received comfort. From friends, from acquaintances. From perfect strangers. From God.

I have been richly gifted with new friends. My eyes have been opened to the value of the friends I'd already claimed. The support I've been given has sustained me, and held me upright through this process.

I'm so lucky it happened to me here. In Troy, Ohio. God put us in the perfect place to weather this storm. He surrounded us with caring people in the midst of our despair. He brought me to the one hospital with the one nurse with the ministry of photography and a heart for those tiny, tiny angels. He provided nurses who genuinely hurt for us, and weren't afraid to show it. An OB with a heart. When I look back at everything that happened, I cannot help but praise Him ~ He has well and truly provided.

I'm grateful this happened to me, not to someone I love. I am not strong enough to watch one of my friends go through this. That takes a special person. I'm so fortunate to have a few of those special people in my life. Too many others watch their friends fade away because they don't know how to bridge the gap after a loss like this. My friends are brave. They persevered. I am blessed beyond measure.

I'd been given hope where there had been none. I was resigned to infertility. Now I know it can happen. And, even better, God told me it will happen again.

I'm so thankful for the gift of my daughter. Leila Mae. I love her. Love to say that name. Right now, I have the memories, and when I die, I'll have her companionship. I guess that's a future gift, something to look forward to. A "Now and Later".

I've received the gift of experience. Knowing what this is like. Feeling it for myself. It's given me a depth of compassion I lacked.

And I've been given the opportunity to reach out to others going through this. How great is that!?!?

I Cor 1:3-4

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,
who comforts us in all our troubles,
so that we can comfort those in any trouble
with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.

Walking With You - The Ripples Flow to Our Marriage

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us for the past few weeks...for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven't joined us yet, and would like to, you are more than welcome. This week, we are sharing the impact our loss(es) had on our marriage.

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For those who don't know our story, Leila was born at 19w5d on May 21, 2009. A complete surprise. We didn't have any advanced warning, or a chance to grieve or plan ahead of time. Our earliest indication was probably 30 minutes before she came into this world.

I have so many horrible memories from that night. But one that haunts me so much is hearing my husband sobbing in the bathroom while Nikki, my nurse, was cleaning me up. I remember this overwhelming urge to get out of that bed and go to him, to comfort him. It's the first time I've ever heard him so distraught. And it was scary.

Yasar and I are blessed in our marriage. We have a love for each other that stems from years of struggles, compromise, and mutual respect. He is my gift from God. My rock. Truly the completion of me.

So when we came home from the hospital, I really expected that we'd grieve our way through this together. It got very hard when, a few weeks later, he no longer understood me. Or understands me. Lots of angry words were thrown around. Accusations and recriminations. It's hurt me so much that we can't grieve together. That he's not grieving, and not very accepting of my grieving.

My husband's Syrian. A WAY different culture than ours. A culture likes to shove this kind of situation under the carpet as fast as possible. They don't acknowledge it, and they certainly don't grieve for miscarriages. I'm pretty sure they're convinced that grief is something invented by American therapists to keep them in business.

My in-laws gave me a wonderful gift a few days ago. The phone service is spotty in Syria, so we don't get to talk to them often. In fact, Yasar last spoke to them to give them the bad news. So he called to chat with them for a bit, and they talked to him about his sister and her three stillbirths. And how grief can make it hard for a woman to get through each day. They validated my feelings for my husband, and I think now he understands a little better.

We're probably not going to emerge from this without war wounds. But God has a way of taking our scars and using them for His Glory - He's been doing it for the 11 years we've been together.

Walking With You - The Sea of Grief

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. This week, we are sharing our first steps into the sea of grief.

Email sent 5/22 11:15am to family and close friends:

"I just don't have the energy to make all the phone calls, and cry over and over. I hope you'll forgive me for dropping this on you via email. Leila Mae Wasouf was born last night around 10:30. She survived for a few minutes, then passed. She was just beautiful, with my nose, Yasar's toes, and Andrew's pointy chin.

We had a very nice photographer come in and take pictures, which I'll be happy to share if you're interested.

We're arranging a private burial for her remains.

And we're just trying to deal with this now. I know everyone wants to reach out and help, or offer their condolences. And we appreciate that. But I think we just need some time to process and grieve.

~emily"

Reason number one of why it sucks to own your own business: there's no such thing as "time off". Every Friday during the school year we made upwards of 60 pizzas for student's lunches. This has always been something Yasar and I did together. But that Friday, he headed to the store, and I went home with Andrew. Alone.

I don't remember much of those first hours. But the graduation from tissues to a dishcloth stands out. Kleenex never really had a chance. And I was advised to not walk up stairs. Yet I hauled all the baby clothes, the pack & play, the swings, everything upstairs to the spare bedroom, where it remains even today.

And I remember our pastor showing up at the door, and just wishing he would go away. That everyone would just go away and leave me to my crying.

Two months later, and I still feel that way much of the time.

I'm not much for reading my Bible. It's a holdover from a bad Christian school experience, but I find it almost impossible to draw anything from scriptures. Thank God for His messages through music. I spent so much of those early days with my mp3 player plugged into my ears. Sobbing. Feeling so empty. Praying for Him to fill my hollow heart. Praising Him for Leila's life.

My computer became my second best friend. Reaching out to others going through this journey, and being so warmly embraced. You've all become my lifeline. Defining the new "normal". Praying for me. Sending e-hugs. Understanding. I hope you know how much that's helped me limp through this process.

My brother told me the other day that grief is not linear. And it got me started thinking about these stages, where I've been, where I've yet to go.

I'm afraid I've just dipped my toe into the sea of grief. Will I drown? Will God throw me a life preserver? Will I become a strong swimmer, and a lifeguard myself? I can't say, I haven't read the final chapter of this book yet.

Walking With You - Naming Our Babies

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us for the past few weeks...for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven't joined us yet, and would like to, you are more than welcome.

This week, we are sharing how we chose the names for our babies and any special meaning behind them.

My husband and I have always had problems coming up with baby names. He's from Syria, and it's no secret that he's been brought up in an antisemitic environment - though I have to say he's come a long way from his roots in his 15 years here. And the bulk of American names are based in the Jewish faith. Andrew was actually going to be Nathan, until someone in Yasar's family enlightened him on that name's origins.

When we first found out we were expecting, we started tossing around different names. Our first round was Laurel Edith and Oliver Philip, respectively. That lasted a few months, then, right before we found out that we had the female version cooking in the oven.

And then we came up with Leila. Leila (pronounced Lay-la) is of Persian origin, meaning "dark beauty". Since my daughter was destined to have dark brown hair, and a 50/50 shot at having my brown eyes, we thought it would be the perfect, beautiful name for her.

Her middle name, Mae, was meant to honor both my mother (middle name May) and grandmother (Edith May, where we thought to transfer the "e" into Mae). Viola! The perfect name for our little girl. Leila Mae.

As a side note, a few weeks after we lost her, my husband asked me if we could use the name again. We both loved it so much! I hate to say this, but I actually, for about a minute, considered saving that name - just in case. But no, it belonged to Leila, and it will never be used again.

Leila Mae Wasouf. A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.

A Precious Goodbye

Walking With You was created by Kelly of Sufficient Grace Ministries to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To join in on Walking With You please visit Kelly's blog.

This 4th week, we are sharing about saying goodbye and experiencing the memorial service or funeral if applicable.

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You know, I say goodbye to Leila every day. I don't regret cremating her and keeping her remains with me, not for a second. But the knowledge that she's gone is always right there. The ash container I see first thing every morning, and stop to kiss on my way out of the bedroom into a new day.... (shown here with the blanket she left the hospital in)













Or the satin memory box under my bed that holds all the sweet mementos I have of her life and death,














from sympathy cards to the journal I kept while carrying her. From pregnancy tests:














to photo albums:














To ultrasound pictures and hospital bracelets.

Walking With You - Meeting Our Babies

Walking With You was created by Kelly of Sufficient Grace Ministries to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To join in on Walking With You please visit Kelly's blog.

This 3rd week we will be sharing about the birth of our babies and the moments we spent with our children after they were born.


Wow. It's not easy to relive those moments. Especially with the benefit of knowing the outcome. But I feel grateful to have this opportunity for you to glimpse those precious moments of Leila's birth.

It was a Thursday. Six weeks ago yesterday. May 21, 2009. I was 19 weeks, 5 days pregnant.

My husband owns a franchise, and we had set up to do a pizza-making activity with about 15 mentally challenged teens and their staff at our local MR/DD school. I hadn't been feeling well, actually had been on the fence about canceling for that night and rescheduling. But I couldn't disappoint those kids.

They had an amazing time. Everyone made some pretty cool pizzas, and they were outside enjoying them in the sun. When I realized that the recurring pain I'd been experiencing for the last hour or so was my body contracting. I thought, "Braxton Hicks, no biggie. I'll go home and lay down." On the drive home, I started timing them and realized they were about every 3 minutes. I walked in the house, opened my dog-eared copy of What to Expect, and saw that it said "if you're having more than four contractions an hour, call the doctor". So I paged Dr. O, she said to have her called when I got to the hospital's maternity department.

I grabbed my library book, Your Best Birth by Ricki Lake, and off I went. The hospital's only a 5-minute drive. I called Yasar and let him know what was going on. I sang along with Blessed Be Your Name on K-Love. I checked in to the hospital, oblivious.



Nikki and her student nurse got me comfortable and situated in a room. I remember her putting the fetal monitor on my tummy and chuckling at how my little girl was kicking it. The contractions were still coming, and I was trying to breathe my way through them. Dr. O got there, checked me, and said the most wonderful words..."You're still closed." Oh, how I thanked God for that! Not that I ever really thought anything could happen to me, those kinds of tragedies only happen to other people, right?

They tortured me a little. I mean, put the IV into my arm, then into my hand. The ultrasound tech came in. And them the bomb dropped. "You're 50% effaced. You have a 45% chance of walking out of the hospital still pregnant." No, it wasn't put to me that abruptly, but that's what it boiled down to. Nikki suggested I call Yasar and have him come in. I called, asked him to drop Andrew off with my friend, and get in here. And then I prayed. I prayed so hard.

Yasar got there. Dr. O went home. Nikki checked me and I was 4cm dilated. I don't remember how much longer it took, but fast forward to a contraction that turned me on my side. I reached down and felt the bulge, and yelled at Yasar to get Nikki, the baby was coming now. He couldn't find her, so I called her on the phone. She came in, and my body betrayed me. Pushed my Leila out into the world way too early. 10:54pm. Everything came out at once - Leila trapped in her unbroken amniotic sac, the placenta, all at once. Nikki wrapped everything up into a towel, put her on the unwarming warmer, and started cleaning me up. Yasar was sobbing in the bathroom. I was numb. Nikki was crying. Dr. O came back and lookedd at Leila with tears in her eyes. And yet, I couldn't cry for my daughter. Even after they cleaned her up and I got to hold her, I couldn't cry.

But I couldn't get over how beautiful she was. What a miracle. Tiny hands, complete with fingernails. A sweet little mouth. My son's nose. Yasar's big, flat toes. Perfection. Just too soon.

Around 1am, I sent Yasar to pick up Andrew from my friend Christine's house and take him home to sleep. I called her once Yasar had left and gave her the news, still utterly calm. Told her that Yasar would be there shortly, thanked her for watching my son. I remember her being terribly upset, and comforting her. Nikki came back into the room and asked if I needed anything. I told her I was hungry, could she find some food? She found some Pop-Tarts, oreos, a sandwich. I ate the sandwich. I called my friend Melissa, a night owl who lives in Arizona, but I was shaking so bad that I couldn't really talk. I passed out. An hour later, I woke up to vomit up the sandwich.

Around 3am, Nikki came back with Anita, another OB nurse and an amazingly talented photographer. They brought Leila back to me to take some pictures of us together. I was still numb.

4am, I woke up to go potty. And it hit me like a herd of elephants. My daughter was gone. I sat in that bathroom, sobbing, my heart splitting into tinier and tinier pieces. I went back to bed and spent the rest of the night crying and listening the doors open and close all around me as others made their way towards their happy endings.

Yasar came back around 8:30 with Andrew. Seeing Andrew was the best thing in the world, he made me switch gears from Leila's grieving mommy to Andrew's in-control mommy. Darla, my morning nurse, brought Leila back in so Andrew could see her. He was sad for about 10 seconds, and then found all the neat buttons on the bed. I'm so glad he had the chance to hold his little sister.

And then came the "what do we do with Leila now?" conversation. I wasn't sure - she was below the 20 week cutoff where you had to make arrangements for her remains. Yasar and I were at odds with how to handle this, but I knew, once Darla told me what would happen to her if we'd turn her over to the hospital, that we wouldn't be treating our flesh and blood like bio-waste. And I'm eternally indebted to Darla for her gentle insistence that I don't want to turn Leila over to the hospital. Without her guidance, I probably would have made the biggest mistake of my life, and would be aching over it now and forever.

Dr. O came in and cleared me to leave (a good thing, since I probably would have left AMA anyway). I went home with my son, called the funeral home, and sent a mass email out to friends and family. And then I fell apart.

I don't know why God chose this road for my family. But I know I'm at ease with His decisions. As hard as this was for us, to lose this amazing gift, I've never stopped thanking Him for her short life. He's definitely used this experience to bring me closer to Him. And I'm so thankful to know my Savior, to have Him living in my heart, and to know that, because of his sacrifice on the cross for my sins, someday I will get to skate on a snowflake with my daughter. I will see if those eyes came out my somber brown or her daddy's sparkling green. I may not have her on this earth, but soon I will spend all of eternity with her. Thank you, God.