Pt. 2
They tried to call Brett, but it was around 4pm and
I knew he couldn’t answer the phone at work. Seeing the repeated phone calls,
he thought it was the chiropractor calling to confirm his appointment for the
next day so he still didn’t pick up. Finally, I managed to compose myself
enough to text him: “I need you to come to Dr. Peppy’s please.” They warned me
not to say anything specific so he wouldn’t be distracted or get into an
accident on his way.
They took me to an empty exam room at the far end
of the doctor’s office and left with me with a box of tissues and a bottle of water
to wait for my husband. Longest 40-ish minutes of my life! I sat sobbing until
I thought I ran out of tears, took a drink, blew my nose, and then started
thinking about my reality and it all bubbled up again. A nurse I didn’t know
heard me and checked on me once, letting me cry for a moment and offering her
condolences. A while later one of my nurses came in, hugged me, and reassured
me than though I didn’t feel like it now, I was going to be ok. She was so
young, so hopeful, and those words sounded like cotton candy in my darkest
moment, though I know she meant well.
Finally, Brett arrived to a mostly empty office and
they escorted him back to me. When I saw him I just fell into his arms, sobbing
all over again. I thought I they would have told him, but they didn’t. I had to
say the words. I felt like I had failed him, betrayed him, taken away his
greatest hope, his son. I had only one job, to carry and protect his growing
child, and somehow I had failed miserably without even knowing it. Of course in
the grand scheme of things I know it wasn’t my fault, but it certainly felt
like it in that moment.
Dr. Peppy came in after a few minutes and talked to
us about our options. Normally in the case of “fetal demise” as they call it,
they would induce labour - even though the baby was breech - because their main
priority at that point is the mother’s health. However, he said he would
advocate for whatever we wanted. I felt very strongly about having a C-section.
We had no idea when the baby had actually passed away, and I couldn’t imagine
putting either one of us through the trauma of a long, potentially problematic
labour and delivery. That decided, he told us he would get us on the schedule
for the next afternoon, and sent us home to prepare.
We left the extra car there and I rode with Brett.
We called my mom as we left the office, as she had been waiting for final plans
to buy her flight out. She broke down with us in tearful condolences, then went
to talk to my dad and figure out when they would come anyway. As we drove in
stunned, devastated silence, we came upon the Orlando Temple (of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). I drove by there every time I went to the
OB, but on this awful evening when we really had nowhere else to be, I told
Brett to turn in.
We parked in the first lot and sat there staring at
the huge, beautiful building where we had made eternal promises to each other
just a year before. We didn’t have appropriate clothes or our temple
recommends; I still remember the casual outfit and flip flops I was wearing. I
just couldn’t think of any other place that we could find any sort of comfort
that night. Within a few minutes, my old Bishop, Rodger Anderson, pulled up
right beside us. I jumped out, told him briefly what had happened and he gave
each of us huge hugs like only he can. Then he told us we needed to get inside;
it didn’t matter how we were dressed.
He went ahead to find the Recorder who could look
up our recommend information. As we waited sheepishly in the lobby, out walked the
Relief Society President from our ward, Laura Terry, and her counselor, Ilda
Spurgeon. I didn’t know them very well at the time, but I knew they could
gather the women of the ward to support us through the following weeks and months.
And there they were, right in our path and ready to help.
We went inside, and decided to meet up in the
Celestial room, the earthly representation of Heaven. I changed into white
temple clothes and went straight up. I didn’t want to wait around or talk to
anyone else. By the time Brett joined me, he had his brother Jared and his wife
Carla with him. Brett had been waiting for me downstairs when they came in, and
Brett was finally able to let go of all the emotional burden and cry with his
brother. They had no idea we were going to be there; they just felt they should
go to the temple that night. As they sat with us, we talked through what we
knew, what we were going to do, and how we were feeling. I flipped pretty
regularly between uncontrollable tears, morbid humor, and shocked denial. And
yet, somehow as we sat there, I also felt this incredible strength, peace and
warmth surrounding us. I know Theo was right there with us, helping us process
and shoulder this horrible truth. Not to mention the comfort we felt from the
obvious divine orchestration surrounding us with just the right people we
needed in our darkest and most difficult moment. Even as my world was falling
apart, I knew God was right there beside me, loving me enough to put these
people in my path and reminding me that though he could not take away this
horrible, painful, loss, he could carry me through it.
And then, just to further emphasize that, in walked
my current Bishop and his wife, Wade and Melissa Lowe. Of course! We were far
from alone! They listened, held us, and before we went home Wade and Jared gave
Brett and me priesthood blessings to comfort and strengthen us. We believe
these blessings are given from God, through an authorized human mouthpiece, for
our times of need. I focused on the key words used to help me remember what was
said: Comfort, Peace, Love, Questions Answered, Clarity, Strength, Healing
(recuperative power)… Now a year later, it is fascinating to see how each of
those promised blessings came about to help me deal with the loss of my son,
both that night and in the months that followed. I am so grateful we ended up
in that sacred place of refuge, and for the precious connection I felt with our
son - who we believe is eternally part of our family, no matter how early he
passed away.
