There is more to it than that, though. When I was in the hospital, the rain was a sign to me of God's tender mercy and care. A few days before I was admitted to the hospital to begin the "rollercoaster", I had a priesthood blessing from my husband. (For those who may not know what that is, a brief explanation. The priesthood is God's power. It's what he used to create the earth. It's how Jesus healed the sick and the reason he laid hands on his apostles heads when he called them to become apostles, to give them the use of his power as well. A priesthood blessing is given when a person who has been given the priesthood lays their hands on the head of another person and-similar to a prayer-, gives them counsel and/or healing from the Lord.) In the blessing I was given, I was promised that through everything, I would be able to keep up with the things that were most important to me, our home and our children. I was blessed with comfort and strength. As those words were spoken, I felt such relief. I knew the Lord knew the worries in my heart, and that no matter what came, God was with me.
When I was admitted to the hospital, I was so worried about all the things I couldn't be doing at home. I knew what I had been promised, but I was completely unprepared to be admitted to the hospital and have a baby; as far as I knew, I was only going in for an ultrasound. So my home wasn't cleaned, the laundry wasn't caught up, I hadn't arranged for people to care for our kids, Scott was supposed to be leaving on a trip to Taiwan in a few days, and my garden was going to go uncared for during the hottest time of the year. Scott's car has an air conditioner that is moody, and doesn't like to work when it's REALLY hot. I knew what God had promised me, that the kids and the things that mattered would be cared for, but I was wondering how it was going to happen. So the rain was such a tender mercy to me. It watered my garden for me when I couldn't. It made me cry when it rained so hard--I was sitting in my hospital room, and I felt very strongly that it was an answer to my prayers, and the fulfillment of a blessing I had been promised through God's power. We live in a desert. It doesn't rain much in the summer. But it rained for me.
And I felt so blessed. Our family and friends rallied, my sweet sister in laws (I am VERY blessed to have a wonderful relationship with every single one of my in-laws) came to my house and cleaned. They did laundry, washed my blinds, windows, dishes, swept, mopped, did bathrooms, vacuumed, etc. As humbling as it was to receive those blessings at the hands of others, I was so grateful to know that the things that mattered to me were being taken care of. People offered to take my children. I didn't even have the chance to take everyone up on their offers for help, because things happened so fast with Gideon's short life, but so many people made things happen. I spent a few hours in the morning with my children, and then left to go to Primary Children's each day. People brought us meals. I remember feeling like blessings were pouring out of the sky. Like if I tried to run away from them and hide it would be like running around in a rainstorm trying not to get wet. Blessings rained down on our family. I was not really the one keeping up with everything, but it was not being neglected. In fact, my house looked cleaner than it has in a very long time!
Since that time, we haven't had more than a few days without rain. It rained off and on during the week Gideon was in the hospital, so we could take Scott's car (better gas mileage) to and from Primary Children's hospital, without worrying about the air conditioner. That also allowed us to leave our minivan with whoever was caring for our other children, which helped us to be able to care for them, and helped others care for them as well. Since we were busy with hospitals and our other children, God took care of our garden. Perhaps that is no big deal, but I love my garden, a lot, and it was a big deal to me, and God knew it.
Perhaps it sounds odd, but humor has been great medicine for our family. Scott's older brother Daniel, who lost his first wife several years ago, came and spent some time talking to us about grief and about dealing with loss. On the night Gideon was born, he reminded us that it's OK to be happy, and there is no guilt in moments filled with humor, joy, and peace. We should not beat ourselves up trying to do things that are humanly impossible (such as staying awake constantly or not eating because we refuse to leave the bedside of our loved one.) It was immensely helpful advice, and it helped us to learn how to laugh and cry at the same time. So...in finding humor in our situation, Scott and I have joked a little bit that if we moved to California, we could probably stop the drought there. It just seems to keep raining, to remind us that God is watching out for us, and to help us with our garden.
Another reminder associated with the rain is linked with the song "Holes in the Floor of Heaven." Steve Wariner also sings "Two teardrops." I had a very "two teardrops" moment on one of the rainy days when we were visiting Gideon.
I don't intend to put a link to a song in EVERY post, but it might make more sense if you hear the song, so here it is. Pay special attention to the second verse.
Steve Wariner-Two Tear Drops lyrics
So...the "Two Teardrops" moment came on the Wednesday before Gideon died. If you have ever been in an NICU, you may understand that there can be several babies all in a tight space. There is not a lot of privacy or separation between one patient and the next. There was a sweet mom "next door", in the next bed over, also with a baby boy, who had been born at 34 weeks. I had talked with her several times, her baby was not needing nearly as much attention as ours, but had struggled to eat enough and be growing enough with just nursing, and had required some supplemental nutrition and care. She was very kind, offering suggestions and advice of things their family had done to help their children feel connected to this new baby that was in the NICU, offering to take pictures when we had our kids come visit, and things like that.
On this particular day, the doctors wanted to meet with us, both Scott and I. They came to Gideon's bedside and explained that with all of the things they were trying, Gideon was not responding as they had hoped. Because his kidneys had gotten so backed up and swollen in utero, his lungs were very small, even for a 29 week old. They had tried giving his lungs more room to grow by surgically draining his kidneys, and hoped that draining the kidneys and increasing his blood pressure might help his kidneys work, and in the mean time, he had been on a ventilator helping him to breathe. But his lungs weren't sufficient. In fact, his lungs were getting worse, and his kidneys were still not functioning. His body was swelling, not enough urine was being made compared to the liquids he needed to survive, and his body was not removing the toxins it should, and his ability to absorb oxygen was just not enough. The ventilator they had him on was helping to keep him oxygenated, but his tiny lungs were so underdeveloped that the X-rays showed signs of lung damage--the lining in his lungs was beginning to shred. They explained that they were buying us time, and that at most, we had a week. They recommended that if we wanted to be able to have him pass calmly and in our arms that we begin considering removing him from the ventilator. That was one of the harder moments in my life. I am rarely at a loss for words, and I had none. I actually said "I have no words."
My mommy friend (whose name I do not know) from the next bed over had heard. They had closed curtains around us, so that people wouldn't have to see our grief, but curtains don't do much to block sound. She did not come over and interfere or say anything. But later, I saw them packing up all their things. The diapers, the booklets and information, her pump kit. She was taking her baby home.
I was so excited for her. And jealous. And I didn't want to be jealous, just happy for her. Truly, I was excited for her whole family, and so I put on a brave face, and I went over and told her how glad I was that her baby was doing well, and that I was so happy that their baby was going to get to go home. She told me her children were already arguing over who would get to hold him first. And then, knowing that I hadn't gotten to hold my baby yet, she asked me: "Would you like to hold my baby before we go? I know that's the hardest thing about having a baby in the NICU." I was overcome. I didn't know that I wanted to hold her baby until she asked, and it sounded like the best thing in the world. And so I held her baby first. Before my own. And it meant the world to me that she had shared her joy and her baby with me.
And I thought of that song. The "You've got a brand new angel and I've lost mine." part of the song. I stood there and held her baby and just cried. And she told me "I'm so sorry about your baby." She was the first, besides the doctors, to tell me those words that I hear over and over. And there really are no other words to say, so don't feel bad if you've said them.
So when it rains, I think of all those teardrops drifting to the sea. I think of the blessings and kindnesses that felt like they were coming down so fast and so hard. And I think of the tender mercies of the Lord watering my garden when I couldn't, and I think he is reminding me that he is still watching over me. I think of my angel up in heaven. I sort of hope he misses me, and I sort of hope he's just happy to be up in Heaven. And I think of leaving Primary Children's hospital on a rainy day after learning that my baby was not going to live long, and getting to hold someone else's baby that was going home. And the rain makes me cry. A good, bad, happy, sad cry.
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