Two Years.

Tell your story from you scars - not your wounds, they say.  Until this point, I thought I'd always write from my gashing open wounds.  But lately, I think I'm now almost coming to a place where I can look back and tell my story, tell it from my scars.  I may not be quite there, as that all-familiar lump forms still when I think of her, but I'm getting closer.



 

Did you know that in the beginning of November is when Mexico celebrates the Day of the Dead? While it may seem quite morbid, apparently it's a very colourful celebration of life, where they eat the favourite food of their deceased loved ones.  While we don't know what Rosie's favourite foods were, we're going to take a guess and say they're cupcakes.  Making rose cupcakes on her birthday to share with all our friends and family just seems like the most fitting thing to do.

This is Ember, who was born one month before Rosie on my birthday.  She's eating a birthday cupcake for baby Rose I brought for everyone at church this morning.

God, how I miss her.  How I wish she were still with us.

"Oh Lord, deepen my wounds into wisdom, shape my weakness into compassion, gentle my envy into enjoyment, my fear into trust, my guilt into honesty".  Ruth Haley Barton

Rosalie has forever changed our lives.  My entire perspective has shifted.  My heart has been altered. It is something so difficult to describe.

A family tradition we have at thanksgiving is to go around the table and say what we are thankful for. This year, I said - although I don't ever think I'll be thankful for what happened, I am thankful that we have seemed to pull through, that we are approaching the other side, and we are stronger for it - our marriage is thriving, our family is close and we are more compassionate and more empathetic, we can embrace today regardless of what tomorrow may bring. 

In the first year of grief, I was entirely selfish.  Anyone who has been through grief knows that grief can make a person quite selfish.  After the first year passed, I did my best to 'catch up' with my friends and family.  And, it's been a pretty difficult year for so many.  You would think after what I've been through I would know what to say, how to walk with my friends through difficult times.  I don't.  The raw emotions tend to come through, and I cry out.  "Why is our world so broken!  Why is there death, sickness, anger, hurt?"

Oh Ann Voskamp.  This lady has rung so much truth into my life this year.  In my darkness, her words have rung out loud and clear:  "This is how you live with your one broken heart: you give it away."

It is worth it.  It is oh-so worth it.  Last spring, we went through fertility treatments to try for another baby, and it was unsuccessful.  Three long expensive winter months of appointments, needles, questions, and drugs.  I wasn't prepared for the grief that would follow.  If, one day, we are able to have another baby, that baby will be so treasured.  So adored.  So beloved!

HOPE is the anchor of my soul.

This morning, our church community came together to recognize Rosie's life.  I am so thankful for a community that believes in coporate grief - so many people reminded me today of how Rosie's death impacted us ALL.  Not just our family, but our entire church community.  This morning we remembered where we had come from - where we were, where we have been, and now, where we are.  Where God has brought us.  God as brought us through, and He has been faithful.  Through all the grief, the dark days, the sadness - one thing remains.  His love never gives up.  It endures forever and ever, through all time.  The Bible promises that "the Lord draws near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in Spirit" (Psalm 34:18)

This is a Psalm I wrote, and read it in church this morning.  I had the community join in together on the lines, "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever"

"Today is Sunday, the Sabbath day
We worship the LORD and together we pray

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

 When the sun is shinning and the leaves are green
Our spirits are sandwiched with JOY in between

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

The evening closes, the sunset fades
The sky of exuberant colours display
 
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

The darkness settles, hope fades away
The longing comes for brighter days
 
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

When the moon is bright and the water still
The sounds of the mourning dove, the whiporwill

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

The morning will come, it always does
But right now the darkness I can't rise above

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

The first streaks of dawn penetrate my soul
My heart is heavy, tired, I yearn for more.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

As day break comes and warms my heart
Hope springs anew, the sorrow departs

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

When sunshine comes to ease the pain
We all know it very well may rain

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever

Oh Lord give me strength to face the day
Whether it be tears or joy - come what may

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good - His love endures forever"  

This year, Mark took some time to reflect on the past two years of grief.  He has spent hours on his phone this week, processing, writing down the events of the past two years from his perspective.  I want to share his story on here.  

Grief - 2 years of loss 

(by Mark Vanderherberg)

How to sum up these last two years. Well they were hard. As a man I try to fix things and how do you fix a loss so deep it was hard to breathe. There were so many moment that came back in waves so much anger and hurt and dumbfoundedness that the child that we wanted so bad could just be gone. To hold a dying baby in your arms and pray that it could keep on breathing but knowing she won’t will remain the most painful and most holy experiences of my life. There are no words that can express that emotion . 

Reflection on the day of November 5 2015.  It was a normal day of work and projects and daily life with my wife and my girls. I remember flying down the Wolverton mountain access on the way to the hospital feeling like my life was about to change but not sure how. I remember having my girls shoved in to a medical closet and out of the way while hoards of people surrounded my wife. I remember when the doctor said they could find the heartbeat and the unbelievably panicked look on my wife’s face. I remember the dumb painting on the wall and thinking about how run down that hospital was. There was a line and a chair and I was told to sit behind the line. It felt like if I stayed behind the line it would be okay but fearing the worst. I hated that line - I want to know it was going to to be alright. At some point I fell to my knees and kept on saying over and over again, "let her live - let her live - let her live." There where nurses that would pass with shell-shocked looks on their face and would ask how I was doing. I must have said something polite but in my head I was thinking, "how the hell do you think I am doing you moron." Then a nurse came to me and explained that the baby was out and they were trying to make her breath and if would like to come in and be with her. She did something funny then, she took my hand in hers and put my hand under her breast.  It was this mother hen gesture that stuck out as the first loving act in a horrible time. I came in to the room and saw my wife the doctor was putting her back together. It felt like a wall between me and her like she was in a place I could not reach.  It was odd but that was the way it felt - maybe because of all the wires and tubes. They took me to Rose, and the midwife was working on her. I asked if I could hold her hand which seems like a silly question but I felt for some reason that I had to. As far a I know she had not taken a breath. It may have been 30 seconds or 10 minutes I can’t remember but she took a breath and another and started to breath on here own. I remember the marks on her tiny chest from the midwifes' fingers and the amount of pumping they had to do.  This remains a miracle in my life there was no reason she should have started breathing after that amount of time. I then had a break to phone my parent and Jens parents and explained that she was breathing. I hung up and with some hope I said to a passing nurse "she's breathing - but I know we are not out of the woods yet. " With no bed side manor she said,  "no we are not all out of the woods" which put fear back into me. The team from Mac showed up and I was again pushed into a corner where they kept the sheets. They told me they were going to wake Jen up and If I would go sit in the chair again . There was lots of moans of pain and barely comprehensible speech. They rolled her in to the recovery and I was asked to join her. The young surgeon who was skinny and tall came in a told us that our daughter was breathing, but was not going to live. Jen said "God is sovereign!" in loud and clear voice. It seemed to resonate through that awful space. They brought our bundle - our peanut - our Rose to us and we cried and cried listening to her raspy breath, soaking every last thing about her. At some point Jen asked if she could try to nurse her the midwives said yes but she would not latch. In time we were told we were going to be brought down stairs. They same nurse that brought me in grabbed my hand and said she would be praying for us. The next two hour was a mix of phoning our parents and crying and trying to take in everything about her. The nurses kept on asking if there was a pastor I could call.  We go to a church that does not have a pastor, so I phoned my pastor friend Richard.  When he showed up, I received a large strong hug and brought him into our room.  These were the last moments of my third daughters life.  He prayed with us and we surrendered her to heaven. For a brief moment she was with us and with the Lord at the same time. From the breast of my wife into the arms of Jesus. I will be ever grateful to my friend Rich for this moment he spent with us - it was the most dark and holy moment of my life. Many things happened then - family came, pictures where done, and our girls came. That evening the funeral director came and had to take her away. Jen was extremely angry I kept on thinking that Jen needed rest and Rose had to go, but I couldn’t bear the thought of the emptiness and realness of the loss had finally come. He was going to take away our dead baby. We both slept hard.  

The next day was a horrible day of emptiness filled with loved ones coming.  I spent the day in a chair staring out the window. I was told I needed to go to the cemetery to pick out a plot.  I held it together knowing that it was not the guys fault for showing me . I left there and had to pull over in the largest fit of rage.  I was screaming and cursing in the wrongness I felt.  Can’t remember much for the rest of the day. 

In the days that follow we set up funeral arrangements and went to the hall to see Rose.  Jen was still quite weak and was sitting in a chair crying and crying as she held her for the second last time. I remember just the overwhelming wrongness of it all. How small that box was and how doll like she looked - how cold she felt.  Our children were at Jens' parents' for a few days. I remember needing them to come home just to hold and play with them as if some way having them close I could protect them.  The day of the funeral came - pictures were taken, well wishers cried with us and we went up to the cemetery to put her in the ground.  The one memory of the funeral was that sitting at the front and standing in the line as people told us their condolences was that people were staring and thinking 'man am I glad I am not them.'  I know this is not true but it felt that way. It was a rainy foggy day Jen commented that is the way it should be. It shouldn’t be sunny she said it’s better for it to be bad weather. My brother Steven helped me lower my third daughter into the ground. As we were about to lift her with the straps my car alarm went off that stupid annoying sound that made me so angry. I threw my keys away I don’t know who shut the alarm off but could not deal with that. I knelt down in the mud not caring that I was in a new suit and slowly lowered her down. That small tiny box to be covered with dirt that had something so precious inside. 

We were the last to leave.  Our siblings, who had huddled close, had now left for Jens parents' for a meal. Our girls had left with someone and Jen wanted to stop at home first for a minute. After a few minutes I found her up stairs crying - just letting the emotions of the horrible day come out.  We had dinner with our families.  Not much was said but I remember my grandfather being lost for words in his grief. I love you Pake - you are a rock in my life and I love you dearly.  To my Bepe - we choose the name Rose to honour you we are blessed by your strength. 

The first few months were awful.  Jens' health was a every day thought. Her milk came in which felt like a cruel joke - a trick - and a down right dirty reality of sadness. How badly she wanted to nurse. As she began to feel better, another issue came up and Jen was forced to return to the hospital we had lost our baby at for surgery.  I felt so useless as there was nothing I could do to help her.  There was bursts of outrage as we hadn’t figured out how to grieve together. We run a business together and had to continue but it was tough going. As a part of my grief I wanted Jen close to hold her and protect her. For her she needed space to talk and not to hold her  but to listen with out trying to solve anything. As if there was anything I could  fix.  We spent a lot of nights sitting by our wood stove wondering what just happened. 

In January I got my first and only tattoo. It has been the one thing that I wear to bring her with me. How her little life how ever brief shaped me. It has her name and the date and a large rose. I often kiss that rose when thinking of her. My twins ask why I did that and they want to kiss it as well.  

There were a lot of firsts - Christmas, Easter, thanksgiving, and then her first birthday. Each one came and were often bitter sweet. A few memories that stick out - our buying our kids tons of gift to avoid the emptiness of the Christmas.  During the first year we had a family wedding where all the cousins where either flower girls or ring bearers. Before Rose passed we had talked about having Rose as a flower girl. I saw those beautiful children walk down the aisle and wished with all my being that she was with them. Our girls came to sit down with us and I saw that the girls had been throwing rose petals. I lost it I began to cry I am so grateful for that simple act of love shown to us on that day. 

One thing grief has shown me is a deep love and appreciation for my twins. I love them so fiercely, they bring so much joy to my life. I have found myself not ever being able to complain about my kids. For the first little while when I heard people complain about what their child was or wasn’t doing I wanted to slap them and call them idiots.  I have calmed down from then - now I just wait for them to finish and I usually say something about how precious they are. Don’t get me wrong kids are so much work. But I appreciate my kids so much that it is hard to get mad at them. Maybe by having something taken away I gain something else. 

There has been many bad days and many good days. We have chosen to make our live more about people and less about an end goal. Our community has grown and we love to have big parties and celebrate  life.  Life is for living and death reminds us everyday of that.  I am a proactive griever which means  I do things to show my grief - I got a tattoo. I also went on a weight loss journey and went from 245 to 201 and counting. It has been good for me to shed weight as I shed my grief. To sweat out my frustrations. I want to be a healthy dad to my girls.

We want to embrace  life as it comes. I have been given many opportunities in life and do not want to squander them. My life is full, full of love and grief.  I have had good people around me walking though with me to you I thank you. To Rich there has been so many times I have gone back to your presence with us in those last moments.  You don’t know what it means to have had you there. To Chandler thank you for all the breakfast and friendship that has grown in my time of grief. To our families for your support and the closeness that has grown because of loss is a gift. To our church - your arms of love and understanding has  been invaluable. To my wife - you are the most precious gift I have been given . Although this has been the worst and hardest years our love has grown deeper and stronger. Your are my precious gift.