More Real Each Year

Since today is Mother’s Day, I am thinking of my daughter Charity who was

stillborn. I had to say good-bye to her before I could say hello. I was 36 weeks along in my pregnancy when I had my last baby check -up. I remember it was on a Tuesday which became quite significant that I mentioned to my doctor, “I don’t know why I feel this way, but I feel my baby needs to be born today."

“I know the last month is very hard for pregnant women,” my doctor answered, “but you need to stay patient. The baby will come in God’s time. I think you are being bit

dramatic.” I believed my doctor knew best. When I was lying on the couch that evening I

felt a very strong kick. I thought to myself, “My doctor is right. I need to be patient yet.”

The next day I felt very strange. My body felt so very heavy. I went to my Wee

Christian’s Preschool, where I was on-site-owner and director. That day went well.

But the next day my body felt even heavier so I rested and took a nap.

Later that day the telephone rang. “Linda, Cara has been hurt, and we think you

should come and take her to the hospital to get checked out.” I told my husband

Chuck about the phone call. He asked me if I wanted him to go instead, but I was concerned, and I needed to see Cara myself.

When I got to the kindergarten building that Cara’s class was in I saw her lying on two desks pushed together with her teacher softly talking to her and holding her hand. Cara let out a small moan.

“What happened? I asked?

"She was swinging quite high,” her teacher answered. “Then she unexpectedly fell out of the swing and landed on the blacktop. We contacted the school nurse, who checked

her over before we moved her. Then I carried her into the classroom while my other students were taken to another classroom. “

“Cara, where do you hurt?”

“I hurt all over, Mommy.” I didn’t want to jump off my swing, but I landed on the ground. I don’t know how that happened.

“Well, let’s get you to the hospital and get you fixed up.” I comforted her.

Her teacher carried her out to my car since I was pregnant, and when we arrived at the

hospital, two nurses met us with a wheelchair. Our doctor hurried over and asked, “Cara,

were you trying to fly”?

“No,” she replied, “but I did see a pretty butterfly doing that today.”

Cara was taken to X-ray, and of course I couldn’t go with her since pregnant and it

wouldn’t be good for my baby. Cara was pretty banged up, but thankfully, nothing was

broken, and there were no internal injuries. She was released to go home.

I substitute taught first grade the next day, which was Friday. It was really hot in

the room, and there was no way to turn down the heat, I was told. When I got home, I just

went to bed.

Saturday I woke up really early. I had a graduate class in another town that day. I decided to take a quick bath. I looked forward to watching my little baby move. I

always did that when I took a bath these last months. I couldn’t get my baby to move. felt such dread. I decided to drive to the hospital and get checked out. Chuck stayed home with Cara and 3 -year- old Zachary.

When I got to the hospital, I was hooked up to a baby monitor. Carol, my nurse, assured me she heard a heartbeat, but it was really slow. An ultrasound was ordered. The

technician asked me when I last felt the baby move. I thought, then with amazement I said, “I don’t remember my baby moving since that really strong kick on Tuesday night.”

Chuck asked some neighbors to watch our children. He brought my already packed suitcase and sat by my bed.

Our doctor came in. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

I answered, "I will be fine if you tell me our baby is fine."

“I can’t tell you that. I am so sorry. Your baby died, and we do not know why yet.”

We called my brother and his wife, Martha, to tell them the news. We asked them to

tell Mom, who was still recovering from some surgery. Then we called one of our friends, a

lady who recently lost her baby to SIDS.

“What do we do?” I asked her. “We already called Father Matchein. He suggested

we have a graveside service after I deliver her.”

“You’ll have to decide where to bury her,” she advised. “I believe there will be a spot

next to our Michaela. Her grave is still very new. Lots of babies are buried all in one section.”

So I wrote our baby a poem, and after she was delivered we decided to call her Charity since it is a name that means “love.” We planned a funeral service, and relatives

we had already chosen for her godparents each had a part. Chuck was going to read a poem the hospital social worker found about little angels. I planned to read the poem I wrote her the day we found out she died. Friends sang some songs. Chuck couldn’t quite get through the poem, so I finished reading it for him. We had a small reception with our relatives and some of our close friends. It was gently raining at the graveside service, and later that afternoon it stormed outside. I was glad the weather was having a tantrum for us.

One of my dear friends who lived far away phoned and said, “Linda, you have an

angel in heaven.” It is comforting to know someday we’ll be there with her for our eternal

life.

It’s peculiar, the week we found out Charity died we laughed as much as we

cried because of the people who reached out to us. Some church friends came to our home with food and personal items and supplies we probably needed, including toilet paper. They brought things we would need but may not have the presence of mind to buy that week.

As the years rolled on we remembered our little angel, Charity. The first year after

she died, we made a cake for her birthday and sent a balloon up to heaven. I bought a

yellow elephant we could hug when we couldn’t hug Charity. When Charity would have been 7 years old I bought her two Strawberry Shortcake Dolls that she probably would have loved to play with at that age. When Charity would have made her First Communion, I bought a doll in a pretty white dress with angel wings to put in our bedroom. At Christmas we would always put a new angel on our tree. Each year I gave a surprise gift to someone in her name.

When Charity would have turned thirteen, I had a student who was born the very same day and year. She mentioned that she wished there was a dance to go to that day. So I organized a dance for my 6th, 7th, and 8th graders at the school where I taught. We all had a really good time dancing, eating, and playing some games.

When Charity would have been in high school, I found out that one of the talented and

gifted students I worked closely with had a birthday close to her birthday. Each of those four years I made Christa a gift. She’d always said thank you and gave me a hug.

If Charity had lived, she would be thirty-three years old this year. She would have graduated from high school, college, and perhaps married with children. It is strange that this child of ours that we had to tell goodbye to before we could say hello becomes more real to us each year. We may not have been able to raise her, but we did love and remember her as an important member of our family all these years. Each year she has become more real.