"Therefore everyone
who hears these words of mine
and puts them into
practice is like a wise man who
built his house on
the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose
and the winds blew and beat against that
house; yet it did not fall, because
it had its foundation
on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine
and does not put them
into practice is like a foolish man who built his
house on sand. The
rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew
and beat against that
house and it fell with a great crash."
Unsure about whether we wanted a third child I suggested we
tried the rhythm method whilst we made up our mind. My friend Belinda said I’d
never had rhythm, so why did I even think that may work.
We were delighted when the test showed positive and praised
God for taking the decision out of our hands. We looked forward to another
addition to our family.
The tiredness, morning sickness and craving for all food
types beginning with ‘ch’ –(cheese chips and chocolate… all on the same plate) were
exactly the same as the previous two pregnancies.
When 14 weeks came and went without a faint movement or
kick, I put it down to the overstretched baby space that junior had to float
about in. It had never really shrunk after tom had arrived 3 years earlier.
At 16 weeks I started to think things were a little strange,
and I think I started to imagine some kicks just to appease my maternal
instincts. At 20 weeks I finally felt a kick or 2 but not a great deal of
movement and mentioned it to the doctor. He said it was still early days and it
should get stronger. As it had been 3 years I thought maybe I had forgotten
exactly what the pattern was.
The 20 week scan showed everything as normal and with that
reassurance I started to relax a bit. As
the weeks progressed I started nesting
and preparing for this new arrival, going cooey over the 1st
babygrow Simon had worn, then Tom and now it would be this little one. I did
wonder if it may be over zealous to buy a pink one just in case.
The boys were very excited although I wasn’t sure how much
Tom understood and also how he would react to being knocked off his ‘baby’
perch. Tom and Simon were our gorgeous sons with very different personalities.
Tom was a real mumsie boy - quiet, gentle and extremely cuddly. Simon was
showing signs of getting the part for Forest
Gump.. he didn’t cease to run anywhere anytime. But he adored babies, so I knew
he would love this new brother or sister.
At the routine check ups, I would often mention the lack of
movement from the bump. I had loved watching the baby squirm around or ‘kick’
your hand off your tummy. Both Simon and Tom had been expert at spilling the
cup of tea I used to perch on the top of their bumps. My fascination of this
wonderful time started to be overtaken with a nagging fear that all may not be
quite right. The doctor assured me if I
was getting 10 movements a day then it was ok. Well I did get 10 - but
individual ones spaced hours apart.
I began to talk about the possibility it could have downs
syndrome. I didn’t know much about such a pregnancy but I thought this may be
the reason for such little movement.
I braced myself, I was a Christian after all, surely all
children are a blessing. One thing I stood on was the fact that the Lord never
gives us more than we can cope with. ‘Do not worry about tomorrow
(Matthew.6:verse 34) often sprang to mind and I remained peaceful but
thoughtful.
When I was 32 weeks I cuddled on the settee with Tom to
enjoy Sesame Street
together. They showed a clip of downs syndrome children ballroom dancing,
probably about 21 year olds. I remember holding my bump and thinking I don’t
know I will cope. These young adults were the best of downs children - dancing
beautifully together and yet it set panic within me. This is the best, what if
our baby was sick and needed lots of operations, what if I needed to have a
routine to make their lives more comfortable. In my ignorance I said aloud
“please Lord no, I cant I just cant. I’m sorry Lord.” Please do not be offended if you have a downs
syndrome child - I feel sure that I would have loved my child if it had turned
out to be disabled or had a syndrome of any kind, I am talking about the fear
of the unknown at the time..
This moment for me marks the beginning of the final
preparation for the events of the following week. On the Saturday I took Tom up to our village
church to drop off the harvest festival food at the back of church in a box
provided.
October 1st 1994 was a beautiful sunny day, and
as I took Tom by the hand we deposited the goodies and came back out into the
sunshine. My little 3 year old was happy to help and we jumped and skipped down
the stone steps, when I felt an overwhelming urge to go behind the church.
I think now how strange it was that I had been attending St Marks
for over a year and yet I had never
ventured that way. How uninquisitive I must be.
So we were drawn round the old brick built church to see a
stone wall divided down the middle by a sloping pathway that ran between rows
of headstones. Beyond that there was a
breathtaking view for miles and miles. The scenery was so beautiful and the
tranquil churchyard swept downwards into this wonderful picture, bringing tears
to my eyes. Suddenly I felt that this was going to be mean something, somehow
God was showing me this picture for a very good reason, I felt it deep in my
heart.
Yet I panicked, I thought was it me? Would I be buried here,
then even worse, I thought what about Pete, Simon, Tom? No I couldn’t think in
such a negative way, and I consoled myself
with the lovely thought that dear Mary – a wonderful old lady who lived in the
residential home next door, and who was seriously waiting for God to take her
home on a daily basis – was going to be buried right here. Mary will be going
home, just as she desires. I went home feeling I could be right, but not overly
convinced.
True to form I soon forgot about the incident when my in
laws arrived for the weekend. The rest of Saturday and Sunday were busy
cooking, and chatting, and playing with the boys.
Monday night lying in bed, I was acutely aware that I had
not felt the baby move for a long time. When I was busy in the day and on the
move I thought I was constantly rocking it to sleep, but it was usually at
night when I laid down that I could feel the odd kick. But not that night. I
gently prodded and poked waiting for a reflex kick, but nothing. I lay there
tears streaming down my cheeks. I remembered the joke I had made with my
friends’ father the Friday before. He had said as long as ‘It’ is healthy and I
had flippantly replied, no, as long as it is a girl. Now the joke seemed
inappropriate, of course it didn’t matter if it was a boy, it was our baby.
Lord I prayed please don’t let this baby be dead. Please let it kick me or just
move a little.
Eventually sleep took over. The next morning I got up and
got Simon off to school. He was 5 years old and surprisingly well behaved in
year 1. He had never been good at good byes but finally was settled and ran off
smiling as he went.
Tom and I went off to Oasis, a wonderful mother and toddler
bible study, ran by some lovely ladies from Glendale Church
The bump itself appeared much lower and felt as though it
had shrunk a little. I mentioned it in passing, at the group and they prayed
for me, for peace of mind, and that all would be well.
I went home intending to catch up with a project that I was
involved in. Before I began I thought I would go to see my midwife, get the
heartbeat checked, and then get back to start on my work whilst Tom was at
nursery.
Pete had come home for lunch, and the midwife suggested I
came down at 1.30 at the beginning of clinic. I told Pete how worried I was,
and quite understandably he thought I was overreacting, and said it was
probably fine. Usually he was right.
I drove down to the clinic (I later discovered Pete had
tried to follow me on the way back to work just in case, but he hadn’t realised
I went to a different surgery as it was held elsewhere on a Tuesday, so he
thought I must have gone in and out so quick, all must have been ok. The days
before mobile phones!) I waited anxiously to go in. The midwife sent me in with
a student midwife (luckily a mature one) as she knew me well enough to believe
I was being paranoid.
The student midwife was on her first day out in the field
and this was her first ‘go it alone’ check up. Well she got the electronic
heart monitor moving over my well gelled stomach. Back and forwards up and
down, pushing it in a bit further, no whoosh whoosh whoosh noise, in fact no
noise at all. I felt enormous pity for her because somehow she had just
confirmed my worst fears and now she had the most awful dilemma as to how to
manage the next few moments. Somehow I don’t think her training had yet covered
this situation. Fortunately as a mother of five herself, she had enough
experience to remain calm and went to fetch the midwife.
She arrived smiling and confident that this new student
obviously had used the machine wrong. She checked it had been turned on
correctly and proceeded to run the machine over the bump. Her smile soon faded
and she reassuringly (not) said that even if she could hear a heartbeat now she
would send me to hospital to have a
check anyway to be sure all was ok. She then picked up a fast heartbeat, which
gave me a glimmer of hope before she said it was mine not the baby’s.
I asked if I could ring Pete after she had rung the hospital
- to tell him to meet me at home. Somehow in a daze I got into the car and
drove the 10 minute drive home. I was in shock, I didn’t know what to think. On
hindsight I cannot believe they let me drive away unless they thought they had
convinced me all could still be ok.
Pete arrived home the same time, and I fell into his arms
and sobbed” the baby’s dead Pete it has died I know it has”
“We don’t know for sure, there could be a simple explanation
“he replied calmly. “Let’s get to the hospital and have the scan. Maybe it’s
just moved into an awkward position”.
I think Pete really hoped and believed that may be the case.
I didn’t have much hope left.
I quickly rang one of the ladies from Oasis to explain what
was going on and I know a prayer chain began that instant. At the hospital they
connected me to one of their monitors and took the usual observations. My blood
pressure was sky high for the first time in my life –stress I think!
No heartbeat was traced and so they gave me an ultra sound
scan. The nurse turned to me with a sombre face and said “I am sorry there is
no foetal heartbeat”.
At that moment an incredible peace flooded through me, my
worse fears confirmed, yet the Peace that passes all understanding was mine,
incredibly the Love of Our Lord Jesus
Christ swept over me and through me. Calmly I asked did she know what sex the
baby was. Yes it was a little boy. A boy… so our son was dead. I looked at
Pete. He had tears rolling down his face. Now it was real to him. For me I had
known deep down for the past few hours, for Pete his hope of it being me
paranoid (as usual) was over.
The doctor arrived and I asked if she knew why it had
happened. No, she couldn’t tell me, but there would be a post mortem. I asked
what happened to a 33 week baby when it died, did they dispose of him, would he
be cremated, what? She replied it was up to us, we could choose. As it was past
24 weeks he would be cremated or buried. We could choose where that happened
and how.
Instantly the beautiful churchyard at St Marks came into my
mind. A smile broke out on my face, I knew why God had given me that picture
just 4 days earlier. What a gift. I now knew where he would be buried. It was
strangely comforting. The knowledge that the Lord had prepared me so well, gave
me an overwhelming sense of awe and peace. My God was so in control I felt very
safe. I knew he would continue to go before me. I held onto that picture of the
beautiful view of the churchyard like a comfort blanket. Our son was already
with the Lord in Heaven, and his precious body would remain in this beautiful
churchyard where we could visit and remember him.
More than anything it gave me a huge sense of stability. No
I did not believe the Lord had deliberately made my son die, but He knew that
it was going to happen and as He had prepared me this far, I felt He would
surely continue to go before us every step of the way.
We were sent home to collect some overnight things and to
sort out Simon and Tom. I remember wandering round Savacentre looking for a new
nightie (I didn’t do nice nighties at home and I had intended to buy one nearer
the due date.) As I walked up and down the aisles in a daze I kept thinking “I’ve
got a dead baby inside of me, I’ve got a dead baby and no one knows. I prayed
no one would ask me when it was due, and fortunately they didn’t.
Pete drove us home and our main concern was what would we do
with the boys, we had no family living close by and my mum was actually abroad
at the time. We decided to plonk them on my dear friend Belinda. Bil as we call
her was only too happy to take them for as long as necessary. She has a wicked
sense of humour and was perfect at keeping me laughing through those days. When
we delivered the boys she handed me a letter to open in hospital which was so
funny I think the medical staff thought I had flipped as I was giggling out
loud whilst waiting for labour to be induced.
We are all made so differently and I know the Lord gave me a
sense of humour as a wonderful tool to get me through nearly every situation.
It is quite black and has got me into much trouble when inappropriate giggles
have erupted unexpectantly in some very dire circumstances.
In life I feel blessed to be able to see the positive side
of things, and little things keep me uplifted. The room we were shown into at
the Royal Berkshire NHS hospital was decorated and furnished like a hotel
bedroom. Complete with pine double bed and en suite shower - it felt cosy and a
million miles from a clinical environment. It dawned on me as the stay
progressed, that many people had been here before and filled out questionnaires
to ask what could make the stay better in these circumstances. The double bed
was an incredible bonus. As we waited for the induction to start the next
morning Pete was able to sleep in the same bed, home from home. It was so
special. How different it would have been in a ward on my own if Pete had gone
home to sleep. Details like this again made me feel Jesus’ omnipotent presence.
The compassion of the nurses was amazing as they came and went unobtrusively.
After chatting a while, Pete dropped off to sleep (men?) and
I lay there calling out in a whisper to my Saviour. I was incredibly aware of a
gratitude to God that we already had two healthy sons. My heart cried out for
those that this happened to on their first pregnancy. What if they were never
able to conceive again, or carry a baby until full term. They would have that
added burden of worry. But we were so lucky we were going home to our family. I
took great comfort in that fact.
Then the daunting thought of labour swept over me. I was
afraid. I was terrified of pain and now there would be no reward at the end. No
baby to say that was worth the agony. I had this overwhelming senses of being a
lost little girl and I wanted my mum so bad it hurt. It was the first time I
had felt that need since I was young, and now I felt in that place again. We
had decided not to tell mum as there was no point, she only had a few days left
of her holiday and it seemed a shame to spoil it. (We did get told off by her
when she returned !) I remember holding my hand out to God and asking him to
hold it tight. He did.
With the Lord holding my hand I fell asleep, feeling secure
in the knowledge that He is sovereign and I knew I would be ok.
I woke up feeling incredibly peaceful. Many people rang
through to the room and I kept saying we were fine and they were not to worry.
When Bil rang she sent me into hysterics again, just as three medical staff
came into the room. I think they were unsure about whether I understood what
was happening.
As the pains worsened they kept offering me morphine as pain
relief. Because of my fear of needles I refused until one shooting pain
overrode that fear and I pleaded for it to be administered immediately!
A friend from church was working at the hospital and he
called in just as the morphine took effect. I m not sure he knew what hit him.
I usually talk a lot, without taking breath, but high on morphine I spoke ten
times faster, and was delirious. I was also high on the power of prayer as by
now many had been told and many were praying.
My sister had asked a coach full of Catholics on their way
to Rome to pray for me, and the power of prayer was so strong I would not have
been surprised if the Pope himself had joined in.
Benjamin James was born on October 5th late in
the afternoon. The midwife wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to me in the
most natural way. It was a beautiful moment I shall cherish forever. Here was
our little son. As I cradled him in my arms Pete and I marvelled at how much he
looked like his brothers, Simons’ eyes and Toms’ little mouth. He looked
perfect. I laid there filled with such love and I remember thinking may be if I
feed him he will come to life. But I knew that wouldn’t really work.
I gazed at his little face, and I heard Gods’ voice very
clearly in my head. “Your time is not now but your time will be”. Wow, what a
gift. The Lord assuring me that one day we would get to know each other, just
not right now. How precious. It enabled me to let him be taken by the nurse so
she could dress him and bring him back to have photos taken if we so wished.
Again a sense of someone’ has done this before. We are benefitting from many
peoples’ past pain.
After the nurse took Ben away I lay on the bed feeling at
peace. The labour was over, and it had not been scary after all. It really was
a moment to be cherished. We still had a gift at the end of it. Ben had looked
totally normal and beautiful when he was born, but later a photo taken showed
he was not quite so perfect. I believe that somehow the Lord used our
overwhelming love to see perfection, just as God loves us from the inside out.
– He helped us see our precious son in
the same way.
It transpired later that Ben had an extra chromosome 18, a
condition known as Edwards syndrome. It is in compatible with life. Recently
there have been cases in the press that have gone to court. With medical assistance
these babies have survived for more than a few months, and the parents have had
to fight the system to keep them alive.
Reflecting on the pregnancy, I was deeply grateful that
nothing had been picked up on the scan at 20 weeks. I would not have liked to
have made the choice to abort at that stage. A dear friend of ours had that
heart breaking decision for their little girl whose brain was not developing
correctly. They chose to terminate and I know it was one of the hardest
decisions they have ever had to make.
My dear friend Bil brought the two boys in to say goodbye to
their little brother. The staff recommended it as they had been looking forward
to the new arrival. They believed it made it easier to explain what had
happened.
Children are great at times like this. We had chosen not to
tell them anything whist at Belinda’s as they may have been to upset (although
I am sure they would have been fine as they had Belinda’s two sons to play
with, their very best friends at that time – and still are many years on).
As they had been bought up in a Christian home they had a
simple understanding of Jesus and Heaven, so we gently explained how Jesus had
sent an angel to come and take their little brother to Heaven. They accepted it
readily and were eager to meet him to say goodbye properly. We were a little
apprehensive as the nurse bought Benjamin in. He had changed quite a lot in 12
hours and his skin had started to peel. Weighing in at just over 2lbs he was
also the size of a doll.
Simon quickly took him in his arms for a cuddle and then
tried to take the babygrow off to see him “properly”. I was afraid they may
have been scared by his unusual appearance, but as children do, they just
accepted him as he was - no questions asked. A few weeks later we were watching
a lady put her little baby boy in her car. As she lowered him in we caught
sight of his chubby little face. “What a beautiful little boy” I remarked to
Simon –“he retorted quickly –“not as beautiful as my brother Ben”. It choked me
up and at the same time made me realise how much Simon had loved the brother he
had met only fleetingly, in spite of his deformities.
Leaving the hospital was particularly hard, I couldn’t quite
get my head round leaving our new son behind, I wanted to take him home regardless
and look after him. Going without him did not feel right at all.
I needed to do something obscure so we stopped off at a
restaurant to have a meal. I really wished I smoked it would have been far more
acceptable than comfort eating to the outside world. Dear Bil must have thought
I’d gone mad but she did not say so and came along with us to humour me.
The boys were given helium balloons as we left which helped
them forget any trauma. I love the way God made us. Children have this great
way of being sad for the moment, then teasing each other, or playing with
something that catches their attention and they can almost forget that sad
feeling. They do not appear to comprehend “forever” thankfully so they do not
dwell on things like we do.
As they arrived home one of them let go of the balloon.
Being helium it floated straight up to the sky. Before Tom could reach a
crescendo, I quickly said, “Oh Tom, thank you sweetpea for sending your balloon
to Heaven for your baby brother to play with. Lets shout ‘Ben grab the balloon’
as loud as we can” The balloon drifted higher and higher into the beautiful
clear blue sky, until suddenly it disappeared from view. “He’s got it now, that
was so kind of you son”.
Tom had the biggest grin on his face so Simon let go of his
to, and we had to shout all over again. They were so happy and it felt quite
therapeutic for me to. We continued that practice with balloons that said I
love You, Happy Birthday/ Christmas etc for a few years on special occasions.
It has become more common nowadays and is a great way to feel a connection, but
now of course it has to be environmentally friendly, which at the the time I
had not considered.
To make life seem as normal as possible we sent Simon back
to school within a couple of days. I went in and explained gently to the
children what we believed had happened to Ben, and where we believed he was
now. We felt this would be the best way
rather than Simon telling them – he had spoken often of his new baby that was
due to arrive on Thomas’ birthday. Being a Church of England school made it
easier to share our true feelings.
It was a strange week that followed. So many prayers were being offered up on our
behalf, it felt as though the whole electricity generating station was lighting
up one light bulb. That was an incredible feeling. Jesus had picked me up and
was carrying me high above His shoulders. It was a very real sense of where I
was. I couldn’t feel anything. Pete was at home and we just spent time being
with each other.
One morning Pete decided to finally replace the battery in
the kitchen clock. It still didn’t work so before long the whole table was
covered in clock parts. Pete was great at fixing almost anything and he seemed
happy to immerse himself in the unenviable task of putting it all back together
– in the right place.
He made some kind of inward groaning noise when half of it
had been returned to its rightful place. So what’s happened I asked
gently. I’ve just noticed I put the
battery in the wrong way round. Oops. It illuminated to me how “off track” Pete
was really feeling.
Mum returned on the Sunday from her holiday, and I was
feeling very weird. I didn’t feel much like talking or doing anything at all.
Mum left late in the afternoon probably bewildered as to how to help.
Later on Pete offered to cook the boys’ tea. They had all
been working hard in the garage making a new football goal out of some wood.
Curled up on an armchair, I dozed on and off still feeling unsettled. Suddenly
the boys burst through the door. Dad’s set the kitchen on fire they screamed.
Running through to the kitchen I grabbed the phone dialling 999 as I went. My
house is on fire I wailed. Then I looked over at Pete who was calmly covering
the grill pan with a damp tea towel.
“Now who are you on the phone to?” he asked.
“Er the fire brigade?”
Hello, can I have your address please.
“No its ok my husband just put it out”
The kind lady explained how she had to send out a fire
engine as I had rang and reported a fire. I pleaded with her not to send one
and then went into verbal diahorrea about losing Ben, and so I was not myself
which is why I had panicked (It was usual for me to set the sausages on fire I
really was at the peak of panic that Sunday).
Still she had to send one, and so shortly to the boys
delight, a blue flashing light, complete with siren wailing, pulled swiftly
onto the drive. Out jumped a huge fire chief that strode over to me.
Feeling a complete lunatic I hurled an emotional verbal
tidal wave at him, tears streaming down my face. He took one giant step towards
me, wrapped his uniformed arms around me, held me tight and said gently and
reassuringly, “It’s alright, It’s alright”.
Wow, I took a mental note to inform all friends, if
premenstrual - ring the fire brigade and get huge hug from gorgeous hunk of
fire chief. Works wonders.
On a more serious note, it felt like Gods’ arms enfolding
me, and Gods’ voice calming me down. Awesome.
He nodded to the other firemen to go in to check the grill
pan was safe. Well Pete’s face, the grill pan was manufactured black so there
was little evidence of their even being a fire in the first place.
Pete smiled sheepishly as they confirmed back to base, that
all was now ok.
The boys by this time were in the fire engine trying out all
knobs and levers. As I stood on the drive watching, the fireman next to me said
“Oh no they put it through as a code 32 (or something) and we watched in awe as
another fire engine with sirens blaring pulled up behind the first one. The
curtains from the neighbours were on full twitch by now, possibly thinking I
had set the house on fire in my grief!
We dragged the boys out of their funhouse, and waved goodbye
to all of our heroes. As Pete closed the door he muttered “And how much is that
little lot gonna cost?” Praise God no bill ever arrived.
Grinning I walked through to the kitchen to make a cup of
tea, life suddenly felt good again. Later that night as I lay in bed it dawned
on me how the Lord knew us all so well. It felt as though he had sent his
angels that shared my warped sense of humour to minister to me in the shape of
firemen. Secure in the knowledge of His overwhelming love, the strange mood I
had been in all day had long since gone. Hallelujah.
I marvelled for months about the firemen incident – I could
think of nothing, no nothing else that would have broken the spell that seemed
to linger over me all day. It was a fabulous and timely way to end a turbulent
week. Praise you Lord God Almighty, for your love and your concern, always.
We had so many telephone calls, cards and visitors, that the
love surrounding us, together with continued prayers carried us through the
first dark days and weeks.
A dear friend came round unsure of what to say, she was 11
weeks pregnant. And even though she had miscarried her last pregnancy, still
she said “If there was ‘anyway’ that giving you my baby could help you get over
this then I would give it to you now”.
Such humble love. Yes of course it could not be done, but I
know her desire to heal my pain was that strong that she would indeed have
given up her little one there and then. I felt her genuine grief and it was
such an immense offer. I reassured her that God in His power was in such
control, my pain was being washed daily with his love, strength and grace. The
peace that passes all understanding was mine for the duration of time. I felt
secure in that knowledge. She was not to feel guilty but was to enjoy the
beautiful gift God had bestowed on her and my prayer would be that her baby
would be delivered healthy when the time was right. I’m pleased to say that she
went on to have a beautiful baby boy to add to her two gorgeous girls. Now she
has another son to and both her boys and my younger two have been the very best
of friends since they were walking. God’s provision is good indeed.
I would like to encourage you all in sending cards to
whoever may be suffering. This is also a reminder writing this to myself, as I
get a bit lazy about this. What I can say is the hundreds of cards constantly
coming through the letter box, strengthened me each day. Some had long words of
comfort and encouragement, some had religious quotes to spur me on, and lots
simply said ‘thinking of you’. What was precious was’ each thought’ whether
long or short, and it taught me a lesson. I used to think I cannot send so and
so a card, I hardly know her and I do not know what to say. But after this I
felt I would always send a card knowing how wonderful it was to open such love
and thoughtfulness.
I know I have lapsed since then. As the weeks went on the
cards dwindled to one or two a day and I found myself looking in the post
willing there to be just one more. I knew that we didn’t have enough friends to
continue forever, so eventually I knew there would be no more. When we went
away shortly afterwards, I piled all the cards together and using a huge yellow
ribbon from some flowers kindly given, I tied them into my ‘bundle of love’ and
took them with me. When I wanted some time alone I slipped into the bedroom and
would read a few at a time. They really helped me, at a time of much sorrow.
Before we went away we wanted to bury Ben’s ashes. I didn’t
want a huge funeral as I felt no-one had known him. I was the only one who had
been lucky enough to feel him growing, and so we chose to keep it to Pete,
Simon, Tom and I. Now looking back I would like to apologise to all family and
friends that would have loved to have supported us on that day. At the time I
felt comfortable having a very quiet ceremony.
We had to drive to Reading
crematorium to fetch his ashes, as the funeral directors had a rush on and
couldn’t fit us in on the Friday. I did not want to go away for the weekend
without Ben being buried so we chose to ‘do it ourselves’.
It was a very poignant moment coming home with the urn on my
lap. I held it gently thinking only two weeks before he was alive in my tummy
and now…
Back at home we took the wooden casket into our bedroom, and
I realised again how The Lord goes before us and knows what is best. How
special it felt to bring Ben ‘home’ before we laid him to rest. That would not
normally have happened if the funeral directors had been able to slot us in.
Simon came into the bedroom and asked if Ben was in the box.
We confirmed he was, to which Simon replied “but he couldn’t fit in there”.
“mmm it is a magic box,” I lied not wanting to go into
details of cremation.
Simon grabbed the casket and started to walk away. He
explained that he was off to find a screwdriver. It made us smile, that was so
Simon, wanting to look inside. We took the box off of him fairly quickly.
Gently explaining the dos and dont’s, we all got in the car
and went to the Church.
It was just before home time for the school opposite, and as
the boys quarrelled about whose turn it was to carry their brother I had
visions of us sweeping up his ashes from the middle of the road, as the
children came out of school.
We made our way to the altar, and knelt down placing Ben on
the step. Each one of us prayed a small prayer for our ‘angel’ in heaven. We
didn’t have a full service but Phillip the vicar officiated an internment into
the garden of rest.
On the steps of the church we lived through a repeat of
whose turn it was to carry him and as their little arms twisted and turned
rapidly trying to grab it close, I had a thought that maybe this was what Ben
may have endured on a daily basis should he have lived!
It got more evident that this may have been so as we walked
with the vicar to the new garden of rest. Ben was going to be the first one in.
Again wonderful timing, cremations had gone elsewhere up until then, but we
were able to lay him to rest in this beautiful churchyard. Simon was keen to
put the casket in the prepared hole, but Phillip persuaded him to wait until
given the right cue. Following a few poignant words and prayer he nodded to
Simon to place Ben in the ground. No sooner had he stood back up when Tom
lunged forward shouting “my turn” It was all I could do to stop giggling when I
saw the look on the vicars face, this was most unorthodox, and where did the
church stand on such matters, taking it back out? Fortunately Tom was persuaded
to throw some soil onto the top instead. I am sure Phillip breathed a huge sigh
of relief.
It was a very intimate and wonderful time, children can
bring joy into every situation. Their simple acceptance and belief that Ben was
indeed in heaven helped them to take the afternoon in their stride, which
helped Pete and I to join in burying our son as a family, it really felt good.
We were able to spend that last afternoon together with Ben, smiling and
laughing, which is what we would have done had he been ok. Praise God. For us
that worked – but God knows we are all so different and I am sure those that
have gone through the same experience would not have felt right doing it this
way. It is because we are made so uniquely that The Lord meets us right where
we need Him to. It is such an individual set of needs, but we can trust in our
Saviour because He knows what we need more than we know ourselves. Thank God.
As the weeks and months passed I felt Jesus put me on His
wide shoulders, then onto His hips. After a few months I felt He would soon put
me back on the ground when He felt I was ready. I remember saying “Please don’t
put me down, I cannot do this on my own.” I was feeling a bit nervous. These
feelings of being carried were so real. It felt physical as well as spiritual.
One morning I woke up and knew it was time. As The Lord placed me gently on the
ground I felt him grip my hand gently, and to this day that is where it has
remained.
On reflection I felt that it had been such a privilege to
have been that close to God physically. It cemented my faith forever, as the
Lord had indeed walked so closely with me I felt I could both see, hear and
feel his Presence. What a Saviour. It felt as though the only way I could be
any closer would be when I see His face in eternity. If we could take on board
‘do not worry… it would be so good as He does meet us at the time of need not
before. I pray that you can have the faith to believe that at all times. He has
proved this since over and over. May you be encouraged today if you are worried
about any thing big or small.
Amazingly I have not had huge moments of sadness over Ben. I
stand firm on Gods promise that our time will be. I get choked if I speak about
going to Heaven for there I know that in whatever form, I shall call ‘Ben’ as
he says ‘mum’. What more could I hope for. When Bens’ 10th birthday
arrived I did feel an overwhelming sense of missing him, and I desperately
wanted to hold him and tell him how much I loved him.
At the time he was delivered on 5th October 1994 - I
felt as though he was a piece of jigsaw missing from our lives but carried in
our hearts forever. Praise Jesus that because of his ultimate sacrifice we can
look forward to eternal life, where all the jigsaw pieces will finally be put
back together.
