Newspaper article

Maria Wiering from the Catholic Review wrote a wonderful article on Peter and our story. I am amazed at the number of people who will learn about Peter, be touched by his story. It's truly awe inspiring. I love that his memory is being kept alive and that more people are going to know about our journey. I pray that people will read our story and realize they, too, can carry their child to term after receiving a severe prenatal diagnosis.

Emotions

Some of my emotions through these past 8 days have been expected, and some have come as quite a surprise. After the funeral on Monday I actually felt some sort of relief. That was completely unexpected. I had wondered if I was even going to be able to keep it together long enough to finish Mass, and surely if I did, I would lose it at the cemetery. Somehow I managed to be both present in the moment AND not a complete emotional mess. Much of it was the preparation, I am sure. But some was relief, peace. I had spent the last 6 months in this strange dichotomy. I enjoyed the time I was pregnant. I had an easy pregnancy, loved having Peter in there, and basically didn't want it to end. But on the other hand I had this feeling like every day was one day closer to the worst day of my life. And I was actually getting through the worst day of my life intact. Maybe I would be OK after all?

There was a joy and peace that we experienced, however, that I would not expect the vast majority of parents to feel when they lose a child. Peter my not have been able to see us or hear us. He was, for lack of a better word, imperfect. But in heaven, he CAN see us and hear us. He IS perfect! He can pray for us. He will never know suffering. He will be happy for all eternity. THAT brings me joy.

But then Tuesday rolled around. It was all over. It was just me, an empty womb, and my tears. The roller coaster began. As I expected, all I wanted to do way crawl into bed, ignore everyone, and cry.

My milk began to come in on Monday night, and by Tuesday my breasts were very full. That led to yet another surprising reaction. I expected the milk coming in to be the final kick in the gut that would send me over the edge. But I found joy even in that. I'd missed having milk in my breasts, the scent of the milk, knowing my body made something just for that special little boy. It's just one more way Peter has been a blessing in my life, and I'm not ready to say goodbye to what feels like the last bit of Peter I have left. 

So many people have told me that I am so brave, so courageous. I don't feel brave. I still have moments where I completely break down. I've had days over the last six months where I lose my temper with the girls simply because I am so depressed at what was to come, where all I wanted to do was lay in bed, where I would lay in the floor and scream and cry, where the pain was so palpable it was truly physical. But I feel like I did what any mother would do. And then I was reminded that no, only a very small percent, about 5%, of mothers facing this diagnosis choose this path. I personally think choosing the time and place of my baby's death would be much harder than allowing the pregnancy to continue naturally. I couldn't have done anything differently. I do strongly believe, however, that women need to take their time when given a severe prenatal diagnosis. Even with my strong pro-life beliefs and strong faith, my head was spinning after diagnosis. I knew I would carry him, but I didn't know how long. Would I need to induce early to avoid the possibility of a c-section? Would that even be morally acceptible? Would he be suffering? It was a good two or three days before I could stop crying long enough to really think about anything in a rational manner. That's why it breaks my heart when I hear about a woman having an abortion very soon after a diagnosis. How could that decision have been made rationally? Too many women regret that quickly made decision. I've never heard of ONE women who regrets giving her baby time, giving him life by carrying him to term. But there are all too many who wished they'd carried their babies to term. 

I give God the credit for my positive attitude these past 6 months. It has been a true joy to know Peter. I am so blessed to have had so many people praying for us that I just KNOW it was God's grace that brought us through. Steve and I both feel so truly blessed to have known Peter. I won't pretend that I wouldn't have preferred he lived and be healthy, but I wouldn't have changed this situation if it meant never knowing Peter. We are better people for this experience. I had the pleasure of growing one of God's precious children in my womb for 9 months, and then delivering him to the arms of the Lord. What a beautiful, glorious way to suffer for the glory of God and the joy of my son. 

Peter's funeral

Peter's funeral was on the Monday after his birth, August 20, 2012. I didn't sleep well that night and was up very early. I felt sick. I didn't want to go. We went to the funeral home an hour ahead of time to see him and say goodbye. He looked so perfect and tiny. The home did a beautiful job wrapping him and laying him in his tiny coffin. He was so cold, and instinct told me to tell Julie not to touch him. I didn't want her to remember Peter that way. But I quickly changed my mind. That was wrong; she needed to say goodbye in whatever way felt right for her. She decided not to hold him but she rubbed his cheek and kissed him. I hadn't planned on picking him up but I couldn't resist. I needed to hug him one last time. I hugged him and cried and rocked his tiny body. Natalie showed some interest in him for the first time. She stuck her finger right in his mouth, which was just the right size for her tiny little finger. We spent 30 minutes with him, placed some holy cards in his coffin, a holy medal, a photograph, and a sunflower clipped from my garden. Then we proceeded to the church.

Steve carried in the tiny coffin and placed it at the front of the church. Eric Blair was cantor, and he did a beautiful job singing the wonderful hymns we'd chosen. Fr. Steve's homily was beautiful and touching. I loved hearing Peter's name over and over. I am obsessed with his name, wanting to hear it and read it as much as possible. He spoke of how we don't know why we have such a short time with some loved ones, and how it is always especially heartbreaking and mysterious when a child dies. He told a story about a night blooming flower that blooms just once a year at night, and by morning its petals are wilted, and how that reminded him of little Peter who was born at night and gone by morning, and how that flower is mysterious, and so are the ways of the Lord when it comes to a child dying. It was beautiful and touching. 

The Mass was absolutely beautufl, and even though I didn't want to be there when I'd woken in the morning, once I was there I relished in it. I cherished every moment, tried to be truly present so that I could remember it all. It felt so right, to be there amongst family, friends, our priest, and the Lord Jesus Christ, to celebrate his short life and thank God for the time we did have. When Fr. Steve insenced the coffin, it all felt so real, so sad, and so beautiful at the same time. As I stood there in the pew next to his tiny casket, watching Fr. Steve use the insence, smelling it, seeing it float up towards the heavens, I cried for sadness but I smiled for joy. I saw that moment as a symbol of his rising to the arms of Jesus. If there is one moment I take with me from that Mass, it will be the memory of the insence, rising around the casket and toward the place where Peter waits for me.