"I Remember You Joeli Grace Dougherty" by Abi Dougherty

I Remember You Joeli Grace Dougherty

I remember that day that I began to think, "Hmm is there someone forming within me?”

I remember the day that I took that test; the one that made me gasp with joy, the one that took my breath away, the one that put a sizzle in my feet as I leapt with excitement and thankfulness.

I remember the way I felt when I called Daddy to say, "Happy early Father's Day again", to which he replied, "No way!”

I remember the tears welling up in your Grandpa's eyes as I shared the joyous news of your growing little self and the silly way Grandma answered when I said, "By the way, did I tell you Seana's gonna be a big sister?" Now Grandma said, "Oh, yeah...wait, what?" and Grandpa and your Uncle Joe said, "Abi are you serious?"

I remember the sweet words my Dad whispered in my ear, that I treasure to this day.

I remember the first time I saw you bouncing around deep within me, growing, heart-beating, praising the Father just by your beautiful form.

I remember the thoughts I had of you, the anticipation of your arrival, and the plans for your future.

I remember your sister "feeding" you, through my belly button and always kissing you and saying, "Love you baby".

I remember all those treasured first kicks and squirms I felt, those tiny little movements in the hidden place.

I remember our times together when I’d sit and talk to you and tell you I love you and pray for you before bed.

I remember all the beautiful things that I treasure and am so thankful the Lord blessed me with before you left this world to see glory and experience true Light.

Then, there is darkness, a place where no glimmer of light shines, a place inside my mind I wish had no existence.

It is the place where all the awful memories lie, where they are stored away, where I try so hard to push them so far away that sometimes I forget they exist-even if for a moment- and I “pretend” you are here in my arms; safe, heart beating steadily, baby breath on my neck as I rock you to sleep, stinky little toes that I tickle while I change your little diaper, giggling with your sister in the back seat as we drive, you smiling at me as I kiss you goodnight.

Yet these dreams I had for you are starkly contrasted by the harsh reality that you are no more. Your precious little hands and feet, your body, so small yet so amazingly formed and knit together, lies in the grave.

I remember the things any mother who's experienced a loss would wish to forget.
“Why do you share this?” one may ask. To that I say, read on, and see; see how darkness is erased in the light, the True Light.

I remember that appointment, my five month regular check up when they could not find a heartbeat.

The somber look on the practitioner’s faces…The loud obnoxious happiness outside our anxious, heartbroken and silent room after we arrived at the hospital in triage.

The quiet voices that tried to say, “There’s no heartbeat”.  How it happened: They walked in the room, I’d told Sean, if you see the baby moving and heart beating just smile at me and nod. See, they’d placed the screen away from me so I couldn’t see. Well, the technician came in and began, and well, all I remember is this blank stare of confusion on Sean’s face. From here it gets kind of blurry as everything seems to be traveling into a dark hole. I grabbed the screen and for a brief moment beheld your lifeless frame on the screen, not dancing, no heart beating; it was just you lying there. My heart breaking—I remember I just wanted to name you, to give you a name and speak it. I asked, “What is it?” But because of how you laid there was no way to tell you were my little girl.

I remember the loud scream, wail, sobbing, utterly helpless noise I made as I cried out, “NO!”

I remember holding on to some glimmer of hope as those moments held such confusion and fear.

I remember thinking, “but I just felt a kick…like a week or so ago” and poking and jiggling myself as if trying to invoke some type of reaction, a kick, a squirm, anything…..NOTHING.

But I remember getting these muscle twitches and thinking-“maybe, maybe that was the baby.”

And then the Doctor came in to try and get a heartbeat on the Doppler to assure me that it was a reality since it just was not sinking in that you were gone. And as he tried it seemed there was a faint heartbeat and even he could not be sure it was not you. He ordered another ultrasound and this time I sat full faced in the view of the screen, as if waiting to scream out, “THANK YOU GOD-I know You work miracles”-all the while praying His hand would resurrect you or sustain you if you were alive but hurt.

And the screen was still.

The screen was still?

The screen was still.

My heart pounding…

My heart breaking…

Then we began discussing, “our options”. 1. Go home and wait a few more days to see if I begin labor on my own, 2. Go through surgery or 3. Be induced and try to birth naturally.

These options all seemed so cold. How could we, how could I choose which way I wanted this ordeal to end? It was inevitable, I would give birth to death and that is still a reality that stings me to my core.

We decided to stay and be induced.

Induced?

Induced into labor-before I’d always thought of labor as the progression to joy, celebration, LIFE…

But now, it was a cold, dark, seemingly pointless way to deliver my child who would never breathe our air or see my face.

Then a prayer, from the depths of my soul, relinquishing my “right” to have you as my own, my “right” to have my way, my desires, my plans come to pass…and instead acknowledging that even amidst my devastation, He was in control and He would indeed prosper me and give me a hope for the future. A prayer for help. For a speedy delivery, free of complications. And He does answer prayer! And He did answer prayer!

And so it began, a long process of needles and medicine and pain.

Overnight the contractions would come, back and forth, like waves on the sea. I would breathe out as if to blow them away from me and then back they would flow upon me again like a never ending punishing tide.

And then there was family, surrounding me, like a blanket of love and comfort and strength. There were these gentle encouraging words of a sorrowful Father and Mother. There were kind soft calming strokes upon my head and hands from my Husband and my Sister. There were soft whispers of, “I’m so sorry” and “We love you!”

But, again before you knew it, those moments were over as the work of delivery approached.

I cannot describe it any other way than it was horrible.

The worst feeling I’ve ever had in my life.

The halls were so quiet, the nurses weren’t joyous and smiling, they were quiet and somber.

My next memories are too awful to recount, as I delivered death rather than life. We remember how “backwards” it all felt.

It was over and I wept bitterly aloud.

There you were, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, a blanket that was small enough to be called a washcloth. Your frame was perfect, ten unbelievably small toes and ten delicately beautiful fingers-perfect-just perfect. Your eyes, nose, ears, mouth, arms and knees-all so remarkably small, yet intricately formed and beautifully crafted by God. There you were in my arms.

It was over. And soon we would have to leave. We would go and you would stay there, all alone, by yourself. Lying in your quiet cradle rather than in my arms, it was so backwards. I felt so terrible, sick, awful leaving you there.

Leave the hospital empty handed.

Leave empty handed? And there we were leaving empty handed, empty and lonely and hurting, confused and in shock, some of the worst moments and feelings in my life. Again the question may be asked, “Why recount all these terrible memories too? Why not just focus on the positive and have that be the end of it? Why remember the bitter heartache, the hurt, the pain, the emptiness?”

And here it is, the answer.

Jesus.

Jesus?

Yes, Jesus. He is The Answer. The Truth… The Light... The Way… and The Life.

So now Joeli I will try for a moment to speak not to you, but for you and in your memory…

Because you see my friend, in Him, though we die, we yet LIVE! That word means so much more to me now!

Live!

Because though she dies, she yet lives with Him…Her body in the grave, but her spirit with her Maker. And for that I rejoice.

I rejoice.

I REJOICE!

In Him, weeping may last for a night, but JOY cometh in the morning. Because His Word tells us that in this world we will have trouble but to take heart for He has overcome the world. See I share both the good and the bad because I choose to believe that through the good I am thankful and blessed and through the bad I am reminded that this life is but a glimmer, a moment, a brief breathe—but His eternal life, that is what lasts, that is what I long for, that is what I rejoice in! We are not promised life without death or pain or struggle here, but in fact it was His original intent for life to be without these. No, but He gives gladness for mourning, beauty for ashes, and praise in place of despair.

And let me just say, it is joy that I have found! For He gives life and life more abundantly!

So Joeli, my dear sweet Joeli Grace, I remember you! And I will always honor your memory by sharing what I believe God’s purpose was in your life. To share of His miraculous love...Of His power over life and death…Of His grace that is more than enough…Of His creativity in molding you and making you…Of His desire for each of His creations to turn and praise their Maker—

So Joeli, you leave behind a legacy of sharing the Good News of Christ Jesus, my sweet child. The News that Jesus Christ died and now lives again and has conquered the power of sin and death. And that He loves us and wants to call us His own. He promises in John 1:9 and 10, “That if you confess with your mouth, Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead you will be saved! For it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved and it is with your heart that you believe and are justified.”

I remember you Joeli Grace Dougherty.

I remember you.

~In Honor of my dear sweet Joeli Grace Dougherty born 1/30/08, weighing a mere 4.9 ounces and measuring 8 inches long. She may have been small in frame, but may her legacy be big enough to last a lifetime!