Mother's Day

Every Mother's Day since we moved West in 2012, my dear, sweet, friend and neighbor visits my daughter's grave, clears away the winter debris and adds fresh flowers. She then makes it possible for me to "visit" by sending me a photo. There are no words to express how much this means to me. To all of my friends who I met on the journey of loss, to those who long to be mothers, but wait with tears month after month, to those who have been like mothers to me, to the friends and family in my life who are amazing mothers, and to my own mother and mom-in-law, a very Happy and gentle Mother's Day to each of you. Being a mom is the greatest blessing in my life!

When Holidays Hurt

I wrote this for the High Country Support Group newsletter and it was published this month. It felt so good to remind others how to love the grieving at the holidays. Church groups, especially, can lean on platitudes and scripture when they just need to listen and love. It is my prayer that this article will encourage people to "mourn with those who mourn" this holiday season.

When Holidays Hurt
Emily Werner

“She died!” I remember having to say that to so many people that holiday season. We’d go out on an errand or out to do something “fun” and find some relief from our sadness, but would inevitably run into some well-meaning friend or acquaintance who last saw me with a big, round, pregnant belly, asking where the baby was. We were all ready to celebrate Christmas with our newborn daughter, but instead of buying her gifts, we were buying her a casket.

They say time heals all wounds, but time doesn’t heal. Love does! Time eases the pain, but it does not take it away. It just becomes … different. We will always miss her this side of Heaven. It’s the reality that we live with in this broken world. And a reality many others have had to endure as well.

As we approach the holidays, my heart always turns to my daughter, who would be turning 12 at the end of November. We now celebrate her life at the holidays, but I am also reminded of the hurting people who are not celebrating, but simply enduring the “most wonderful time of the year!” My heart is always moved with compassion from my own painful experience, so I wanted to take this opportunity to offer some practical ways you can help those you may know who are not going to have a Merry Christmas this year.

Instead of asking them to call you if they need something, tell them you are bringing dinner and set a date to do it. Also helpful is running errands, buying groceries or doing laundry. But, whatever you say you will do, do it. Don’t wait to be asked or expect them to call you for help. It will mean more if you remember on your own.

Avoid clichés and platitudes. We do not grieve as those without hope, but we do still grieve. Be willing to sit quietly beside them and be sad with them. Yes, it can be uncomfortable, but there is nothing like a friend who will sit with you in your sadness. Remember, we are called to “rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn!” (Romans 12:15).

Invite them to join you! You may think they don’t want to be with you, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. Invite and include them as much as possible—just remember they may not feel like celebrating. Be sensitive and understand that it’s okay if they are not okay. Just be present, patient and let them be a part of life without pushing.

Also understand if they don’t want to be a part of things. Contrary to the last point, they may not be able to do what they usually do to celebrate the holidays. Encourage them to start new traditions and don’t be hurt if they’ve always participated in yours and suddenly don’t want to. Let them decide what they need to do to be okay this year.

If they do decide to spend precious time with you, don’t be afraid to ask how they are doing or say their loved one’s name. But if you do, make sure you are able to listen without judging or trying to fix their pain. Jesus didn’t call us to fix each other, He called us to love each other. That is the kind of love that heals!

Emily Werner is the High Country Support Group Administrator, a Hope Mentor for the MISS Foundation and mom to 2 beautiful children who walk and 3 who soar! She’s been married to her best friend, Chad, for 21 years. If you or someone you know has lost a child, please visit www.missfoundation.org for compassionate support and resources.

Born still, but still born!

Today would have been my daughter's 10th birthday. I have not been posting on my personal page due to some very difficult circumstances my family has endured over the last year, but wanted a place to remember her today. I thought this would be a good place. Abigail Graceland Werner lived. No, she did not take a breath, but she lived and she was loved and wanted. She was born still, but she was still born. She is forever loved and MISSed and today we remember what a gift she was to us. Thank you for letting me share and for remembering her with me today!

Grief After Nine Years

"Nine years since I held you in my arms. Each year, closer to holding you again. Missing you every day in between. Happy 9th birthday, sweet girl. You are loved, cherished and missed beyond words ..."



These are the only words I could find to post today for Abby's 9th birthday. I have sat here literally all morning trying to figure out what to say and that is all that would come out. My chest filled with pain as I clicked the post button and heard the first notification that someone "liked" my post. Then the tears finally flowed.

It is hard to process my feelings this far out from her death. In some ways, it feels like yesterday that I held her in my arms for the last time and, in other ways, it feels like a dream. I feel relief having finally posted something, anything, that makes it real. She WAS here. She DID live. She DID die. It was NOT a dream (or a nightmare). I feel the fear and pain leaving my body now as I get these feelings out, trapped by time. Time is a funny thing. It can make memories seem distant or near, depending on whether you draw them close or push them away. But when I recall the time I had with her, really close my eyes, I am transported to those tender moments, seeing her beautiful face, her tiny hands, her blue fingernails, the raw pain of loss and anguish over her death, the utter, complete lostness of it all (I know that is not a word, but it is the only thing that comes even close to expressing what I feel).

I can relive those moments any time and any way that I choose. So, I today choose to relive them with joy and thankfulness. Some people say her death was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I say it was one of the best things to ever happen to me. She changed me forever and I will have her forever. She is not lost, but waiting. Someday I will be with her. In the meantime, her life and death gave me many gifts. She gave me love, compassion, understanding, faith, strength, wisdom, patience, endurance, perseverance and so much more. She changed my life in the best way. A little girl now sits at our table who quite possibly would not be here if it weren't for her life and death. My life has more depth and meaning than ever before. She gave me purpose.

A passage of Scripture was given to me by my brother when Abby died. I wrote it on a notecard and taped it in my kitchen to remind me every day of it's truth:

"I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD." ~ Psalm 27:13-14

I have seen the goodness of the Lord. He has been so compassionate and good to me. When a child loses her parents, she is called an orphan. When a wife loses her husband, she is called a widow. There is no word for a mother who loses her child, but I know that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. I am living proof.

Ironically, the other night, I was going to bed with relief after a couple of months of financial stress related to my husband's job finally came to an end. I picked up my Bible and it was bookmarked at Psalm 116. I did not bookmark this passage, so it was "coincidence" that this is the passage that was marked. Here is what it says ...

I love God because he listened to me,
listened as I begged for mercy.
He listened so intently
as I laid out my case before him.
Death stared me in the face,
hell was hard on my heels.
Up against it, I didn’t know which way to turn;
then I called out to God for help:
“Please, God!” I cried out.
“Save my life!”
God is gracious—it is he who makes things right,
our most compassionate God.
God takes the side of the helpless;
when I was at the end of my rope, he saved me.
I said to myself, “Relax and rest.
God has showered you with blessings.
Soul, you’ve been rescued from death;
Eye, you’ve been rescued from tears;
And you, Foot, were kept from stumbling.”
I’m striding in the presence of God,
alive in the land of the living!
I stayed faithful, though bedeviled,
and despite a ton of bad luck,
Despite giving up on the human race,
saying, “They’re all liars and cheats.”
What can I give back to God
for the blessings he’s poured out on me?
I’ll lift high the cup of salvation—a toast to God!
I’ll pray in the name of God;
I’ll complete what I promised God I’d do,
and I’ll do it together with his people.
When they arrive at the gates of death,
God welcomes those who love him.
Oh, God, here I am, your servant,
your faithful servant: set me free for your service!
I’m ready to offer the thanksgiving sacrifice
and pray in the name of God.
I’ll complete what I promised God I’d do,
and I’ll do it in company with his people,
In the place of worship, in God’s house,
in Jerusalem, God’s city.
Hallelujah!

Being Heard Without Taking a Breath

My sister's youngest daughter wrote this for school about Abby. It touched me deeply.

Amanda Maxwell Mr. Zverloff Literary Analysis and Composition II October 9, 2014

Being Heard Without Taking a Breath

When I was seven years old, my aunt and uncle were expecting their second child. I was impatiently waiting to play with a little girl cousin, and the whole family was holding their breath in anticipation. We were all so excited because the doctors had told my aunt she would never have children, and soon she would have two! When my aunt went into labor, the hospital discovered that the baby’s heart had stopped beating. Their daughter Abby was born later that evening, lifeless. Words cannot express the pain it brought to their family. I was young at the time, but the events that followed will remain etched in my mind forever. These events taught me life lessons that I would have never learned just sitting in the classroom. Because of Abby’s death, I believe that unborn children have value.

As my aunt’s family grieved, they sought to give Abby’s short time on Earth a purpose. Our families drew closer together through the crisis, so I would spend a lot of time at their home. From literally around the corner, since I was playing with my cousin down the hall, I listened attentively as my aunt talked with my mom about ways they kept Abby’s memory alive. At first, my aunt had little remembrances around the house, like a bear made out of the blanket that they held her in at the hospital. Soon, they contacted other families who had similar circumstances, and found out that there is whole community of people who were brought together through the death of their children. The MISS Foundation’s online support group walked with my aunt’s family, helping them where we could not. Losing a child is a grief so strong that only those who have gone through it themselves can fully understand. Spurred by this realization, my aunt began helping other parent’s grief by connecting online, and was even invited to share her story at the Emergency Nurse’s Association National Convention. I watched as my aunt worked through her pain to help others with their own. She likes to share a dream she had, where Abby threw her over a wall and she landed in her car on the other side. Even at such a young age, I identified, in every respect, the symbolism. It was as if Abby’s death was the catalyst for her to go out in the world and make a difference. No doubt about it, Abby had literally thrown her mother into her life’s work. It did not take the pain away, but it showed how it could be turned into hope. Before long, Abby’s story had touched thousands of people’s lives.

However, more lives were yet to be changed. Several years after Abby’s death, with little hope of biologically having any more children, my aunt and uncle decided to adopt a little girl. They did not have a lot of money, so they found many ways to fund the adoption. Each fundraising event shared the bittersweet story of the stillborn little girl who propelled her parents towards adoption. One of these fundraisers was a garage sale, held on an overcast fall morning. I remember shivering in the cold, drinking the sweet lemonade my cousin had made to make his contribution to the effort. I stood in amazement, watching as strangers, not just friends, came to support the addition to the family. The adoption took years to complete, so even the adoption process itself kept revealing to me how important Abby was. Her death was raising awareness for adoption! Right in front of me, I again was witnessing how something so tragic was being transformed into something beautiful. Of course, there were several naysayers who were afraid that the adoption would hurt them more than not having a child, or would ignorantly point out that they were just “replacing” Abby with another child. That was hardly the case. One child can never replace another, but when two year old Hope arrived she brought back something Abby took from her family when she left – a daughter on Earth.

Hope now has loving parents, and a big brother who waited a long time for a sister. She is the cutest little kindergartener that brings joy to all of our lives. At first glance, it is hard to believe that she spent the first few years of her life in an orphanage, or that English was not her native language. But Hope remembers that time in her life, and always will. At such a young age, she already knows the lessons that it took me a lifetime to learn. Her knowledge of compassion and love is unlike anything I have seen in a child before. When I was visiting recently, she took my hand and swiftly pulled me towards her room. She showed me the shelf where she had put Abby’s baby bear next to her own. Underneath it, she had hung Abby’s name-plate next to hers on the wall. “That’s my sister, Abby’s!” she proudly pointed out. When I saw this I realized how much she loves and understands the value of the “big sister” she never knew. My aunt later told me that Hope did that all on her own, without prompting. Such an authentic, genuine act of love brought tears to my eyes. It is so beautiful that she cares about Abby, and visually lets it show how much she appreciates what Abby means to her.

Because of Abby’s death, I believe that unborn children have value. Even though Abby never opened her eyes or felt the touch of another human, her existence had meaning. No one ever heard the sound of her voice, but her story has been heard by many. Grieving parents have been helped, nurses better understand stillbirth situations, adoption awareness was raised, and a little girl received her “forever” home, all because of Abby. A blood clot in her umbilical cord may have stopped her life, but it did not stop us from loving her. She continues to touch lives as her story is told, in the same way she does as I write this. Her life shows that worth does not have to come from anything we do, but simply from just existing. Finally, Abby fundamentally changed the lives of her whole family. If that does not have value, I do not know what does.

November 28

November 28. The day my life changed forever. I woke up that morning without a care in the world and ended it with a trip to the hospital to meet my daughter for the first time, leaving my little boy behind, tucked safely in his bed, while his grandparents waited and watched over him as he slept. I can't look at the calendar and see that date without a flood of emotions. I am transported back in time. I can see everything as if on a movie screen. What I was wearing, the lighting in the room, making sure I had everything I needed before we left, hugging my parents. I remember the drive. I can go there in my memory and be there in my mind. Parking at the hospital. Walking into the lobby. Sitting in a chair breathing through my contractions. I can be there as if it was happening now. Asking my husband to go back to the car to get the things I forgot. Walking to the elevator and pressing the button. Waiting. Arriving on the labor and delivery floor. Excitement in my heart, pain in my abdomen. Breathing. Filling out the paperwork. Excitement, pain, fear. Going back into the examination room. Taking off my clothes. Patting my pregnant belly. Smiling. So happy. So excited. So much pain. Putting on the gown. Watching the nurse. Cold gel on my stomach. Doppler rubbing across my abdomen. Static. Joking--it's okay she does that all the time. Silence. She has to go get the doppler. Fear and uncertainty. Panic. My heart beating practically out of my chest. I can hear my heartbeat. I can see the room. I just close my eyes and I can relieve every moment. The ultrasound. No movement. She has to go get the doctor. Something's wrong. Praying. Waiting. Dr. Brady comes in. No color. Death. She's gone. November 29. 2:00 in the morning and I am going to deliver my dead baby. Devastation. The rest is a blur ...

Precious Gift from a Friend

A dear friend (whom I know would rather remain anonymous) gave me the most precious Mother's Day gift. She went to the cemetery, weeded, cleared away the winter debris, checked the decorations and left tulips in memory of my Abby for me this weekend. She also told me that the single white tulip, which has bloomed in our yard every year since Abby died, did not bloom this year. Benjamin calls it our "God-flower" and said it did not bloom because we are not there. "God knew!" Thinking of all the moms with children in Heaven today and thankful that, because of God's son, we will see and hold them again. "God knew" and made a way ... ❤