From a Father's Heart...

My husband Sean shares his story...

Joeli Grace
When I think about what happened that night, everything comes flooding back like a terrible dream. No matter how far separated from the event by days, months or years I will never forget how I felt. It was the absolute worst night of my life.
It was Wednesday January 29, 2008. My wife Abi was pregnant with our second baby. The day started like any day should. I went to work in the morning and that evening we had plans for dinner at our close friends’ house. It also just so happened that we had a “routine” five month checkup scheduled in the afternoon and an ultrasound for the following day. I mention the ultrasound scheduled for the following day because we were very excited about it. We were going to find out if we were having a baby boy or girl.
I thank God to this day that I was there for that five month appointment. I could not imagine Abi being there alone. Up until this point I was so preoccupied with work that I had only been able to make one other appointment.
I vividly remember sitting in the waiting room. I was trying to entertain my two year old daughter, Seana, with a typical waiting room-like wooden playhouse and kitchen set. We were one of the last appointments of the day so there weren’t many people in there with us. What happened next started a chain of events that I wish God would have somehow spared us from.
Abi came out of the room with a desperate look on her face. All she said was “Sean, they can’t find the heart beat”. I had no idea what to think. My heart immediately sunk but I went straight into denial. As we walked out to the car I called our friends to cancel our previously arranged dinner plans. I asked my friend to keep the baby in prayer. I said something like, “I’m sure everything is fine but we just need to go in for an emergency ultrasound to find out what is going on”. I reassured Abi over and over again that everything was going to be okay.
We arrived at the hospital and were told to sit in the normal waiting room with another expecting mother, but Abi couldn’t handle it. She froze at the door and would not go in. We waited by ourselves outside of the triage until Abi's sister arrived. She was able to watch Seana for us.
Finally, we were called back and given a room. The technician got Abi ready for the ultrasound. Abi couldn’t see the screen but I could. She asked me to squeeze her hand if I saw a heartbeat. Until this point I was still convinced that somehow everything was going to be fine and the baby would be ok, but I was wrong. I stared at the screen in total disbelief. There was no heartbeat. I stared blankly at the screen for some time. I wanted to squeeze Abi’s hand so badly but I couldn’t. Everyone in the room was completely silent except for Abi. She screamed “No! Why God? Why?! “. I had never felt so helpless.
At this point we did not know what to do but we had to somehow come to accept the reality of what was happening so we asked them to use the Doppler. We thought that maybe if the baby was positioned strangely that we could at least hear the heartbeat. This brought a fleeting glimpse of hope when even the doctor could not tell whether he was hearing a slow baby heartbeat or Abi’s. They did another ultrasound only for us to view the lifeless screen one last time.
We were given two options. We could either go home and wait for nature to take its course, allowing Abi to go into labor naturally or be induced that night. I was overwhelmed by confusion and doubt. I still could not 100% believe that our baby was dead. Abi still kept telling me that she thought she felt movement. I did not know what to think but we had to face the facts. We had the results of two ultrasounds and the Doppler saying that there was no longer life in my wife’s belly. If we went home, we had no idea how long it could take. We didn’t think either of us could have handled that emotionally so we decided for Abi to be induced.
We were taken to another room were Abi would have the baby. It wasn’t the wing were healthy babies were born. It was different. It was such a weird and terrible feeling. I struggled with how to even define it. Abi wasn’t giving birth, our baby wasn’t alive. She was just going into labor.
We had been at this same hospital to give birth to a healthy baby just two years prior. The room this time was vaguely similar. There was a bed, a birthing ball, a room to take a hot shower but it just felt like we were there in vain. It was very eerie.
I stayed up with Abi all night waiting for the Pitocin to kick in and start contractions. There was no bed in this room other than the one that Abi was on so I just laid on the cold tile floor with a blanket. After several hours the contractions started. There was something very scary about this for me. I still wanted to believe that our baby was alive but when labor started it was the beginning of reality setting in. This was the point when I knew it was really over and I just erupted into tears. I was helpless.
Labor went into the following morning. It seemed like an eternity of drawn out, excruciating, emotional agony. I hated every second of it.
Nevertheless, God was still in control. He sent a terrible trial into our lives that day but He provided ways for us to get through it. There were not many things I could count as blessings at the time but I will say that He sent the most amazing nurse I think we could have possibly been given. Her name was Eleanor. I hope she somehow reads this someday because at the time I could not express to her just how much she meant to my wife and I. She was gentle, courteous, considerate and went out of her way to help us that day. Nothing could lessen the pain but Eleanor was a ray of light sent by God to let us know there was a way to get through this.
We had our baby late that morning. No doctors came in for the delivery because I guess there was no need. We had a baby girl. We named her Joeli Grace Dougherty. It was a very strange thing because I knew deep down that our little one was in heaven with Jesus and she probably had been for several days already. So we never really got to meet Joeli, we were just looking at her shell.
We spent some time with her shell that morning. We held her and kissed her, we took some pictures too. But most of all we cried. Abi and I sobbed for hours.
Later that day they told us we had to leave. Abi was in good health and there was no need to spend another night. Leaving was very hard for me. It felt so backward to be leaving my little girl wrapped up in a pink blanket all by herself in that cold, strange room. I just kept thinking that we were not supposed to be leaving there with empty arms. I had a lot of flashbacks to the first time we were at that hospital with our first healthy baby. Everything seemed completely opposite now. We got in the car, just Abi and I and drove away.
Abi and I got in a lot of arguments over the next couple of days. We were handling things very differently. At the time, I felt like we needed to be strong and I was not giving Abi adequate time to recover emotionally.
My parents traveled to be with us and to attend Joeli’s funeral. The night before we buried our daughter was the culmination of all of our frustrations. Abi and I got into the worst argument we had ever been in. We just screamed at each other at the top of our lungs and I think I got hit a few times while my parents probably just sat downstairs and listened. They must have felt so awkward.
Our argument ended in tears just like most all of our other arguments over the preceding several days. Together, we decided to go out and buy some nice outfits for the funeral. Also, at that moment I decided to just remain weak for awhile and forget about trying to be strong.
The funeral was an amazing outpouring of love from our friends and family. The funeral director said it was the most people he had ever seen for a stillbirth burial. Joeli’s body was very small. She actually fit into a small rectangular urn. We put her body into the ground that day at Mellinger's Mennonite Cemetery and said our goodbyes.
Although we never got to meet Joeli, I will never forget the precious time we had with her while she was still in the womb. I treasure the times I was able to put my face on my wife’s belly to be close to her. I cherish the kick I felt only a week or two prior. I will always remember that first ultrasound we had of her and seeing her little heart beating away.
One thing that I have always said about my little Joeli is that she taught me more in the short time we had with her than one would ever imagine a child could teach her father in a lifetime. She was such an amazing gift. After we lost Joeli I made a very purposeful choice to not be angry for the time I lost with her but to cherish those moments we had.
Joeli you made your daddy a better man. This story is in honor of you and the blessing you were to our family. Thank you.

Written 3 years ago in honor of Joeli's 2nd Birthday

This is Joeli's testimony...please feel free to copy and paste this or email it or share it with whomever as a way to keep her legacy going! Thank you for taking the time to read this and forward it and hopefully share the Good News:)

Happy 2nd Birthday Joeli Grace:)




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!

Written by Mommy:)

~Abigail Dougherty
1/30/2010

Joeli's delicate prints:)

FIVE years...

Jeremiah 1:5
Before I formed you in the womb I knew you… before you were born I set you apart.

1 Samuel 1:27-28 paraphrased…  We prayed for this child…So now we give her to the Lord. And we choose to worship HIM.

Joeli Grace Dougherty was born our second child, a daughter, on January 30^th 2008. It was not the way we wanted it to happen. We miss her deeply to this day; she is still a part of our family that we hold very dear. Her 5^th birthday is coming up and we ask you to celebrate her life, short as it was, with us! We are honoring the life she lived by donating FIVE winter necessities to local charities. We ask that you consider joining us in honoring her memory in this beautiful way. We believe one of Joeli’s God-given purposes was to embolden us to share of HIS great love and HIS ETERAL life, a life that goes on after “death”. After all, death is but a shadow, and a shadow is nothing more than a dark area between Light… we believe that although her earthly life has ended, her spirit remains and lives on in the love-filled presence of her Maker. So, would you also consider sharing this peace and joy-filled news of eternal life through Jesus with FIVE people you come in contact with throughout January? Maybe a cashier, maybe a friend, maybe a child… As you do, remember our little Joeli with us and maybe say a prayer for us and for anyone else you know who has been affected by miscarriage, stillbirth, or early infant death. It happens more frequently than you think and many women do not speak about it for various reasons. I choose to speak about it for several reasons, one of which is the fact that I fully believe her purpose was to embolden my family to share the saving news of the LIFE we have found in Jesus. Joeli did not just die, she also lived and MORE IMPORTANTLY she ALSO LIVES. If I did not full heartedly believe this last statement there would be only empty, dark, bitterly cold tears drenching my bed day and night continually in her absence. However, because of His love, His promises, His strength and hope, WE walk on in faith trusting that we will see her again and we will stand together and praise the One who Made us.

 

Thank you for sharing in celebrating Joeli Grace’s life in this meaningful way with us this January! We have appreciated the support, prayers, and love from so many friends and family as we’ve walked this journey the past five years. Never underestimate the strength and peace found in a simple hug, phone call or act of kindness.

 

My prayer for you this January 30^th is that through Joeli’s life and story you may be blessed and led closer to the heart of your Maker, the One who loves you beyond description and holds in store for you a HOPE of a future restoration and healing!

~Abi

For more of Joeli's story and also to read the stories of those who have walked closest with us during our grief journey please visit www.heavenslullaby.blogspot.com  thank you deeply and whole-heartedly.