Asher's Story

Asher Brennan Cart
Another sleeping angel, born into the arms of Jesus, January 25, 2012

I have been asked to walk this road again.

The road of child loss.

Five months ago, God saw it fit to take home our son, our 8th child, at 20 weeks in the womb.
Just last week, He saw it fit again to allow heartbreak into our family.

Our Rainbow Bear.

This baby was supposed to be our rainbow...our happiness and blessing after the storm of losing sweet Jonathan.

And He was.

From day one of finding out we had been given another child by our Lord , my heart was cautious, and well.....just plain old afraid.
I was so scared of losing this baby too. I didn't have peace that everything would be ok, but chalked it up to lingering fears from the recent loss of our last child. 
I drowned myself in love for this baby, knowing how precious life is and knowing he or she could be taken at any moment...but praying constantly that they wouldn't.
I will never regret those moments.

Because I was right.

All seemed to be going well with this little one, and the pregnancy chugged along.  A dear friend of mine even found a rainbow sock monkey for my rainbow baby's first stuffed animal.  I loved it! But the first thought that popped in my mind when she gave it to me was "This will fit perfectly in the memory box when I bury him."
Don't ask me why.
It seemed so negative at the time.

At 15 and 1/2 weeks my doppler finally arrived in the mail.  I excitedly searched for the heartbeat, but couldn't find it.
I searched for hours at a time, for days.
Everyone kept saying not to worry.  It's hard to find with the cheaper dopplers.
 I tried not to panic.  But I just didn't have peace.
Then the spotting started.  Hardly anything, but enough in my mind to know something wasn't right.
Again, everyone kept saying it happens, don't stress it.  Everything was probably fine.  I wanted to believe that...but deep down, I think I knew God was preparing me for heartbreak.
The dreams started.  Nightmares really....going to ultrasounds and finding nothing.  Birthing my tiny dead child.
It was terrible.

I started noticing my pregnancy symptoms didn't feel as strong. I didn't feel as gaggy.  Nor were the cravings as intense.  And not really having to wake up at night to use the bathroom?  Yeah, totally weird. I thought maybe I was just having a normal second trimester like most people...which, for me, was not normal.  Maybe....
But I knew.
I hoped and prayed I was wrong.
But I knew.

At 16 and 1/2 weeks, I went to see my midwife while Matthew was home with the children.  The whole one hour drive to her house, I had the radio on, and for some "reason" the station was playing song after song about suffering and heartbreak for God's glory.  Pretty much all of the music that I turned to after Jonathan's death. Odd. I knew it was the Lord speaking, and preparing me. I begged him through tears to please let me be wrong, and take this cup away from me...again. 

I tried to trust Him...hoped that he would not drag me through this path yet another time.  But I knew His ways are not our ways.  And it might be exactly what He was asking me to do.
Seeing my dear Joselle was bitter sweet.  We've been through so much together.
We prayed before we checked for the heartbeat, first thing.  Even though we didn't say it, we both expected the same answer.
And we were right.

There was no heartbeat.

My baby was gone.
I would have to bury another child.

My heart was broken.

On the way home I screamed out to God.  Why? Why must I do this again? Haven't I been through enough in the past 6 months to last me a lifetime? Jonathan hasn't even been in the ground long enough to have his tombstone laid, and yet another baby must come into my arms silent.
God heard plenty of my hissy fits that day.  Fortunately, He isn't intimidated by my whining, nor the fact that I told Him He was not my best friend at that moment. 

But despite all of that, mentally and emotionally I thanked Him for helping the hurt by preparing my heart for all of this the previous 2 weeks.
For that, I am ever grateful.  It made the pain seem more.....bearable?
But still, it didn't take away the utter despair....

On Friday the 20th, I walked into the doctor's office. The same OB who has also been with me through so much.  The cold wind was blowing and the snow was falling beautifully through the sparkling sunlight.  I realized then it was 5 months to the day of my sweet Jonathan's birth.
And here I was preparing to deliver another sleeping baby.

“The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)

The doctor searched with his ultrasound.
De ja vu.
No heartbeat.
No movement.
Just a tiny little baby, all snuggled up tight inside my womb. A miniature version of the picture I saw on the screen 5 short long months ago.
It appeared the baby stopped growing around 12ish weeks from a placental clot/abruption, but the demise seemed more recent....just like Jonathan. although he was several weeks farther along.
Did I want to do a D&C?
Heck no.
I want to bury my baby.
To birth him or her with dignity. 
To hold with love.
To see their sweet face.
It's the least I could do.
So we waited.
The doctor gave me 1 week to deliver, before we needed to consider the "options".
Sorry buddy.  There were no options.  I needed to see my child.
Since I was already spotting for the past week, and cramping away on my own, I had confidence that it would all happen.
I just didn't know when.

So home I went, and started the herbs.  Bitterly disgusting yarrow and wormwood became my constant companion, in hopes to stimulate my uterus. Because whether they are dead in the womb at 16 weeks, or squirmy and kicking at 42 weeks, my body does NOT like to give up it's babies.  (It just recently forgot how to keep them alive....)
Days went by and no changes. I crocheted a tiny blanket to wrap my child in. The children and I went out to buy a memory box that matches Jonathan's, and a tiny little coffin for burial.
We were ready.
But my body wasn't.

And then my dear Melissa friend brought me over "the magic peanut butter cups".  We joked that maybe those yummy treats would be the key to putting me into labor.
And guess what happened 1 hour after I nibbled on a few?
The contractions started.
Real contractions.
Every 2 minutes, albeit short, but definitely strong enough to focus and breath through.
From 6 pm until 3 am, I battled not tensing through them.  Emotionally, I couldn't, even though they were bearable.
I knew the end was near.

But I didn't want it.
After tossing and turning in bed for hours, I finally took an ibuprofen in hopes to relax.  And as I lay there and dozed off, I noticed it worked.
But then I woke up enough to realize the contractions had stopped completely.
And I was soaking in blood.
I woke up Matthew, and stripped down in the shower. 
Nothing.  Just lots of blood. No baby.
And then, like Jonathan's labor, everything stopped.

Great.
I prayed it would start back up as I climbed in bed, but unfortunately I fell fast asleep and woke up bright and early. And still pregnant.

Wednesday, the 25th
I worked through my day, staying on my feet, drinking my herbs, waiting for something to kick back on.  But all was silent.
So after dinner around 5 pm, I decided I would go take a nice relaxing bubble bath while everyone cleaned up downstairs.  Maybe it would be the key....something had to get this going again.
I grabbed a book, a nice fluffy towel, and prayed as I walked into the bathroom.
"Lord, please let this all be over soon."
I went to use the restroom, and a few seconds later, I felt something huge slip down. No warning.  No cramps. Just there.
Suddenly, a large, water-filled sack was bulging from me.  I was afraid to move.

Now, because I was expecting to just go and take a soak in the tub, I had closed the door and the children and hubby were downstairs (loudly I might add) cleaning up and playing ball.  I yelled, and screamed, and stomped on the floor the best I could to get someone's attention.
Finally, Matt figured out I was calling for him and came rushing up.
"Baby.  Right here.  Grab the cayenne."
As he dosed me with a dropperful of cayenne tincture under my tongue (a precautionary for hemorrhage we had bought the day before), I was able to finish pushing.  Matthew was still taking it all in, asking if I had any warning.  I shook my head no, then started hearing the blood trickling into the toilet....like someone forgot to turn the sink faucet all the way off.  I looked down to see a steady stream of blood pouring out. 
He yelled at the children to stay downstairs and pray, and grabbed the phone to call my midwife. 
She had me check the sack to make sure everything was there, which appeared to be.  I noticed how large this fluid filled amniotic sack was, like the size of both of my hands together, and was in awe at seeing my baby floating around inside.
But there was no time for that right then.  

With Joselle on the phone, Matt practically dragged me into bed, and we put my hips and legs under a million pillows to try and slow the bloodflow.  Every 10 minutes I was given a dropperful of cayenne to try and clot my blood until my body would take over.
Feeling the blood still gushing, I was trying my best not to panic.  But I felt peace...paranoid and cautious...but peace none the less, that I would be ok.
We prayed, we filled me with orange juice and chlorophyll, we continued the cayenne (oh my poor tongue), and kept talking with Joselle.  Should we transfer?  Maybe...but I was afraid moving me would make the blood loss worse.
After over an hour, 2 big towels, and several postpartum pads, I passed 3 softball sized clots.  And the bleeding finally slowed.
We were out of the woods.
 I was pale and weak.
But safe.
On strict bed rest orders, I remained there that night, and the next day.
I spent hours that night awake, gazing next to my bed at the clothes basket with my baby still safely tucked in the sack...praying.  Taking it all in.  I hated waiting to see him or her, but I wasn't allowed up until the next morning, only long enough to take a shower.
But as soon as we woke up, Matt helped me to the tub, where I opened the baby's sack with scissors.
As the water rushed out, and my little angel appeared, I did everything to choke back the tears. 

Yet I smiled.  

My sweet little one.  

I snipped the tiny umbilical cord, and gently lifted my baby out into the palm of my hand.
A perfect fit.
I marveled over the itty bitty fingers and toes, even the perfect teensy fingernails, and then checked....yup.  Just as I thought. Every distinctive bit of tiny little manhood.
Another boy.
Asher Brennan Cart.

Asher....happiness and blessing. Brennan....teardrop and sorrow.
A fitting name for our precious little son.

 

I took him back in bed with me, and laid him on his little blanket.  I took dozens of pictures to remember every part of him in my sorrowful memory.  And then we called the children up to meet their brother.
Ashley was in love. Elias was sad.  Ezra kept saying, "Awww, he's so cute." And even Thomas climbed on my lap to see him, saying "Baby, baby!"  (So anti-life pro-abortionists, what's your excuse?  Even a 22 month old knows it's a baby at 12 week gestation without even being told.)

Our Asher.
  So perfect.  And gone so soon.

As we tucked him in his little box, and the children went outside to bury him with daddy (we could not afford to bury him at the cemetery with Jonathan), I wept. I didn't want this again.  How can I face the hurt?  It was already so raw from Jonathan...and now those wounds have been ripped open again and rubbed with salt.
The pain is overwhelming.
I want my baby back.
I want my rainbow.
I want my BABIES back.
It's so unfair.
Why me?
But then I must remember...why NOT me?

"Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." (Proverbs 19:21)

Why was this baby taken from me? Why was Jonathan?
Somehow. Some way....for His glory.
I may never see it this side of heaven, but I know it was for His will to be accomplished. Whether it's refining me. Whether it's to bring a message to the bigger picture for someone in life. Or whether it was just for my husband and I to come together and allow the Lord to create a life between us, if only to be taken after a few short months in the womb to be with Him in worship...it is all for the best.
But it still hurts.
I am sad. I am broken. There is no way to "get over it" and "move on". 

 This was my child.

Loss is loss because it is really LOST. There is no replacement. No way to fill the hole.

Just a way to make it one minute to the next....because He is carrying me through it all.

The healing will come....I don't know how. But it must.

Although physically it is taking it's good old time. I am still very weak. But slowly, I am starting to feel like myself. At least....my body is.
My heart will never be the same.
There is a hole there.
I loved my baby from the moment I knew of him. And when he died, a part of me was amputated and taken along with him. I can never get it back. I can never get that piece of Jonathan back. Or my other baby, either.

I am broken.
And the pieces that are left are held together only by God's hand.

Yesterday, I went in for testing.  To have 6 healthy children, then lose 2 in a row, both second trimester, most likely means a problem has arose in me. We don't know what.  And I am praying it's something simple that can be dealt with naturally...or maybe that God could even bless me with just one small miracle and allow it to be nothing at all.
I couldn't imagine dealing with another loss again.
But I know either way, it is all for His will.

When I am drowning in my sorrow, I keep hearing the taunts in my mind...."Where is your God now?"  And as I fight the tears every day, I know how to answer: "He's right here."

When we opened our womb to God, we were willing for many children, or if God only blessed us with a few. We never really expected Him to start taking our children away from us. But that is part of the territory of letting him be in control. He does as He pleases. I find myself praying (begging) that if He will continue to take away our babies, to just close my womb. Then I realize how much I don't mean that (even though I do). I don't want to deal with the pain....but yet I DO want the peace of knowing I am/am not having children because we are letting HIM decide, not ourselves. And of course the happiness of knowing I have so many sweet souls waiting for me when I come home, is joyous in it's own.

So in the mean time...we will pray for answers.  We will pray for healing.  We will pray for His strength to carry us through as we weep over the loss of yet another dear son. 

We will pray for Asher's life to be used for His glory.
But most of all, we pray that no matter what, we will be willing to walk this road, even if it's one full of mourning.

There is no footprint too small that it cannot leave an imprint on this earth. 

Or your heart.

Asher Brennan.
Created for His glory...born to be with Him.