Baby Andy, A Gift to the Heavens

His name is Andy.  Andy was a gift to everyone he met. It was his smile. Oh, that smile. He knew how to use it and it blessed everyone around him. I still struggle when I think about my Andy. It still breaks my heart to know he’s not physically here anymore. I feel ashamed. I feel defeated. Like if I would have cared for him a little bit more or prayed harder he wouldn’t have died. Then the questions that point to God. Why? Why would YOU do that God? If you can heal him then why didn’t you? First Juan Jose and now Andy?
It’s healthy to have those questions. I believe that God likes it when we doubt because it requires us to seek Him and His answers.

Andy rode a roller coaster. He had times that he was doing so well. He was even released from the hospital multiple times. Then he’d have his low times too. It was ongoing. It was a tease for everyone’s emotions. 

I visited Andy on and off in June and the first part of July at the same time I was visiting Juan Jose at his hospital. It was mid-July when Andy’s heart stopped beating for 4 minutes. The doctor needed to inform the family of Andy’s condition. I went to the hospital and met with the doctor in his office. He explained to me that Andy had an 80% chance he was going to pass away in the next 48 hours. It crushed me. I remember thinking, “but how is that even possible? We just had one baby die, there is no way we can lose two. God wouldn’t do that to us.”  The doctor then told me it was time to wait. “Patience and prayer,” he said. I tried to focus on the 20% chance of survival instead of the 80% chance of him dying. Honestly, it’s easy to say but really tough to do.

For the next month I visited Andy almost every day. The days I couldn’t go, his amazing house mothers would. Also, we notified Andy’s mom and grandma so they could visit Andy in the hospital if they chose to. The doctor gave patient updates at 11am and then the families could see their children from 12-1 and again from 5-6. It took an hour to get to the hospital every day and an hour+ to get home depending on traffic. It made for long days. Family members stayed in the ICU waiting area to receive their info they desperately waited for. Most mothers or fathers slept there overnight so they had their blankets or sleeping bags with them always.  And we waited. And waited. When it was time we rushed to get in line so we could find out how our babies/children were doing. Andy’s mom and grandma came almost every day and often spent the night. They usually visited him during the 5pm visit time and I would be with him during the afternoon.

In this ICU there were 12 beds all lined up side by side. They were so close that you could stand between the two and touch both patients. Most were intubated for their injuries or illnesses. Monitors, tubes and IV’s coming from every child. For the first week or two Andy was in bed #2. When he woke up after his heart stopped it didn’t take long before he started charming everyone around him again. That was Andy. A ladies man. He loved flashing that smile around at everyone. Usually when I sat in the waiting room with the other families, people always talked to me about my Andy. They would say, “Your son has the most beautiful smile. When he’s a teenager it’s going to be hard to keep him away from the ladies. “ Of course they all knew he wasn’t my son and I didn’t even call him my son. But the nurses did. 

Next to Andy was a 6 year-old boy that had fallen off a three-story building. On the other side was a boy with brain cancer.  A few beds down was a child who was there because he was struck by a bus. The room was full of tragedies. With every tragedy rose two outcomes. The child either got better and was released to another wing in the hospital, or they didn’t make it. I spent my time watching mothers and fathers receive the happy news that their child was going to be transferred or watching them receive the other news that was almost unbearable. 

Since Andy was such a favorite in the ICU I was treated differently. When Andy was not on a breathing tube he laid in his bed smiling at any nurse that walked by. When visitors were allowed to enter during the allotted one-hour time frame, I sat by his bed and held his finger. The nurses always let me hold him, feed him, and often times went and got a chair for me to squeeze in between the two patient beds so I could sit. They were incredibly sweet to me and my baby Andy. He loved to be held. And I loved holding him. It was definitely a win-win. Once time was up, the nurses asked everyone to leave the room but they always told me to stay. Often times I was there for 3-4 hours just holding Andy. When he got fussy I would sing him the song that my grandma would sing me. “A Bushel and a peck.” He loved it. He would stare into my face with those big brown eyes and when he was feeling good enough he would give me a smile. 

They couldn’t have family members in the room after visiting hours because the children were so unstable that any surgeries or tests that needed to be done were often done right there. There was two times that I sat holding my Andy while a doctor was doing some kind of surgery a few beds down. It was unreal. A real “sterile” environment. One time I was sitting holding Andy with his bed on one side and a 7 year-old boy on the other. I can’t remember why he was in the hospital but they had him sedated with a breathing tube in. The sedation meds were not quite high enough and he began to wake up. I remember the fear that came over me. This little boy starts to sit up with a tube in his throat and begins to freak out. Which in turn makes me freak out! I stood up and turned around to motion at the nurse that the boy was awake. The nurse ran over and pinned him to the bed and began yelling for more sedation meds. You would think that at this time they would have asked me to leave but they didn’t. So I just kept rocking Andy and prayed for them both. 

The last time I held Andy he had a high fever. He wasn’t feeling good and I could tell. He just wanted me to hold him. I stayed for over 3 hours that day. After awhile you get exhausted.  Exhausted from praying so hard, from trying to keep your composure while in a room full of tragedy, exhausted from hearing bad news, and exhausted from holding a 20lb baby in your arms for hours.  My arms would get so tired but every time I would attempt to lay him down he would cry. I sang to him this day. He didn’t smile. But I knew he loved it. I prayed and loved on him. He was so precious. He was weaker than normal so he laid his sweaty head on my shoulder and I rubbed and tickled his naked back. He loved that. When it was time for me to go I asked the nurse to take him so that he wouldn’t cry. I knew he would eventually cry when she put him down but it was too hard for me to see it. She held him and he watched my every move as I walked to the door.  Truth is I can still picture that stare in my head.  It feels a lot like disappointment.  Goodbyes are tough.

I didn’t know that would be the last time I would see him alive.  I’d like to say I wish I would have kissed him one more time. I wish I would have told him how much he was loved once more. I would have sung to him once more. But really, all of these things would have only made me feel better and at the end of the day, I don't think it would have made much of a difference. It’s him I miss and I would have never been ready to say goodbye.

Then the day came that I had prayed and hoped would never have to come. The day Andy went to be with the Lord. I walked into the ICU waiting area and saw all the families sitting there waiting to receive updates from the doctors.  Andy’s mom was sitting at the end of the bench. She looked sad and angry. Usually she’s friendly with me and always says hello. I sat down next to her and asked how she was doing. All she said was, “Andy died.” I asked her what she said again thinking that my ignorance of Spanish had gotten the best of me. She said it again, “Andy died. This morning. He’s dead.” I heard her perfectly clear that time and I still couldn’t register it. “No. no. How? What? When?” that’s all that could come out of my mouth. The families stared at us as Andy’s mom told me that he had passed away about an hour earlier. His heart had stopped twice and they managed to revive him once. We both began to cry. She grabbed my hand and said, "Come with me. I want you to see him. He’s still in there." I followed her to the ICU door and she pounded on the locked door to ask the nurses if I could come in to see him. At this point I had no idea what was happening. We walked over to his bed where he had been for the past month. His mom pulled the baby blanket off which was used to cover his body and there laid my sweet handsome baby Andy. Lifeless. I touched his soft baby foot and it was cold. His monitors that used to annoy me from their beeping were no longer lit. I longed for that annoying beep. His ventilator turned off. He was gone and I had missed it. I wasn’t there. That’s all I could think about. How could I let him down like this? 
His mother and I stood at his bedside hugging and crying. What next?

The next 12 hours were full of pain, tears, anger, sadness, and slivers of joy.  As we waited for the nurses to prep the body so we could bring him to the morgue God continued to show me the impact Andy brought to this world. Nurse after nurse came to me in the hallway to share with me memories of Andy and words of encouragement. One nurse told me that Andy and his situation had stirred up conversations at the dinner table between her and her husband. Unable to have children her husband and her decided to bless a child through adoption. That was Andy. Another nurse asked how she could become involved with Casa Shalom to help more children. That was Andy. A few just wanted to tell me that work had been difficult for them and how it can be depressing to constantly care for ICU patients but that they looked forward to seeing Andy and his smile everyday. It was him who got them through their day and reminded them why they became a nurse. That was Andy. God made sure that Andy’s life would make an impact on ALL around him.

The nurse pushed Andy on a gurney to the morgue as we followed behind. The morgue was in the basement of the hospital. The halls were dark, old, exposed leaking pipes, and cracked floors. We passed two cafeterias on the way to the morgue. I’ll never forget how gross it made me feel to think of eating at a cafeteria a few hundred feet from the morgue.  I won’t go into the details of this Guatemalan morgue. But it’s not a place I ever want to be again. Hours and hours passed and we had to wait for the funeral service to do all the paperwork so we could take Andy out of the morgue. In Guatemala, it’s customary to bury the dead the same day as they die or the following day. They do this because they don’t embalm the bodies so it’s best to bury them in the fastest time possible.  Over 12 hours later, at 10pm that night we finally had everything ready so we could take Andy.  Andy’s mom and I went to the morgue to turn in all the papers. We then had to identify Andy’s body so they could release him. Wow. That’s something you never imagine yourself having to do. And I hope I never have to again. I credit God for giving me the strength at that moment, as I had to answer and explain to Andy’s mom what happens to a body that’s already been deceased for hours while she cried and cried in my arms. 

But then, that was only half as hard as what I was about to do and I didn’t even know it. They say ignorance is bliss. True statement. We brought sweet Andy back to the funeral home. At this time they did the things they needed to do as we waited outside on the street. This is a neat memory for me. We stood outside in silence with cars passing and the city noises all around. Andy’s grandma turned worship music on her phone. She sang and prayed despite the circumstances.  It was beautiful.

The funeral service then asked Andy’s mom for the clothes they wanted to bury him in. They asked if the family would like to dress him. They said yes.  Coming from a complete different culture I was shocked by even the question. Andy’s mom grabbed my hand and said, “You have to help. Come.” I followed them into the room where Andy laid naked on the table. Together we dressed him.  A surreal moment.  After we put on his final piece of clothing, his cute little beanie hat, his Grandma picked him up and brought him first to me and I kissed him on his head over his beanie. With tears falling down my face I whispered, “Goodbye. I love you, Andy.”  And then everyone in the room kissed him and said their goodbye.  We placed him in his beautiful white wooden casket. So peaceful. So handsome. 

The following day they had the funeral service. And like that it was over. But it wasn’t. I miss him. Still. I miss his smile. 

The day of his funeral we had to tell his two brothers that their baby Andy went to be with Jesus. They are 3 and 6. They loved him so much. The 6 year old asked me almost every day how his brother was doing in the hospital and if I would give him a kiss for him. I was not looking forward to telling them their brother is no longer in the hospital. 

But the Lord is good.  So good. He showed me what childlike faith was yet again. Andy’s 6 year-old brother was so joyful to hear that his little brother was with Jesus. He asked, “Andy is in heaven? With God? He’s no longer is sick? Yay! My baby brother is with Jesus!”  And like that. I stumble and make it so difficult. I felt like it was something I did. I made it about myself. Andy’s brother reminded me it’s not about us. Or me. It’s about God. I don’t know why Andy passed away. I don’t know why God didn’t heal him. What I do know is that he is no longer sick and he is with Jesus. So as Andy’s brother would say, “Yay! My baby Andy is with Jesus.” 

Life is short. Unpredictable. It’s ugly and beautiful.  God doesn’t always give us answers. We don’t always need them. But we always need to trust him. Trust in the Lord with ALL of your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5NIV  And I’m trusting that there is truth in that. If not, then those feelings of disappointment and defeat win.

Several days after Andy passed away I was reminded that this was not the first or last trial I have experienced or will experience in my life. But they all have one thing in common. The same faithful God was there for me then and will be with me the next time too. That's His promise to me. 

On August 20, 2014 our smiley baby Andy became the luckiest baby. He got to meet our Lord and Savior. He joined our baby Juan Jose and together they are charming the angels, no doubt.  I can only imagine how much happier heaven became the morning of August 20th, when baby Andy took his smile to the heavens. I love you, Andy. You will not be forgotten. Thank you for letting me love you.

Juan Jose, The Luckiest Baby

Juan Jose, 3lb 2oz. First week at Casa Shalom

Tough. Depressing. Exhausting. Hurtful. Rough. 

Is how this past few months have been. We lost two babies in a two month period. It was more than a struggle watching our babies suffer and fight for their life. For weeks I visited our baby Juan Jose in the ICU. Before entering I would have to sit in my car, take deep breaths and convince myself I could handle it that day. The smells, the sight of blood and needles, the crying parents begging for God’s grace, the extreme helpless situations the babies and children were all in fighting for their lives. I’ve always been queasy at the sight of blood or needles and now I found myself in a Guatemalan ICU surrounded by babies hooked up to I.V.s, blood transfusions, life support etc. Hence the reason why I prayed really hard before entering so I could be given the strength to be what Juan Jose needed me to be.  And at that moment I needed to be his person.  However that looked. At times it felt like a mom, at times an orphanage supervisor, but always his person. 

Many times I would need to leave the room because I could feel my face go white and I began sweating profusely.  It was maddening. I wanted to be in there with him, talk to him, sing to him, let him know he’s not alone. But then at the same moment I could feel the internal battle of me fighting off the feelings of dizziness and sickness.  

Hope. We all need it. We have to have it. If we can't seem to find it, we have to search for it. I searched for my hope every day this past two months. 

The doctor would tell me not so promising news and I searched to find hope. Juan Jose needed for me to have hope for him. If you lose hope you’ve already lost the battle. I didn’t want to lose this battle.  Until I did. I knew. I found myself praying, begging, for God to take Juan Jose. That may sound harsh but it’s honest and real. I could see my 6 month old, 8lb something baby boy suffering and I hated it. He was always such a fighter. From the day he was born at 1lb he starting fighting. When his mom abandoned him at the hospital he fought. When he was burdened with is illness he fought. I never knew how much strength an 8 lb baby could have. But now he was suffering more than he should ever have to suffer. I found myself crying over his weak and swollen body yelling at God. “Take him. Take him now. He is YOUR child first, then ours. Take him Lord.”  Of course I didn’t want Juan Jose to die, but I wanted him to be healthy, be peaceful. Maybe I should have been praying for God to do a miracle. I did. For weeks. Every day I prayed that God would allow Juan Jose to stay with us longer. But the day he went to be with the Lord I was no longer praying for God to let us have him longer. I begged God to take him. Knowing that he would be held by his father without IV’s, ventilators, nurses, and rounds of medicine being pumped into his small little body. He could smile and laugh again. To think about this gave me such joy. I think as Juan Jose’s person he would want me to want him to be happy, even if the very thing that was the best for him was the worse for us.

I said goodbye to Juan Jose for the last time as he laid in his beautiful silk white casket. In Guatemala, they always bury children in white caskets, as a symbol of purity.  He was dressed in a little suit and he looked so handsome. We had a service for him at the orphanage so his Casa Shalom family could say goodbye. All 100 brothers and sisters, along with his wonderful house mothers passed by and laid hands on his casket to say their last words. It was a beautiful service. I was thankful that during such a difficult, emotion filled moment we could all be together as a family to say goodbye and thank the Lord for giving us Juan Jose for the time that he did. It was also a time for our littlest children to learn about God and death. 

I held one of my little girls, Maggie. She’s 5 and still doesn’t understand the concept of dying. When children don’t understand, they ask the most innocent of questions that can’t help but put a smile on your face at such a difficult time. Maggie looked up at me and asked, “Are we going to take him to Heaven?”  Another 5 year old boy with a concerned look on his face asked, “Can our baby breathe in that little box(casket)?”  Even through the toughest times, God gives us moments to smile and to teach about His goodness. That was one of those moments!

As we sang my little Maggie looked at me and asked me why I was crying. I told her I was crying because I was sad that baby Juan Jose died.  Confused and looking around the room she said, “Everyone is crying.”  I think the 5 year old was just trying to understand it all. Truth is, we all were. Then in a little whisper she looked at me with honest, teary eyes and said, “Tia JJ (Aunt JJ), I’m crying now too.” She rested her head on my shoulder and began to cry.  

5 months, 8 lbs

July 2nd, 2014 our sweet baby Juan Jose became the luckiest baby.  He got to meet our Lord and Savior. I’m thankful for the moments God placed me in his life to be his person. I’m thankful that I have God’s joy, His hope, and Philippians 4:7, “Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live    in Christ Jesus.” 

We miss you Juan Jose, but I know I’ll see you again someday. And that makes your person so happy.