annasdeath

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"ANNA'S DEATH HAS SET ME FREE"

"SHE NEVER EVER LEARNED TO READ THE PAPER
AND HER COLORING SOMETIMES GOT OUT OF LINE
SHE ALWAYS WANTED ME TO BUY THOSE CHEESY HOTDOGS
THEN SHE'D CLIMB UPON THIS TIRED LAP OF MINE.

SHE'D ASK, " DADDY, IS THERE REALLY A HEAVEN?"
SHE'D ASK, " DADDY IS THERE REALLY A HELL?"
THEN SHE'D SLIP OFF TO SOMEWHERE, WHERE I COULDN'T REACH HER,
THEY SAID SHE WAS AUTISTIC--LIVING IN A SHELL.

BUT SHE ASKED QUESTIONS THAT MADE ME STOP AND WONDER
AND SEARCH TO KNOW THE MAN I WAS IN ME
I CAN'T HELP TO THINK THAT I'M A LITTLE STRONGER
FOR ANNA'S DEATH SOMEHOW HAS SET ME FREE. (CHORUS)

I CAN HEAR HER SINGING FAR OFF IN MY MIND
I CAN HEAR HER CHILDISH LAUGHTER THROUGH THE AGES OF TIME
I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER THOSE QUESTIONS SHE ASKED ME
THAT COME BACK FOR ANSWERS NOW AND SOMEHOW SETS ME FREE: (CHORUS)"

If you are the owner of these beautiful graphics, please email me so I can give you credit, or remove them. sheranana@yahoo.com

There was something wrong. A mother knows when something is wrong. My baby. Where was my baby? Being groggy from the anasthetic from a C-section did not dull my sense of knowing. My husband's face could not lie. As tenderly as he could, he told me the baby had been taken into surgery. Through the fog in my mind came foreign words like "bowel obstruction" and "intestinal blowout." It didn't make sense.

Neither did it make sense the next day when I saw our precious, very pale, fair Anna in an incubator with bandages swaddling her waist like a hideous, unwieldly cumberbund. The doctor's had performed a colostomy so the bowel would empty to the outside of the body. If she recovered from that surgery, such encouraging words to a new mother, then there would be more tests to determie the cause of the blowout.   Nevertheless, she had weighed in at seven pounds. Before we could take her home, I had to be trained on colostomy care. Twenty some years ago we had to make our own 'donuts' to fit over the stoma. We should have had stock in the Desitin factory we used so much of it to protect her delicate skin.

Anna was breastfed; however, when her weight plummeted to five pounds, she was readmitted to the hospital.   She was failure to thrive, but not from neglect on our part. Projectile vomiting prevented her from any progress on gaining weight.

The trials were many for Anna. In six months she had endured four surgeries, having been tested for Hershbron's and a host of other diseases. She had been so rudely and so roughly treated by one insensitive, perverted doctor during a rectal exam that my dedicated, Christian husband and father literally ran from the room to keep from punching the doctor. We both cried and cried that night over such individuals being allowed to practice medicine.

Anna was poked for blood gasses. I had to hold her while they fished for the blood draw. Amid her screams I added my screams for them to stop.    Finally, she was given a 'sweat test' that determined the nature of her maladies. Our sweet Anna had cystic fibosis. Her life expectancy was estimated to age thirteen.

We called grandparents for answers. No one ever had anything even remotely similar to CF. (It wouldn't be until years later that we discovered that many men returning from Vietnam were having children with birth defects.)

Her colostomy was closed in yet another operation.

At nearly one year old Anna would lie in her crib totally unresponsive, and if Papa would enter the room in his painter's whites, she would scream uncontrollaby, clearly hysterical at his all white attire. He would have to change before she saw him.   Her eyes held no shine, and were a dull, lifeless grey. Our struggle was great to discover ways to regain health for this child of challenge.   Anna's struggles far exceeded ours.

As if it were yesterday, I clearly remember separating clothes for the laundry and praising God for the poopy diapers I had to wash. Had you been a fly on the wall, you would have thought you were in the midst of a Pentecostal revival. I called lady friends at the church to tell them I had poopy diapers to wash.
Remember now, there were no poopy diapers when Anna had her colostomy. At that time there were only bandages to change and donuts to cut for the stoma, and getting up all night long, every hour on the hour to care for this fragile child. Having dirty diapers meant that all the plumbing was working as God had intended, lol

We celebrated her first birthday at church with friends. At that time, Anna Maria Lynn was given back to God Who gave her to us to cherish for awhile. We were so very thankful for making it through that first year of anguishing moments. Even the recalling of those bittersweet memories makes me cry.

That was also the time we discovered Adelle Davis' Let's Get Well. With herbs, milk straight from the cow, and supplements Anna slowly regained a measure of health. We even pureed vegetables to put in her bottle until she could eat. We rejoiced as the sparkle returned to her eyes, and she could join the family in 'normal' activities.

Anna had other milestones. The first time she talked she was almost four. Pointing at things she wanted was no longer effective when a younger brother was getting so much attention learning to talk, *warm smiles of remembrance*   She was almost five years old before she could run, and we celebrated her joyous success by taking everyone out to dinner. She attended her first day of Kindergarten with her younger brother who had become her staunch protector. She strived to be like her older sister whom she adored, and she looked up to her for direction.

We enjoyed trips to the fair together. Disneyland trips were magic for all of us, and the summer of her seventh birthday was the best one ever. That September we started all the kids in homeschool. Every day was a fun and exciting adventure. It was almost like we were all playing hooky. That was also the year some genius invented the perfect food that all kids, young and old, would enjoy. Cheesy hotdogs!   Anna discovered them first on a TV commercial and begged for those hotdogs! Papa bought them for her, *tender smiles*

Then, Anna got a cold. The healthiest kid in the CF clinic got a cold. The doctors had started her on an inhaler with a mixture of medicines. Another appointment was scheduled for Friday morning.

On the Monday preceding that Friday appointment Anna announced to Papa and me that 'Death was upon her.' That is what that seven-year-old child revealed to us. Being good Pentecostal parents we prayed with her, and gave her good sound Biblical verses to encourage her, and sent her off to bed.

Several times that week, in the middle of the night through Wednesday, Papa would find Anna on her knees at her bed in prayer.

"What are you doing out of bed, baby?" Papa would stop and ask.

"I'm talking to Jesus," was always Anna's response.

Friday, as we were all getting ready for Anna's appointment, Anna went into a seizure. Papa performed CPR the best he could while I called an ambulance. She was still unresponsive as they sped away to Children's Hospital.

To condense the next seven days that we all lived in the waiting room at the hospital: Anna was in a coma; she squeezed her Papa's finger for the last time on Sunday evening; a nurse announced that she was "leaving Anna's room for lunch", and we sneaked her brother and sister in to see her; Wednesday the doctors announced that the medicine was no longer able to keep her blood pressure stabilized; Wednesday evening we could feel the cold creeping into her body (Papa and I knew, and told the children); Thursday morning the cold was to her head, and the doctors wanted a decision on unhooking the machines.

We were young parents, and our middle child lay in a hospital bed dying for a week. We prayed and believed. We fortified ourselves with God's promises of health and safety. We were losing the battle and could not understand God. We decided that if God wanted Anna to live, she would breathe on her own.
That was by far one of the most difficult decisions we ever had to make. We stood by, clinging to each other as they pulled the plug.

She didn't breathe. My dear husband made them put a diaper on our baby, dressed her, and placed her in my arms one last time. I cradled her to my heart and rocked her and cried, and rocked and cried.   Everyone had left the room. My tears washed away the last shreds of a false Christianity that gave me no comfort. The angels had taken my sweet baby home.

Death was indeed upon her. (At this point, and in retrospect we all know that 'death' is not final; but, to a grieving mother and father at that point in time and space - - it was too heavy a burden to bear. We shall not argue semantics here, *tender smiles*)

When we got home one of our neighbors to whom we'd shared the Bible, was there to taunt us with the burning, scathing words, "Ha! Where is your God now?"

We buried that concept of God when we buried our daughter.

Life can make you bitter or better. Eventually we rose from the ashes of that hellish experience to discover the Kingdom of God within, and a whole new spiritual journey. Eventually.

Anna's death had set us free from a lot of 'wrong' believing' - and we found, eventually, our true Treasure within.

And, in essence, Anna's journey entwined with ours, is what inspired Murray to write Anna's song. Papa was eternally grateful for those cheesy hotdogs

Perhaps, just perhaps, in encapsulating so very much of Anna's and our life in such a tiny space someone will receive hope and encouragement to live each moment joyously, to embrace with wonder each new discovery with your child and those you love, and to realize how magnificently rich you have become for having known that individual. Store up for yourselves rich treasures of memories, of Love and compassion and acceptance.

And always remember: No matter how desperately bitter the pain and suffering of the moment, with time you can rise from those ashes fresh and glorious, knowing the true meaning of immortality and life after death.

Life can make you bitter or better. I pray your experiences, no matter how overwhelmingly sad, will - eventually - make you better.

Monday's child is fair of face

Music Playing: "Angels Among Us"

(October 10, 2005 - In the previous page it seemed too overwhelming to share much more of Anna's story with you. Her dear Papa, my husband, joined her in January of this year. It no longer seems judicous to keep procrastinating those things we wish we'd said, or said more often. I've tried to make this a "Reader's Digest" version, lol)

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Updated: 12/2007