Anders' Story
 
 
                              Anders was our miracle baby.  April 1, 1998 I went in for a physical, and
                              flunked it.  The doctor diagnosed multiple massive fibroids and the
                              specialist recommended hysterectomy.  Our sons were 10 and 12.  In the years
                              since our youngest son's birth we had not conceived.  I was 37, my husband
                              41.  Though it was sad to give up the dream of future babies, we could be
                              content with our family.  And there are always children who need love.  We
                              scheduled surgery for April 28.

                              Pre-op blood work came back positive for pregnancy! Wow!  Cancel surgery
                              and anticipate a Christmas baby!  The specialist was honest about the risks.
                              Increase chance of miscarriage, of pre-term labor, of complications during
                              delivery....We could only grin.  "But then there is God!"  We would wake up
                              at night and laugh for the joy of it.  Another child!  Hallelujah!

                              The pregnancy was normal: lots of morning sickness, a bladder infection,
                              heartburn, and tiring very easily.  While I tired easily, our baby did not.
                              Ultra sound showed us a perfect, active little boy.  I would sit in my
                              rocking chair looking out at the bay and mountains, feeling him wriggle and
                              play within me.  I could catch his little foot, tickle.  When his big
                              brothers poked at him he poked back.  At church he would bop to the praise
                              choruses.  I would feel his hands flutter when he looked for his thumb.
                              Then I would feel stillness followed by hiccups.  We agonized over a
                              name....when I went into labor we still had not decided......

                              Christmas eve morning my water broke.  The ultrasound the day before showed
                              he was high, but when they checked me at the hospital his head was engaged.
                              Labor did not start on its own, so they started induction.  The contractions
                              started and the monitors showed everything fine.  Until 2:44 pm.  Our son's
                              heartrate decelerated and didn't come back up.  Lifting my gown the nurse
                              could see the cord, and called for OR.  Within minutes the room was flooded
                              with midwife, doula, nurses and doctors.  The baby was pushed back in off
                              the cord, I was given oxygen,  prepped for surgery.....I remember the pain,
                              trying to relax and breathe.  When the baby was pushed back there was a gush
                              of blood.  My husband thought he was watching us both die.

                              Anders was delivered at 3:17 with a slow heartrate.  The team worked to
                              resuscitate him for two hours.  Thirty minutes into the resuscitation his
                              heart beat irratically for 10 -15 minutes.  He never breathed on his own.

                              I woke up vomiting, and turned to my husband, "Our baby?"  He explained that
                              they were doing all they could to save him, that they had called the air
                              ambulance to take him to Anchorage, and he would have to leave me and go
                              with our son......

                              "Anders.  His name is Anders Theodore Izaak."  I didn't
                              want my baby to die without his name.  My heart broke.  I was afraid my son
                              would go to Anchorage and die and I would never even get to see him.  But he
                              had to go if there was hope to save his life....

                              Then the doctor came in and told us it was no use, his spirit was gone.....

                              Our midwife and nurse bathed him and brought him to us.  The big brothers
                              came in crying.  This is not how I had envisioned introducung them to each
                              other.  We took turns holding him.  He was so beautiful, so peaceful.  I
                              just wanted him to wake up.

                              Friends came quickly to our side, to cry and pray for us.  They cried while
                              I could not.  How can this be true?  He was so alive not long ago.  How
                              could life be snuffed out so quickly?

                               Tears did not come until after I was home.  My husband and I went to find a
                              container for his ashes.  We live in Homer, Alaska.  There are many art
                              galleries here.  At one we found a beautiful wooden box, hand crafted by a
                              local artist.  Then the tears began to flow.   The lady at the counter
                              patted my hand, and I stammered "It's for the ashes of my son."

                              The day after buying the box, we went to the hospital to say our last good
                              byes.  Our living sons touched, held, kissed Anders.  My parents, who had
                              flown in, saw and  held him for the first and last time.  When alone, my
                              husband and I changed him into the little outfit we had purchased to bring
                              him home from the hospital.  We rocked him, sang him lullabies, read to him
                              "I Love You As Much..."  read him the Bible passages which comfort our
                              hearts.....

                              Then it was time to let him go.  I would have let him go to Anchorage to
                              save his life, now it was time to let him go to God.

                              At his memorial service we shared our hope.  Anders is alive, he is home.
                              He cannot return to us, but we will go to him.  Each day brings us closer to
                              being reunited with our son.

                              I don't understand why God allowed my son to die.  We love him so much!  We
                              wanted him so much!  No reason would be good enough.  I come to a crisis of
                              faith.  There is no answer to my why question.  In the absense of answers, I
                              must choose if I will continue to trust.  Will I curse God for not giving me
                              a miracle and by doing so whither and die inside?  Or will I choose to
                              trust, blind faith, and have hope?  I choose trust, even while my heart is
                              breaking.

                              I choose hope because I know that my Redeemer lives.  I know my son is alive
                              in heaven. While still in the hospital I dreamed I saw Anders in the arms of
                              God.  The words of Zephaniah 3:17 soothed me:  "The Lord your God is with
                              you, He is mighty to save.  He will take great delight in you, he will quiet
                              you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing."  Then God
                              chuckled and said " I can do even better than this..."  I saw my husband's
                              father, Grandpa Olson, shining in a white cowboy hat, the biggest grin on
                              his face.  He was holding Anders high in his big, strong hands, proud as
                              punch of his little grandson.  "We're going to see the ponies!" Dad said as
                              they walked away, joy in every step.

                              It comforts me to know Anders' first sight when he opened his eyes  was of
                              his Savior's face in glory.  Which is why, through the tears, I can say,
                              "See you in heaven, beloved son"
 
 
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