Lost and Found
I grew up going to church and attended a church high school in Melbourne. But, somehow, none of what I learned seemed relevant. I didn’t understand what Christianity was about.
My family and I attended a church where the people seemed more concerned with how one looked than sharing God’s love. But to be fair, that may have been merely my perception at a young and rebellious age. Nevertheless, what I heard in church wasn’t relevant to me.
When I was 15, I did work experience in a hotel– nightclub and within a couple of days they had offered me a casual job until I finished school when I would be offered a chef apprenticeship. I accepted.
By this time I’d stopped going to church, even though I still went to a church school. Not long after beginning work, I was forced into sex by the person whose connections got me the job. He’d been a friend for many years and my boyfriend for a short time. Needless to say, he was not a friend after that. I couldn’t tell my parents, for I’d already been molested. Instead, I fell into drinking and drugs as an escape and I believed they weren’t affecting me.
After years of partying, with its associated alcohol, drugs and being in failed relationships, I met Mick. We fell in love. He told me he was agnostic. We purchased a house and although not married, moved in together.
I waited for him to propose, but he told me that he would never marry. He told me he had been married and wasn’t interested in going down that road again. I was heartbroken, but didn’t tell him. I desperately wanted to marry and have children. I could see that while I had no chance of marriage, at least I could have a family.
Some years passed and we were in a good financial position, so we decided to start a family. But, after almost two years of trying to fall pregnant, I discovered I would probably never conceive naturally. Those years of abusing myself had taken their toll. I was devastated but, strangely, not surprised.
No marriage and probably no kids: Everything I’d ever wanted from life was gone. It was an easy step to begin questioning life’s purpose. I’d tried drugs and alcohol, parties and the high life, and knew quite well that they didn’t satisfy.
I needed something more enduring. I hadn’t forgotten about God and, in the back of my mind, knew He was the answer. I started looking for excuses to go back to church.
In the meantime we went on to the IVF program. IVF isn’t exact science and our first attempt was thwarted because of technicalities. We went to Port Douglas to drown our sorrows, which I did to excess. I remember standing on the balcony of our apartment having a drink and a smoke and wondering to myself, Is there a church here?
A second bout of IVF followed a month or so later. Then in my letterbox I received a pamphlet advertising a program called NET ’99, featuring an American speaker, Doug Batchelor, at a local church. Now I had an excuse to go back. I knew the church where it was to be held because I’d visited it once years before.
I soaked up the messages, missing just a couple of the meetings. I began to attend church for the first time in 16 years. It all felt so “normal.” But things were different. For the first time I understood what Christianity was about. I finally came to understand that Christ’s death on the cross was for me. I broke.
I was made to feel very welcome, but Mick was uncomfortable with my new church habit. If he asked me about it, I answered, but avoided forcing my newfound faith on him.
Then came the revelation of success with the IVF. Everything was rosy: I’d become a Christian just before Christmas 1999, and was told the good news. Life was looking wonderful! I still harboured the thought that Mick would propose, especially now he was about to become a father. If the children were good enough to have his name, so was I.
My first ultrasound: triplets, with one probably Down syndrome. I didn’t care. I looked after my disabled mother for six years (and still do), so a disabled child would be nothing.
It was a dream pregnancy until . . . I was admitted to Monash Medical Centre one night showing signs of premature labour. After two weeks, on April 22, 2000, at 22 weeks, my triplets were born. Lachlan James was stillborn, dying just before birth; Keely Grace came next.
“Do you want us to try and save her?” a nurse asked.
“Yes,” I said.
A nurse brought her to me bundled up.
“She’s just too small,” she said.
Mick arrived just as Jordan William was born. He was bundled up and placed in my arms. Together Mick and I watched as our precious babies fought for life. They died in my arms at the same time. Keely had lived for 30 minutes, Jordan for 15.
I thought the loss of our triplets might change the direction Mick was travelling, and it did: On the day our children were due to be born, he left me.
My children were dead. My partner was gone. I had no chance of becoming a mother anytime soon. I would love nothing more than to get married and have another baby, but that I’ve left in God’s hands.
What followed were months of depression. I could no longer function. I was going to work, but at home I didn’t cook, clean or care for the garden. I did nothing. I watched television for hours as a distraction from the conversations going on in my head.
I realised I was at the point where I needed to totally surrender myself to God. I stopped trying to help myself with some assistance from God and gave it all over Him. I felt peace at last, a joy I wanted to share with everyone. I was happy knowing my future was secure in Him.
And now that I was out of my de facto relationship, I felt I was ready to be baptised. The triplets’ first birthday was approaching and after praying about it, I decided that would be the day. To me, there was no better way to thank God for dying for me—for ensuring I was under His watchful eye when the triplets died, for saving my life so many more times after they died—and a way to make their anniversary memorable.
Since my baptism, I’ve trained and become a parent supporter with SANDS (Vic). SANDS (Stillbirth and Newborn Death Support) is a self-help support organisation run by volunteers who have themselves suffered the loss of a baby through miscarriage, stillbirth or newborn death. I believe God placed me there. I’d attended a SANDS support group in the months following the triplets’ death. The contact with other similarly bereaved parents helped me realise the grief I was feeling was normal. too often the significance of the death of a baby is underestimated. They supported and continued to support me through the period following the triplets’ death. I’m priveliged that I can now support other parents through SANDS. I believe strongly in its philosophy. It’s a very special work and I know God needed me to be strong enough to do it.
I could never have been so empathetic if I hadn’t been through the situation myself. God says through the apostle Paul you “can do everything through him [Christ] who gives [you] strength” (Philippians 4:13). And through the prophet Jeremiah, He says, “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (29:11).
* SANDS has need of more volunters for a variety of roles. Or, if losing a baby has been your experience, contact Fiona on (03) 9899 0218, or check the SANDS web site www.sandsvic.org.au for an information pack.
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