…it’s not God-bashing. It’s my personal thought process…in fact, after all that has happened, I don’t think WE are the one doing the bashing but rather…being ‘bashed’. No but seriously, if you feel uncomfortable reading my thoughts then stop, go read some cheesy book because unless you’ve been thru what we’ve been thru, excuse me, you are not entitled to really judge and comment. This is my train of thoughts on what my wife and I have gone through and we are entitled to our opinions. Please save the holy God talk, we don’t want that, we don’t need that. At least I don’t because…there were enough talking going on with no action…on God’s part.
So…if you feel uncomfortable, stop reading lest you feel compelled to vent YOUR idealistic, godly values in OUR blog. Thank you very much.
God’s finest hour…in the NICU?
I was afraid that if someone were to step in, either I would startle him or he would me or both of us would startle each other but I figured, I’m truly desperate now – my baby’s life is hanging on God’s Grace and Mercies now so why let a bit of embarrassment stop me?
Immediately I dropped down on both knees just right below the NICU notice boards with all the smiling success stories of preemies who made it, alone in the NICU lobby, I prayed and prayed hard while my baby Ashley lay there dying.
I told God, that if ever in my life I needed Him to do me a miracle, it is now. So many people have done so much, fasted and prayed and now…it’s really up to Him. I prayed and prayed. Asking for covering, protection…the works but did it work?
How was God’s finest hour?
The Day After…
Waking-up seem so meaningless. Before Ashley died, each day would bring new victory, new joys. In fact it was not too long ago that I could actually feel her kick inside Angie’s womb but today…it’s a different reality. In fact it’s a reality we are sickeningly familiar with. However there’s a new twist.
Today I had to get Ashley’s death cert processed BUT before that happens, I must get her BIRTH cert. (You see God’s sense of humour in this? This is what good literature texts are made of) Anyway, like I said I’m sickeningly familiar with this reluctant acceptance. Just like when our son Joash lost his head during delivery – like it or not, He makes you accept it.
Ok…so I sit at the Birth Registry counter doing my fatherly duties albeit with a glum face and heavy heart. After that, I moved to the counter on my right (yes, just change seat to my right – don’t you just LOVE Singapore’s efficiency?) and started processing Ashley’s death cert when a lady accompanied by her mother (I think) walks to the birth registration counter on my left and asks if she can register her baby’s birth without putting ‘the father’s name’ inside’. Whoa! Anger and jealousy hit me like a brick!
So apart from learning a new thing – for single parent registration of Birth, you have to go to ICA, not hospitals, I learnt that God deems that Angie and I would probably be worse parents than that single mum, because these folks are blessed with easy successful pregnancies while we are not, despite how much efforts we’ve put in and sacrifices we’ve made. Talk about knowing God’s will!
The Birth Cert.
I held Ashley’s birth cert in my hands. Nicely laminated, clearly printed except…no baby to bring it home with. Then I saw it…right at the top right hand corner – her birth cert number…starting with ‘T’.
That would have been Ashley's i/c number when she grows up. How I wish we could use that to register her for play-school, kindergarten, nurseries...B ut first, I've to use it to book a cremation slot to bid our Princess a reluctant goodbye...
Everything seems the same…
It’s night. We sit together at ward 44-14, eating dinner, arranging the countertop, killing ants (yes…these ants benefited too from all those goodies people having been blessing us with)…everything seemed the same as the other nights in the past 7 weeks except this time…Ashley is no longer with us: We no longer can look forward to the ‘doppler’ sessions when the nurses or doctors would come and scan for her heartbeat twice a day; we no longer can sing to her, feel her kick and tell her how much we look forward to cuddling her…
Everything seems the same except….it’s not.
3 Strikes and…
They say lighting don’t strike twice. Well…it did for us. In fact, 3 times. How’s that for luck?
We travel widely and inevitably we collect souvenirs at every trip. This journey Angie’s got one – the permanent long scar across her lower tummy that’s causing her unbearable pain even as I’m writing this. It’s not exactly the ‘altar of remembrance’ we had in mind to erect for God upon Ashley’s birth...