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By Jo Gamm Witt
This morning during breakfast I was listening to the radio, and they were talking about Memorial Day and about how it was originally called Decoration Day because of being a day to decorate the graves. And I thought about Charlie, my precious little granddaughter who was delivered stillborn on September 18, 2021, two weeks before her due date. And I started to cry as a flood of memories about her returned.
Pregnancy is a time of joy, of preparation, and of imagining—imagining what they will look like, imagining the sound of their voice, imagining their personality, and imagining their future. We were all eagerly awaiting her arrival, with only two weeks to go. I thought her face was so precious in her last ultrasound while she was still alive, and I was so anxious for the day when I would finally get to see her beautiful face.
The moment I learned of her loss is a moment in time etched in my memory forever. I had been sewing curtains for Charlie’s room that were sunflower fabric and was working on the final detail, making the tiebacks, when I got the call that they couldn’t find her heartbeat. I recall fervently praying that they would yet be able to find her heartbeat, that she was still alive. But the prayers were futile. I recall the deep panic in my heart, in my soul, and grieving not only for myself, but more importantly for my daughter and for her husband. And I recall feeling angry with God. How could he allow this precious little girl that was already loved so much, to be so suddenly taken from us. Already having a son, adding their little girl was going to make their family complete. And I was so excited about having another girl in the family, the most recent two grandkids being boys, with two prior to that being girls. But it wasn’t to be. Instead of ever getting to see her precious little face that I had imagined when seeing her alive in her last ultrasound, I never got to see her at all due to COVID restrictions at the time.
The scripture the pastor read at her graveside service was so appropriate, Psalm 139:13-15:
“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit them together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! It is amazing to think about. Your workmanship is marvelous—and how well I know it. You were there while I was being formed in utter seclusion! You saw me before I was born and scheduled each day of my life before I began to breathe. Every day was recorded in your book!” I also like the passage from Jeremiah 1:5a that reads, “I knew you before you were formed within your mother’s womb.”
While we can’t understand why the Lord allowed our precious Charlie to die, yet, we know that she is known by God, created by him for his own purpose, even though it’s hard for us to understand.
Some have said that there comes a time to let go, to “get over it” and move on. Aside from being insensitive, I also believe that that mentality is wrong. Charlie is my granddaughter, a real human being created by God. And although I didn’t have the opportunity to see her beautiful face, to hear her precious voice, to experience her personality, or to embrace what life she would have lived on earth—one day I will finally meet her, joined with her in heaven, and that will be a day of rejoicing.
Always loved, never forgotten, our precious little Charlie.
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