family loss

Where to Start

Where to Start? I guess I will tell the story of my darkest time yet most significant recovery. I should start at the beginning. My husband and I struggled with infertility for years. After testing, we were told that seeing a fertility specialist was our only option for having our children. We were advised there that IVF was our best option.

Beginning IVF

We began our cycle in May 2015. June 5, 2015, was the day we were scheduled to have our embryo transfer. An embryo transfer is where they transfer the embryos into the uterus. Hopefully, they will implant and begin a pregnancy. I woke up to a message during the night that said, “taking Grandaddy to the hospital for chest pains.” Then another said: “They’re sending him to Nashville.” I had tried to call as we got our day around and headed to the IVF office. I was an hour ahead, so no one answered.

Transfer Began

We got to the office and got ready to go into the transfer room. I’m lying there on the table as my husband holds my hand. They have an ultrasound probe pointed at me and a camera in the lab. “We are selecting the strongest two embryos hoping one will implant. As we discussed, this gives you a 33% chance at twins, but that is a manageable pregnancy.”

My World Began to Unravel

We watched as the lab technician drew two little embryos into a syringe. They brought it to us as we confirmed the identification. We watched as these two babies, our babies, were inserted into a catheter and landed in my uterus. “We need you to lay flat for an hour when you leave this room. You can go to the restroom and then lie down.” I went to the bathroom, returned, laid down, and grabbed my phone.

“Grandaddy has had a heart attack. We are on our way but aren’t to him yet.” My memory is pretty foggy after that. I know my uncle called me. “Grandaddy is going to pull through. Just like he always has. The doctors have always been wrong.” I knew. I knew the last time I saw him would be the last time.

A Choice to Make

Our doctor came in, and I asked if I could go to Nashville that night. I told him I needed to say goodbye to my Grandaddy. I needed to see him one last time. “You need to decide if you want to see your Grandaddy or if you want these babies and this pregnancy.” I knew what Grandaddy would tell me if he could. He would say to me to take care of the babies. “Grandaddy isn’t going to recover.” The moment the doctors had confirmed what God had already told me was going to happen. I couldn’t go for 48 hours.

If Heaven Wasn’t So Far Away

That night, they called all of our family in. When my dad arrived, they made the call and took Grandaddy off of life support. My brother had called me and let me talk to him before they did. “Grandaddy, it’s your Punkin. I’m pregnant. Do you hear me? I’m pregnant. There are two babies inside me right now growing. Watch over them, please. Keep them safe and protect them. If it doesn’t go my way, and I don’t get to keep them, hold them while I wait. I love you always.”

Fifty hours after our embryo transfer, I was at the airport in Detroit, MI, to Nashville, TN, to come and see my family as we laid my Grandaddy to rest. I took a leap of faith and told everyone we were expecting. We played the song “If Heaven Wasn’t So Far Away ” at his funeral.

June 15, 2015

The day before his 75th birthday, we got the call that we were indeed pregnant. Our first round of IVF was successful. Six weeks into our pregnancy, we found out both embryos had implanted, and we were expecting TWINS!! Ten weeks into our pregnancy, we discovered a complication with baby B. My placenta was too close to my uterus. There was a chance we could miscarry them.

I was on a weight and activity restriction for two more weeks. We decided if baby B survived, we would name this baby after Grandaddy. Twenty weeks into our pregnancy, I felt our girls kick for the first time. “If Heaven Wasn’t So Far Away” was playing on the radio when it happened. Thirty-five weeks into our pregnancy, we were told she had a hole in her heart that would need to be repaired at birth. Thirty-seven weeks five days into our pregnancy, I was told the babies were out of the room, and we had to induce. Thirty-eight weeks one day, I check-in, and we begin our induction with our sweet girls.

They Are Here

They did not tolerate this well, and because of their struggle, we ended an emergency c-section 27.5 hours later. Baby A was 4lb 12oz. Baby B was 4lb 3oz. One hour after their birth, baby B was taken from us and put into the NICU due to low blood sugar and issues with her temperature. Five days after their birth, they went home with me at just 4lb 6oz. And 3lb 15oz. A few days later, we were told baby B had some concerning blood work and needed to be tested for cystic fibrosis. At eight weeks, she was tested, and it was negative. You see, she has always been Grandaddy’s baby. In July of 2008, we were told not to expect to have him that year for Christmas.

Tomorrow, the Story is Continued.

Resources

Postpartum HelpLine 800.944.4773

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Suicide Sprinkled Throughout My Life

Suicide Sprinkled Throughout My Life

Suicide has been a thread woven through my life, though I didn’t fully understand it until I was older. As a child, I saw sadness and knew that people had passed away, but the gravity of it escaped me. The word itself was foreign to me until I was about ten years old. Even then, it wasn’t until I was fourteen and experienced my grandfather’s passing that I began to comprehend the depth of loss and what death truly meant.

Sharing Stories, Spreading Awareness

Throughout this month, in honor of Suicide Prevention Awareness, I have shared stories from people I know and love—people who have allowed me to be part of the chapter God is writing in their lives. Writing and sharing these stories has not been easy, but I know that their pain has purpose. Their words may be the light that someone else needs to seek help. Healing is found on the other side of brokenness, and their courage in sharing their journey could be the very thing that saves another person.

The Weight of Heartache

Hearing these stories and knowing what these people have endured breaks my heart. I long for Jesus to return and erase the pain, the hurt, the abuse. He will come, like a thief in the night, not when I wish but in His perfect timing. I rest in the promise that He can bring good from even the most tragic circumstances. Though He does not ordain suffering, He allows it, and He will use it for His glory.

My First Encounter with Suicide

I was about ten years old when I first brushed up against the concept of suicide. A young man, a friend of our family, loved riding horses. One day, I had been thrown off our pony—a creature no bigger than a large dog—and lay on the ground, terrified and breathless. He watched from the sidelines, his leg encased in a cast up to his thigh.

Rather than standing idly by, he tossed aside his crutches, mounted the horse with ease, and calmed her down. Then, he turned to me with a look of determination and told me to get back on. I was hesitant, but he wouldn’t let me walk away in fear. With his encouragement, I got back on that horse, and from that moment, I was no longer afraid.

Then, one day, he was gone. Whispers filled the air. Quiet conversations. Crying. I didn’t understand what had happened. No one spoke openly about it, but the silence was deafening. Now, looking back, I know the truth. He had taken his own life.

Another Loss, Another Whisper

Not long after, another family friend was suddenly absent. Again, hushed whispers, tears, and a heavy sadness hung over those I loved. The word ‘suicide’ was still never spoken, but now, as an adult, I recognize what it was.

A Decade Later, A Shattering Loss

Years later, I lost another dear friend. This time, I was old enough to understand. He was loved by so many, incredibly talented, and his passing shook me to my core. The pain of suicide is unnatural and unbearable. Parents should never have to bury their child, no matter their age, and yet, so many do. The grief and unanswered questions linger forever.

When It Hits Close to Home

One of my closest friends, whom I met through a Christian group, has fought battles that few could understand. She has struggled with feelings of worthlessness and despair, but through God’s grace, she is still here. I thank the Lord every day that her attempts were not successful—He knew she was needed, loved, and still had a purpose.

Sadly, she was not the only one in her family to face this darkness. I remember the day she messaged me, telling me her sister had died by suicide. The pain in her words still echoes in my heart. She continues to light candles in her sister’s memory and speaks out about suicide awareness, hoping to spare another family from enduring the same devastation.

Breaking the Cycle

The hole left by suicide never fully heals. It is a generational curse that can be broken, but it takes action. If you are struggling, please seek help. Talk to someone. Start therapy. Consider medication. Reach out to a friend. You are not alone. You are loved.

Your life matters, and there is hope.

Please, if you or someone you love is struggling, don’t wait. There is help available. Reach out today. You are worth it.

Let Them by Cassie Phillips