Kendra glanced at Peter and then back toward the doc tor. “I'm sure it's nothing,” she said. “She'll be fine, Doc tor.”
“Let's do some more testing. Just to be sure.”
During the next four weeks, Kendra learned that the female twin she was carrying had developed a severe birth defect in which most of the brain develops outside the skull in a sac at the base of the neck.
“I'm sorry,” the doctor said after delivering the blow one afternoon. “There's nothing we can do.”
Peter Adams studied the doctor, hoping there was some ray of hope that might still exist for his unborn daughter. “There isn't anything that can be done? Surgery?”
The doctor shook his head. “This condition is fatal be cause any distress to the brain stem causes immediate death in most cases. Babies with this type of defect will never have any protection for their brain stem since it has devel oped outside the wall of the skull.”
He went on to say that even if the baby did survive for a short while, she would have no chance of any intellectual development.
Kendra hung her head and allowed the tears to come.Help us, God, she prayed silently. Work a miracle in our little girl's life.
The doctor cleared his throat and shifted uncomfort ably. “I'd suggest we perform a selective abortion to take care of the problem,” he said. “That way there would be plenty of fluid and room for the other twin to develop.”
Kendra wiped her tears and stared at the doctor. “You mean you want us to abort our little girl?” she said, aston ished.
“Mrs. Adams, she isn't going to live anyway. This would make it easier for everyone. There's no reason why you should have to go through the trauma of carrying two babies only to have one of them die at birth.”
Kendra stared at her husband and shook her head in disbelief. “Doctor, I can feel my little girl kicking. I know which side of my womb she is lying on and when she sleeps and wakes up. She may not have a very long life but she will have a safe and comfortable one. Abortion is out of the question.”
Peter nodded. “I suppose we'll need to talk with some specialists about the specifics of the birth.”
“All right.” The doctor shrugged. “But I can see no rea son at all to carry this baby to term.”
The couple left the office in tears, and almost immedi ately Kendra began trying to resolve the dilemma they were suddenly a part of.
“Let's name her Anne Marie,” Kendra suggested on the ride home. “St. Marie was a very sickly child just like our little girl. But God had a plan for her life, anyway.”
Peter nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Let's get everyone we know praying for her.”
In the next few weeks Kendra and Peter made phone calls to dozens of people, who in turn promised to call oth ers, so that in time hundreds of people from churches across the country were praying for Anne Marie.
“Pray for her to be healed,” Kendra would ask. “And please pray for her safe delivery and continued health.”
Next, Kendra researched Anne's condition online and learned about doctors and support groups that specialized in neural defects. She spoke with neonatologists, talked to neurosurgeons, and faxed sonogram reports wherever any one was interested.
“You need to rest more, Kendra,” Peter reminded her gently one evening. “You're taking this on as if you could fix the problem yourself.”
Kendra nodded. “I want to do everything I can to help her, Peter. You understand, don't you?”
“Of course. But I've been thinking a lot about Anne. It's like someone is trying to remind me that sometimes God has a plan different from our own.”
Kendra understood and never during her pregnancy did she blame God for allowing Anne Marie to develop a birth defect. Still, she had absolute confidence that he would grant her a miracle and heal her unborn twin.
By the time she was six months pregnant, the twins had found permanent places on either side of her abdomen. Ultrasound tests showed which side Anne Marie was on, and Kendra learned to recognize when the babies were awake. She would spend hours talking to her children and praying aloud for them.
“God has a plan for you, little Anne Marie,” Kendra would say. “Don't give up, honey. Everything is going to be okay.”
About that time, Kendra quit working so she could stay home and allow her body to rest. Specialists had told her that additional rest might make the difference in whether Anne Marie survived the pregnancy, or died weeks prior to delivery.
During those weeks, there were times when Kendra pondered the irony of Anne Marie's situation. After all, Kendra had been active in the fight against abortion for more than a decade. Now she was faced with the very situation many people had used as a hypothetical when debating the abortion issue with her.
Kendra had been raised in a family where life was a pre cious commodity. It came as no surprise to those who knew her when she became politically active in college, in a number of ways that, in her opinion, were completely har monious. She placed bumper stickers on her notebooks and was vocal as both a feminist and a prolife advocate.
Eventually, her convictions led her to a position as president of the National Women's Coalition for Life. “Every life counts,” she would say. “God has a plan for each of us.”
Now, as she prayed for a miracle for Anne Marie, she felt no less certain that the baby was worthy of life. But gradually, as the weeks wore on, tests showed that the sick twin's defect was even more serious than doctors had first thought.
“We doubt very much that she will survive the preg nancy, Mrs. Adams,” the doctor said. “We'll monitor you every week to be sure she has a heartbeat.”
Week after week Anne Marie survived. By the end of Kendra's second trimester, she and Peter had a highly trained neonatal team scheduled to deliver the twins by ce sarean section, since labor would be fatal to little Anne.
About this time, friends of the Adams suffered a tragedy. The couple had celebrated the birth of their son that month only to learn that he had a fatal heart condition. Without a valve transplant, he would die. The baby was fourth on the waiting list when his heart succumbed and stopped beating.
When Kendra learned of the situation she sorrowed with her friends, but did not see a connection between that situation and her own.
“We need to keep praying for a miracle,” Kendra would say. “God will heal Anne and everything will be fine. I know he wants the best for us.”
When Kendra was nearly eight months pregnant, she was sitting in church one morning when she was overcome with the thought that she was praying with the wrong in tentions. Suddenly she heard what seemed to be a voice of authority telling her to pray for peace, not miracles. The feeling came over her again that evening as she lay in bed, feeling her twins move within her and thinking about the future.
“All right, Lord,” she prayed quietly. “I pray for peace and acceptance. If there is a reason why this has to be, then I will trust you.”
In the next six weeks she focused her energy in a dif ferent direction. If Anne were to die at birth, then she and Peter would need help dealing with the loss. She contacted organizations that dealt with the loss of a child in multiple births, and others that helped parents handle the death of a young child.
There was one more thing. She talked with Peter one night, and the next morning she called the Regional Organ Bank of Michigan. She explained Anne's situation at length and recalled the death of their friends' son.
“We want our little girl to make the difference in an other child's life,” she said finally.
Kendra was told that it is very difficult to find donors for infants in need of a transplant.
“When an unborn child develops life-threatening ab normalities, the majority of those pregnancies are terminated,” she was told. “And when a child dies unexpectedly at birth or shortly after, the parents are often too traumatized to consider organ donation.”
Kendra laid her hand on her extended abdomen and knew they had made the
right choice. Anne Marie's life would have a purpose; now she was certain.
Finally, the morning of December 13 arrived and Kendra and Peter drove to the hospital for the scheduled cesarean section. They had mixed emotions, knowing that Anne would not live long outside her amniotic sac.
As the doctor prepared her for the surgery, Kendra stared at him, her face pensive.
“Little Anne is so safe and comfortable, we were won dering if maybe you could just take Jeffrey out and leave her in.”
The doctor glanced ruefully toward Kendra, under standing her feelings. “How long should we leave her in?”
“Two years,” Kendra smiled sadly through her tears. “Three.”
At 9:20 that morning Jeffrey was delivered and let out a healthy cry. A minute later, Anne Marie was placed pro tectively in Peter's arms as doctors worked to stitch up Kendra's abdomen.
“It's much worse than we thought,” the neonatologist said quietly as he examined Anne. “She's dying.”
Peter nodded and smiled tearfully at both his parents and Kendra's parents, who had flown into Chicago so they could have a chance to hold Anne before she died.
“You can hold her if you like,” he said.
Kendra's mother took Anne gently in her arms. The child's eyes were open and she gazed into the older woman's face.
“Your great grandmother died not too long ago, little Anne,” the woman said softly, nuzzling close to the infant. “We called her Bubba and I want you to sing to her when you meet her up in heaven.”
Then the woman launched into a traditional English lullaby, singing as tears streamed down her cheeks. When she was finished, she passed Anne Marie to the other grandparents so each could whisper to the baby, telling her how much they loved her and that they would see her one day in heaven.
The medication and recovery from surgery made it im possible for Kendra to hold her right away, so Peter cradled Anne in his arms when the grandparents had had their turns.
“Anne, we will always love you,” Peter whispered into the deep blue eyes of his little girl. “You will always be a part of this family and someday we'll all be together again.”
Anne moved slightly and kicked off her receiving blan ket. Tw o nurses standing nearby glanced at one another in surprise. Four hours had passed and still the infant was alive, defying medical understanding of the severity of her condition.
Finally, six hours after she was born, Anne gazed once more into her father's eyes and drew her last breath. Shortly afterward, Kendra's medication wore off and she awoke. Only then did she get to hold Anne.
“Watch over us from heaven, little one,” Kendra cried softly. “We will never forget you.”
Tw o days later, Kendra and Peter were notified by the organ bank that Anne's heart valves had been used to save the lives of two critically ill children in Chicago. The next day family members held a memorial for Anne Marie, a service that Kendra was unable to attend because of her grief.
Weeks passed before Kendra could talk about Anne with anyone. Only then, after hours of prayer for peace and acceptance, did she reach several conclusions about Anne's short life.
“Children aren't supposed to die,” she said later. “When a child dies, it causes everyone to change their per spective and appreciate each tiny moment of life. It resets our priorities and forces us to cash in on the insurance pol icy of having faith in God.”
Today Kendra and Peter feel certain that Anne's short life is the reason they so deeply appreciate each day with their son. Kendra also devotes some of her time to helping other parents find peace in the tragedy of losing a child.
“The best we can hope for with any of our children is not the kind of career they choose or where they will live or how much money they will make,” Kendra tells people when she talks about Anne. “The best we can hope for with our children is that they make it to heaven and touch the lives of others along the way. As for us, one of our chil dren is already safely home. Not only that, but in passing through this world she gave life to two terminally ill chil dren.
“How many of us can say that, even after living a hun dred years?”
A Phone Call Home
Though there were decades when their relationship was marked by strain and tension, when Molly Benson turned fifty her greatest gift was this: she and her daughter, Peg, had finally become close.
For the next ten years they shared the type of relation ship Molly had always hoped to have. There were after noon walks and long conversations where they bared their hearts and dreams and basked in the closeness they shared.
But when Molly entered her early sixties, she began suffering from a myriad of symptoms and within a year she was diagnosed with degenerative muscle and connective tissue disorders that cause a gradual wasting of the body and eventually result in death.
When Molly learned of the diagnosis, she shared the news with her three grown children immediately, asking them to pray for her.
“None of us really knows how long we've got,” she told them. “But please pray for me all the same. Pray that I don't leave any of you until God himself is ready to take me.”
As the year passed, Molly's condition worsened. She lost use of her arms and legs, and was eventually confined to a wheelchair. During that time, Peg's brother and sister moved away from Bethesda, Maryland, to start their own families. Peg and her husband, Rick, stayed behind to care for Molly.
“I don't know what I'd do without you, Peg,” her mother told her on several occasions. “You are more than I ever could have hoped for in a daughter.”
Molly spent much of her time with Peg and Rick. Every day was filled with joy, not just because of her close relationship with Peg, but also with Peg's children. Molly's precious grandchildren.
Although she couldn't do the more physical things she'd hoped to do as a grandmother, she could tell them stories and listen to them when they played make-believe. The relationship between Molly and Peg's family grew, and Peg could sense that her children had a special under standing of their grandmother's poor health.
When Molly hit her sixty-second birthday, she was completely crippled by her diseases. Those were heart breaking times when Molly would spend an afternoon with Peg and the children, only to grow weary and be forced to take a nap.
During those days, Peg would watch her mother sleeping and wonder how she was going to deal with the woman's inevitable death. Molly's muscles and connective tissues were almost completely destroyed and now the crip pling disease had settled in her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe. The doctors had warned that she might not live through the year.
Summer came, and Molly struggled. She was barely surviving by autumn. Then, almost overnight, her condition worsened dramatically and she had to be hospitalized for lung congestion. Peg kept a vigil at her mother's bed side, praying for her and singing familiar, comforting songs.
Although Molly's entire body was affected by her dis eases, her mind was perfectly intact. She thought back to the days when she had tried for years to tenderly reach Peg. But now, when the days that remained were so few, Peg was tenderly reaching out to her.
“Thank you, Peg,” Molly said one morning, wrestling with each word. “It means so much that you are here.”
Each day Molly's health deteriorated more. Soon she could barely talk, but many times she would look at Peg in such a way that Peg was sure her mother was listening to her, thankful for her daughter's prayers and songs. The days passed, and Peg remained determined to stay by her mother's side until the end.
On the day before Thanksgiving, her mother seemed worse than at any time before. Peg sat beside her, tears streaming down her face as she held her mother's hand tightly in her own.
“I love you, Mom,” she said, bending over and looking into her mother's eyes. Molly blinked, her crippled body motionless, her breathing labored.
“Mom,” Peg continued, “I know you can hear me, so listen to what I have to say. You've been such a wonderful mother, so good with
my children. I'm sorry about the years we lost, the years when I went my own way. But I want you to know how much we all love you, Mom. And I want you to know that we'll all be together again some day. I promise.”
Her mother remained still, but her eyes filled with tears.
Looking up toward heaven, Peg began to pray. “Dear God our father, please be kind with my mother. Please help her reach your light and give her peace as she goes. Thank you for her love, Lord. Help us find a way to survive with out her.”
Once more Peg's eyes searched those of her mother's, and this time Peg felt as if her mother was trying to smile. Then, very peacefully, her mother slipped into a coma.
For the next few hours, although she was unconscious, her mother's mouth made subtle movements as if she was talking to someone. Peg continued holding her hand, singing and praying for her.
“It's all right, Mom,” Peg said quietly, her voice calm despite the tears that still trickled down her cheeks. “The Lord is ready for you now.”
Peg also mentioned the names of her mother's parents and of her own son, who had died when he was just two.
“They're waiting for you, Mom,” Peg continued. “They're all waiting. It's all right. Just let go.”
Finally, at 12:15 A.M. on Thanksgiving Day, her mother died.
At the exact moment, Peg sat up straighter in her chair, certain that the body before her no longer housed her mother's spirit. A tremendous peace, like something she'd never known before, came over her and she smiled through her tears.
“You're there, aren't you, Mom?” she asked. “You're home.” Then she smiled. Life would be hard without her mother, but the indescribable peace that filled Peg's heart was like an assurance that things had worked out for the best. Everything was going to be okay.
That week was hectic as Peg's brother and sister arrived from different parts of the country to aid in planning their mother's funeral. Together they went through their mother's small house and made decisions about her be longings.