’It’s the baby, she’s not breathing!’ The babysitter cried into the phone. 

‘Call 911! My husband is nearby I’ll call him, he’ll be there soon!’ I quickly replied. 

That was the extent of my conversation with our sweet babysitter. My heart sank and began pounding. I ran out of my office at school and called my husband as I ran down the hall. “You have to get to the babysitter’s, Zoe’s not breathing, 911′s on their way. Hurry!” 

I ran into the Upper School office and told the secretary that Zoe wasn’t breathing and I needed her to drive me; I knew I couldn’t drive. I texted one of our small groups to pray as soon as I got into the car; one sweet friend texted back ‘Jesus breathe into Zoe.’ I clung to that as I began praying aloud, “Jesus breathe into her, Jesus breathe into her.” I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t cry, I could barely breathe. I continued praying, and pointed directions to our secretary as she drove me. 

Traffic seemed worse than usual for that time of day. I just wanted to hold my baby girl. I scanned the roadway looking for the flashing lights of an ambulance. Nothing. I strained my ears to listen for a siren. Silence. I finally got up enough courage to text Jeff again, I asked him if I should go to the babysitters house or to the hospital. My heart raced as I feared the reply. ‘Here.’ he responded. 

As we grew closer, my prayers got louder, I didn’t know what else to do. A part of me couldn’t get there fast enough, but another part of me didn’t want to arrive; I didn’t know what I was going to find. I peered down the street as we turned onto the road where the babysitters house was, just a few streets away from our home. I saw an ambulance, I saw cars, I saw people standing outside, I saw Jeff in the driveway. 

I ran up and hugged Jeff, he held me. ‘She’s gone.’ he whispered. 

‘No! Tell them to help her, tell them to go help her!’ I cried. He held me tighter. 

I knew there was nothing we could do, we were helpless. We were powerless. Night had enclosed around us on the beautiful afternoon of May 7th.

I remember looking across the street at the line of people gathering and watching the scene. Several specific faces are cemented in my mind. They were watching… they were watching to see if the God we professed was big enough to get us through this. They were watching to see if we ran to or ran from our faith in Jesus in a moment like this. It was in that moment Jeff and I made one of the most important decisions we would ever make- to run TO God and let Him carry us through this nightmare.

After talking with the emergency personnel and reassuring the babysitter that it was not her fault, that we still trusted her, and we were so sorry that she had to experience this, we went home. The house seemed empty, yet there were reminders of Zoe everywhere- bottles drying on the drying rack, her swing in the living room, burp rags on the edge on the couch; everything was waiting for her to come home with us. Our two older boys were at Jeff’s parents house just around the corner. His mom had picked them up before I arrived at the babysitters house, and they still weren’t quite sure what had happened during their nap time. We sat with two of our pastors and asked for advice on what and how we should tell them; we knew they were going to be heartbroken. They reassured us that there weren’t words for something like this, but that God would give us the words to say. Finally, we called Jeff’s parents and nervously waited for our boys to come home. 

“I want to play with Zoe!” were Jayden’s first words as he walked through the door; his words pierced our hearts. We sat them down with us on the couch and slowly explained to them that she wasn’t coming home. Jesus had taken her up to be with him in Heaven during her nap today; her room was ready and her ‘special job’ that God had for her life here was finished (or in many ways just beginning). All we could do was cry together.

The next day, was filled with hard things- waking up to realize her cries would no longer wake us up, continuing to pump milk (as I had still been nursing), going into Zoe’s room for the first time, looking at the pictures of Zoe that I had taken of her just hours before she passed away, the list could go on and on. However, as I made the choice to walk into the pain, each time, I was able to come out stronger and healthier than before.

Typically, we try to avoid pain, it’s natural. Perhaps that is why most people say the first stage of grief is denial. We don’t want to feel pain because it’s unpleasant and miserable at times. I didn’t want to feel the pain of losing Zoe, none of us did. I had such a hard time as family and friends wanted to ‘help us’ by putting her things away, I kept thinking someone would bring her home to us and she would need all those things again. This was just a nightmare. We had to move forward with our new reality, that we would now carry the pain of loss with us the rest of our lives. We couldn’t avoid it, instead we had to walk into the pain.

Pain is an indicator. It communicates to us that something is wrong. This is true of both emotional pain and physical pain. It is a message that causes us to react. When we touch a hot stove and feel the pain our first reaction is to jerk away. Emotional pain has the same effect on us, however we must to respond differently to this type of pain; we must sometimes keep our hand ‘on the burner’ and allow ourselves to experience the emotional pain in order to become healthier. 

Rather than backing away from the emotional pain that we were feeling as a result of Zoe’s loss, we needed to process it and move forward with it as a new reality in our lives. We had to choose to walk into the pain because in doing so we could walk through the pain and continue living our lives. We had to reject the guilt of moving on and accept the truth, that she was EVEN happier in her new home, and in the arms of the Father who gave her to us in the first place. She was in the best place she could be!

“I need to shower, shave, and get dressed.” Jeff shared with me that next morning. “I’m afraid what will happen if I don’t.” It was his way of saying that we can’t allow ourselves to get stuck. Just as I used to teach my students as a swim instructor, when you go under the water, the best thing to do is push off the bottom. We were at the bottom. We could either sit there and ‘die’ ourselves, or we could push off the bottom and trust that God would take us back up, for our sake, and for the sake of our grieving boys. 

It was evident, that as we walked forward into the pain, we knew that we weren’t walking alone. We knew we were being carried forward each day by someone who had walked through this pain before. He knew well the pain of losing a child. Without Him to walk with us into the pain and even carry us some days, we would never have been able to walk through the pain. 

Today walking into the pain looks different than it did last year, or the year before; grief doesn’t go away, but it does change. The burden gets lighter and the Lord continues to bring Joy into your life that balances out the pain. Honestly, we don’t want the pain to go away. The pain reminds us of the deep, deep love we have for our precious Zoe.

One of the many things that I have learned through loosing Zoe, is that true hope is so much stronger than even our worst circumstances. As a mom, one of the biggest fears I had was losing one of my children. I now live that reality, but I live it with hope. I am able to live with hope, because I know I will see and hold my precious girl again in heaven one day. Because of this hope, I have been able to commit to walking into the pain but then existing on the other side healthier than before.

I will walk into the pain, and I will walk THROUGH the pain, but I will not live in the pain. 

Someone once told us that losing a child was a terrible gift. At the time, that was a difficult statement to understand and even harder to accept. It was just terrible. However, as God has brought other grieving families into our lives, there has been a connection with them that is indescribable. We have come to realize that that deep connection is our terrible gift.

God has used Zoe’s loss in our lives as a way to allow us to walk with others through the pain of losing their children. It is a journey that begins with death, but can bring hope and healing amidst the loss.

In July of 2017, we welcomed a new precious little girl into our family; Nora Jane Rollins. Her name means God’s Gift of Light; and she is every bit of that for our family. 

Jeff & Mackenzie’s Story created by WoodsEdge Community Church was created while they were serving as missionaries in Ecuador from 2014-2017.