Obituary

Maren Elizabeth Roiseland, daughter of Kevin and Tiffany Roiseland, burst into the world at 4:20am on Monday, April 18, 2016. She blessed her eternally grateful family with three and a half beautiful days before returning to her heavenly father on Thursday, April 21, 2016. During her short time on earth, she blessed her parents, brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins with the sweet gift of time. She inspired many by beating the odds and fighting 'til the very end.

During her nearly 38 weeks of life inside Mommy, Maren showed her love through lots of kicks, especially while reading stories with big brother James or when James sang Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to her and kissed her good-night through Mommy's belly. After her arrival, she was lavished with his kisses, gentle touches, and announcements of "Baby Sister!" whenever he set eyes on her.

Maren's family will always remember her glorious hair, her perfect little fingers and toes, and her sweet, soft cheeks. She grew more and more beautiful every hour. For her three and a half days on earth, she felt nothing but pure love.

We imagine that upon entering heaven, her big brother Sam greeted her and yelled, "Come on, Maren! Come on!" then led the charge as they together ran into their Heavenly Father's arms.

Rest in peace, sweet girl. We love you.

Good-bye, Sweet Girl

The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 1:21

Our beautiful daughter Maren Elizabeth is now peacefully resting in her Father's arms. We are heartbroken but will be eternally grateful for the three precious days we spent adoring her gorgeous hair, curling her tiny fingers around ours, and stroking what were undoubtedly the softest cheeks in the world. We praise God for the gift of time.

Thank you for your prayers throughout our sweet girl's life. We have felt nothing but love and support, which helped us ensure those three precious days were filled with nothing but love for Maren. We are so thankful for you.

Mighty Maren

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Ephesians 3:16-21

IMMEASURABLY MORE THAN ALL WE ASK OR IMAGINE!! I am sitting here in a quiet hospital room with my day and half old baby. Day and a half!! The tears are rolling down my cheeks as I recall every aunt, uncle, and cousin meeting Maren in the last twenty-four hours. I had originally told everyone no, sorry, we want all the time she has, just Daddy, Mommy, James, and Maren. But then she stayed with us for another hour. And then another. And suddenly she had made it through an entire day. We prayed for time . . . and God has given us immeasurably more than all we asked for or imagined. We prayed for two or three hours. Enough to hold her and love her and release her back to her Father's arms . . . and we are overwhelmed with gratitude for the hours we have had.

So many people told us over the last few months they were praying for a miracle. I know many people meant a miraculous healing, that the Trisomy 13 diagnosis would somehow be wrong and we'd have a perfectly healthy girl. All along I've said the miracle would be time. With the Trisomy 13 diagnosis and a 50/50 chance of stillbirth, I prayed and prayed for a few hours with her. I didn't allow myself to hope or pray for more than that. The fact that she has been with us for so long is such a miracle. I am so thankful!! I'm also sad for other families who haven't had so much time with their precious little ones. I can't explain why we get this blessing when others don't. All I know is that I want to fall on my face in front of my Lord and cling to his feet and say thank you, thank you, thank you. I know the hard times are coming, but this gift . . . this gift . . . my precious miracle girl . . . we will get through this.

We are going home tomorrow. Home. We are taking our daughter home. We are simultaneously thrilled and flabbergasted. The hospital has contacted hospice and we'll have lots of support, but Maren will be surrounded by her family in our sweet little home. I can't believe it. I am so incredibly grateful that God has given us this time to love her and soak in her beauty. The doctors can't really tell us if we have hours or days or weeks, but we will take any time we can get. We can't stop staring at her and murmuring how amazed we are.

Last night I sang "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" to her as she slept. This song has held great meaning for me for many, many years, but a new layer of gratefulness has been added to my song of praise this week.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father. 

There is no shadow of turning with Thee.

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not. 

As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

Great is Thy Faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! 

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided. 

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Thanking God for his great faithfulness tonight more than ever. And thank you, friends, for all your prayers. Great is His faithfulness.

Just a Few Weeks Left

Thirty-six weeks!! This is a major milestone, considering the doctors told us at twelve weeks we would likely lose her. Mighty Maren! She just keeps kicking away.

We had one more ultrasound Monday morning. She was hiding her face, so we couldn't get clear pictures of her, but we saw five little fingers on each hand. I know it's probably a petty thing to care about, but since so many babies with Trisomy 13 have extra fingers among their many other problems, this was a happy piece of news. As much as I try to be a realist about Maren's situation, there was of course still a part of me that hoped the ultrasound technician would look confused, go get a doctor, and bring her in to say something miraculous like, "She appears to be perfectly healthy! We can't explain it!"

But no. Nothing has changed.

The only positive news we got was that the doctor is hopeful Maren will make it through delivery alive. With her continuing those strong kicks and with no physical issues on my end, the doctor thinks she is likely to survive birth. We continue to pray she will.

An induction date has been set -- April 27. That's about a week before my due date. The doctor says since Trisomy 13 babies are more likely to be stillborn the longer you carry them, and since mothers of advanced maternal age are more likely to have stillborn babies, inducing a week early will increase our chances of a live birth.

While I'm excited to meet her after carrying her for all these months, you can imagine how bittersweet it is. All this time, we've known we could lose her at any moment, but now we have an official date set for saying good-bye. It's exciting and devastating at the same time.

Please keep praying -- that we'll continue to enjoy every kick and stretch, that Maren will stay strong through delivery, and that we will get to enjoy a little time with our sweet girl on April 27th.

Preparing

A few weeks ago we happened to drive by the hospital one night. "Can you believe it was two years ago we were going to all those classes?" I asked Kevin. When we were pregnant with James, we got a flyer about classes offered for new parents. We signed up for ALL of them: labor and delivery, caring for a newborn, breastfeeding, and infant CPR. We had no idea what we were doing, so we figured we could use all the help we could get. We were at the hospital one night a week for about three months. Even with all those hours of trying to learn something, we still weren't ready.

There were preparations at home, too. Kevin spent most nights painting the various rooms of the house we had just purchased. I insisted the baby room be done first. Three walls were a light gray, one wall was a shade darker, and the trim was white -- perfect for a boy or a girl. My dad and brother set up the crib. We had gender-neutral onesies, blankies, and cloth diapers. I packed the hospital bag a few weeks in advance based on what we'd learned in the classes, what I'd been told by friends, and stuff I read on the internet. I even had playlists on my iPod, one with fast songs and one with mellow tunes.  We were set.

Preparations are different this time around. There are no classes to prepare parents for losing a baby soon after they meet her. We're not setting up a crib, since it's unlikely we'll bring her home. We don't have adorable little pink clothes in the closet; it would be too painful to have to pack them up with the tags still on.

My hospital bag looks a lot different this time around. We have a beautiful Christening gown my sister-in-law's mom made; we are hoping to have enough time to baptize sweet Maren. We just got a baptismal candle and cloth in the mail today from a dear friend -- those are going in the bag, too. We have blankies from friends and family. We've got kits to do handprints and footprints. I've got my Bible to stamp her hand and footprints in, too.

I guess we can take comfort in the knowing. I've heard many stories in the past few months of mothers who set up the nursery, bought the cute clothes, and expected a perfectly healthy baby, only to be heartbroken. As painful as this long good-bye has been, I can't imagine how much more painful it would be to leave the hospital empty-handed when you thought you were coming home with your beautiful baby.

Maybe that's the best preparing we can do -- preparing to say good-bye.

Kevin

I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard "you're too picky" when I was single. I could have paid for my eventual wedding. My standard response became, "I'd rather be single forever than be married to the wrong person." I can understand settling when you're shopping for a new outfit, but choosing someone to spend the rest of your life with? Yeah. I was picky. And I don't think that was a bad choice on my part.

"Shared faith" was on the top of the list of qualities I was looking for in a future husband. Being in youth ministry for ten years, I had a type in mind. Someone who played guitar and led songs around the campfire. Someone who liked speaking and teaching. Someone who loved going on mission trips. Someone who maybe got a little overly competitive during games. Basically a male version of me.

Kevin's not exactly what I pictured. Half the time when I look at him during church, his mouth isn't even moving during the songs; he's lost in his own thoughts. He gets really nervous when he has to speak in front of people, but he's taught our little guy to hold hands and pray before we eat. He's not a wild and crazy youth ministry kind of Christian. He's a quiet, deep, introspective Christian. Not the male version of me at all.

Have you ever met someone who reads C.S. Lewis, Dallas Willard, and G.K. Chesterton for fun? I hadn't either. And while some guys look forward to their mailman bringing the latest issue of Sports Illustrated or Popular Mechanics, my guy looks like a kid on Christmas morning when his monthly theological journal arrives in the mail. An uncle picked up an issue from an end table a few years ago on Easter, flipped through it, and remarked, "There's no pictures in this magazine." Nope. Just text and text and text about the church and the world and what it means to be a Christian today. Not really what I was picturing when I prayed for a guy who shared my faith.

But as we walk this journey with Maren, I am so, so thankful for Kevin. His house is built on a rock. I'm not saying my house is built on sand, but some days when the storm is really thrashing, my house seems more like the houses I used to build in Mexico with the youth group: they serve the purpose, but probably wouldn't pass inspections in the U.S. It's reassuring to be able to run next door to Kevin's up-to-code, not-constructed-by-teenagers house. He's a good neighbor on this rock.

The other night I had to go to the bathroom at 3:30 in the morning -- the plague of pregnant women. I couldn't get back to sleep when I returned to bed. I checked email and Facebook on my phone for a while, then tried to fall asleep again. It wasn't happening. I started thinking about Maren, and what we'll have to face soon. I started crying . . . quietly, I thought, but Kevin heard me and wrapped me up in his arms. He didn't say anything or make me say anything, just stroked my hair and rubbed my back while my silent cries turned into sobs and then quieted down again. My thoughts changed from being devastated about Maren to being so, so thankful that God brought Kevin and I together. I don't know how I would get through this without him. I was right to be picky.

James

I turned to Kevin last night and said, "Have I thanked you lately for giving me this beautiful boy?" James lights up our lives. His little personality gets bigger every day, and it's hard to remember what life was like before him. I can't imagine the shape I'd be in right now if not for him brightening my days.

Someone this weekend said, "I can't believe how positive you are through all this." My first reaction was to twist up my face and say, "What? You obviously don't see me during the rough times." Instead I patted James's head and said, "Well, I've got to keep going for this little guy."

When I miscarried Sam, all I wanted to do was lay in bed and cry. Kevin had just left for a six-week Asian recruiting tour, and I knew it wasn't healthy for me to be alone. I called my parents and they drove five hours to be with me. They couldn't do anything to bring our baby back -- if I remember correctly they cleaned my bathroom, cooked a lot of food, and spent a lot of time being bored -- but the fact that they were there meant I had to get out of bed and talk to them, which was good.

If I didn't have James to chase and tickle and read to and keep alive, it would be tempting to slip into a pretty dark place. Instead, I'm more thankful than ever that we have him to fill our days. Knowing we are going to lose Maren, I can't imagine how I'd get through this without James.

I've worried a lot about him through this process, though. When we first found out at just twelve weeks that there was potentially a problem, I wondered if he would someday resent his sister. I knew he would love her, but he might miss out on things because of her. My 30's were amazing, traveling to several countries and all over the U.S. It was pretty much the time of my life. Being an older mother, though, there was a good chance James would have to take over as primary caregiver in his 30's. He wouldn't have the freedom that I did. Or if he married young and had kids already, he'd have added stress, having to take care of his sister. I didn't want him to be bitter.

When we got the Trisomy 13 diagnosis, my worries changed from him having to take care of his sister someday to him living his whole life as an only child. I have fantastic childhood memories that revolve around my siblings. Even today, we still get together every other month or so just to spend time together. My family was the big reason I wanted to move back to Iowa. What will James's childhood be like, growing up without a sibling? When Kevin and I are gone someday, who will James celebrate Christmas with? I feel bad not giving him what was and is so important to me.

I worry, too, that I'll be overprotective. I used to go in and check on James after he fell asleep and ask God to keep all bad people away from him so he'd never be hurt. After finding out Maren won't live, my prayer changed to, "Please, God, don't let anything happen to him because I will die." That's a lot of pressure on a kid. I fear I'll freak out when he wants to learn how to ride a bike. When he gets his license at 16? I'm not going to want him to go anywhere. And college? Hooboy. I'll be pushing for community college and living in my house 'til he's 40. As the months have gone on, I've changed my prayer again: "Dear God, please keep James safe. Don't let anything happen to him. And don't let me become neurotically overprotective so he doesn't become neurotic, too."

I know in the end it will all work out. Life isn't working out the way I planned, but that doesn't mean it can't be good. James will be okay. Maybe a little overly coddled . . . and over-protected . . . but hopefully I won't mess him up too badly. He deserves the best for getting me through this.