A Message for My Daughter

Thank you for coming. To those who have come from near and far to be with our family, we thank you. And to those from other faiths, or for those who haven’t been here in a while, welcome to St. Michael’s. Finally, from both my heart and Jessica’s, thank you for being a part of Caroline’s life.

We gather here to celebrate life – both on this earth, and in the next. Yet today, here in this church, we’re struggling for words to fill that celebration. In large part, that’s because it’s impossible to define “life” - in here as well as outside in society.

Lawyers always agonize over words – especially definitions. We twist out every possible interpretation and complicate everything, even for the most fundamental and basic words. But when it comes to putting, feelings, emotions, and philosophical ideals into words - we come up short, because we’re searching to define the inexpressible.

When it comes to funerals, the coffins at the altar hold a person with a life story. But even then, we all struggle to define it. Some use adjectives like “long,” “full,” or “great” – these words work for those who had duration, children, some unique experiences, or for those who had measures of achievements. Those words help ease the suffering by knowing that a life was "well-lived." Others feel a need to describe life as if it had varying degrees of quality. But it doesn’t: there is just simply “life.”

Caroline’s life escapes words. I can’t use pain, or suffering, because that’s what we had and still have - those words never applied to her. Innocent is a word that wholly applies, but that doesn’t come close to filling the space. Likewise, the words, “simple,” “real,” and “pure” - they all apply, but they don’t fill the void we have here today.

Taking a moment to look at the void, amidst our pain, suffering, and sorrow, Jessica and I would do it all over again. Why? That’s a one word answer: LOVE.

Through Jessica’s love, Caroline had 9 months to grow with us, to experience, to feel, and after a time, to hear. And then… under the medical definition of life, Caroline had 32 minutes to live. You see, doctors get to cheat - they get to narrow the field in which they have to define life. They get to stick to raw observations. They don’t have to incorporate soul, or emotion, nevertheless faith.

But without life, we as mortal humans can’t do anything else. We can’t breathe, or taste, or feel. Without life, we can’t offer a helping hand, or make someone’s day with a smile. Without life, we can’t have faith or inspire it, and we can’t have the hope that Jessica and I had, and still have. And if we don’t have life, we can’t love. If love could be measured in quantity, the love that I have for Caroline as her father: it’s all just a mere drop in the ocean of Jessica’s love as her mother.

While Caroline’s life was born out of our love, we can’t give her life today. When I started thinking about this during adoration a few weeks ago, the first concept that came to mind was "31 minutes," and what I would do to give her one more. God gave us 32. All this pain and suffering? I’d do it all over again to give her a 33rd minute, and then I’d give anything else just to give Caroline a 34th. But we are not God, and as I struggle to find the purpose in this suffering, I surrender to his will.

And while those 32 minutes were the entirety of Caroline’s experience after birth, to the rest of us, they’re nothing. I have in my head Dave Matthews’ song, “Funny The Way It Is” - a series of everyday juxtapositions. Those 32 minutes of Caroline’s life are a TV show or my own toddler's temper tantrum. They’re someone’s morning commute or the drive to get to dinner with a friend. 32 minutes isn’t even a high school class period, or enough to meet the FAA’s guideline that your plane is delayed. I could write a book on that topic of being 32 minutes late. And those 32 minutes felt like only three scrolls on Facebook.

Yet, for those 32 minutes, our worlds stopped, because those minutes were Caroline’s whole world. Anywhere else - any other time - if someone stopped and devoted  32 minutes to you - a phone call, a lunch, you’d thank them for the act of love: love for family, love for neighbor - all in service above oneself. They say that the greatest act of love is to give to those who can’t even thank you in return. While Caroline couldn’t say the words “Thank you,” or give us a hug or smile, we still love her all the same, and she still can thank us, and has been already thanking us, from above.

Throughout our journey, there was a small army of people praying for Caroline. Small is relative - it was a BIG army. And to that army, Jessica and I express our immense gratitude. But now, we can pray to her. With prayer warriors like this, we can only imagine the prayers that Caroline is bringing to heaven. I was talking with someone recently, and this image came to mind: that Caroline has an answering machine in heaven. It was filled with voicemails from our prayers. It has an unlimited capacity to store messages - since the souls up there have an infinite amount of time to listen and respond to them. And while this journey has shown us the human end of those prayers, I can only imagine what it must be like to be on the divine end, and being taught how to use them in heaven. Caroline may only have been a little human with us, but she’ll grow up to carry some big things in heaven.

Our daughter Jane told us that Caroline gets to grow up with God. Like all parents, I feel my faults, weaknesses, and failures as a dad. Caroline must be truly lucky to have the perfect father to raise her. While I don’t get to raise her, I’m sure God as father knows what he’s doing.

We can find some comfort, purpose, and meaning for Caroline’s life because it generated love, prayers, and hope that were all around her while she was on this earth. But all that still leaves me still searching for words - searching for the inexpressible. Aldous Huxley might not have a lot I can bring into church, but in his words, “after silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible, is music.” Funny that “silence” and “music” usually don’t have words. While I usually find words in Dave Matthews songs, today I end with this verse from Marc Broussard:

May the mountains rise to meet you

May the skies open wide

Know that in my heart, [Caroline,]

You will always be alive

May the angels fly to greet you

You can see it all from up there

I know you're listening from up above

Because this is, and will always be, my prayer

And with that, we say we love you, Caroline Mary.

Arrangements and Details

Celebrations of the Life of Caroline Mary Schmitt will begin with a mass of Christian Burial on Saturday, June 22, 2019, at 10:00am, at St. Michael The Archangel Catholic Church, 5750 N. High St., Worthington, OH 43085.

Internment will follow with a graveside service at Resurrection Cemetery, 9571 N. High St., Lewis Center, Ohio.

Our family will return to St. Michael at approximately 12:30 p.m to receive guests and visitors at a luncheon at Marian Hall.

All are welcome to attend any of these events.

Note that High Street will be closed in Worthington due to the Farmer's Market and other planned events that day.

In lieu of flowers, please consider contributing in memory of Caroline Mary Schmitt to either:

Mount Carmel Foundation - MCF MCSA Fund (scroll down to "tribute information" and please use Caroline Mary Schmitt), to honor all of Jessica's and Caroline's care providers at Mount Carmel St. Ann's Hospital (MCSA), from many departments, including the Maternal Fetal Medicine department, Labor/Delivery/Postpartum and their bereavement program.

St Michael the Archangel, (see "Quick Give" in lower right, and in the Special Instructions, use Caroline Mary Schmitt) in honor of Father Dinovo, who has provided so many blessings in this time of need, and our entire church family there and at many other parishes who continue to carry us.

Additionally friends have set up  a Meal Train for us.

Thank you all for your prayers and support for our family. At a later time, we will provide a post with the events around Caroline Mary's birthday on June 17th.

In Memory of Caroline Mary

In Loving Memory of

Caroline Mary Schmitt

Born Monday, June 17, 2019, at 11:52am
Mt. Carmel St. Ann's Hospital, Westerville, OH

Weighing 8lbs, 3.3 oz,
Measuring 17.5 inches

Delivered by Dr. Alan Murnane
Nurses Beth, Malia, and Laura (doubling as Photographer)

Baptized, Confirmed ("Margaret"), First Communion, and Anointed by Father Anthony Dinovo
Godparents/Sponsors Patrick & Norah Fagan

A life filled with love, hugs and kisses from Mommy, Daddy, siblings: Jane, Edward, and Andrew, and grandparents Ed and Anne.

Already on her way to heaven a few moments later by 12:24pm

She indeed made this world a better place in her short time here with us.

Thank you everyone for your love, support and prayers.

Almost Time

As June arrived, our hearts grew heavy. The people at Tom's work have been supportive, and they have temporarily diverted some of his workload and kept the schedule light expecting him to be out of the office. Yet as we have those empty weekends, there's a nervous energy around the house, knowing what's to come. We've had friends and family checking in, and a few people have brought meals this week as well. Normally sleeping becomes a challenge at the end of a pregnancy (and right after), but this is a new experience.

Throughout the day, Jessica has continually had visits from friends during the days when Tom's at work. On one occasion, Kellyn, who led the church group we participated in last year at St. Paul's (the church closer to our house), visited to chat, and follow up with a prayer request among the group. And Kellyn even brought some flowers to brighten our home.

In the week leading up to Andrew's Birthday, Jessica started having some early labor signs. For the sake of Andrew, whose birthday is (and will be) June 8th, we hoped that God planned to give Caroline a different day. It's a true leap of faith to leave things completely in God's hands, as he could have chosen to give us a sad memory that we would carry every year while trying to celebrate Andrew. Yet maybe God knows what we really need - that we need something to share the date so we don't let it overwhelm us each year.

Thanks to some family, we had a few things ready to go for Saturday, and we were able to have a quick and quiet dinner, with some cake, complete with paper plates and napkins with his favorite cartoon character (Super Why! of the PBS Show). We think the kid just loved having some attention, and this year, we were blessed that we got to share it with him.

While we normally feel at home at church on Sundays, this one was exceptionally tough. As the parish grieves the death of a longtime parishioner, we held our own tears back thinking that this might be Caroline's last mass in St. Mike's. Without us knowing about it, our family's picture was given a special place in the main church, on the Altar dedicated to Mary, the Mother of Jesus. As a family of 6, we stopped for a moment in prayer, before embarking on this week. Even though Caroline receives a piece of Jesus each time Jessica receives communion, we have some hope though that there will be a chance for at least one more time - even if its in the hospital - before Caroline goes to be with Him in heaven.

Special visit and graduation

On Memorial Day Weekend, we hosted Jessica's brother (Erik) and his family as they stopped on a drive through town. They live in Memphis, and were headed to Youngstown to settle in as Stephanie prepared for a procedure at the Cleveland Clinic, followed by a few weeks of recovery at her family's home. The short stay was a chance to enjoy some "quiet" family time, complete with a fire outside and some S'mores.  Just the break both families needed.  The kids had an absolute blast-- and so did the "grownups".

Jessica also had her last visit with Maternal Fetal Medicine at Mt. Carmel, and we both attended for one last ultrasound. Caroline had her hand on her tummy, just like mommy rests hers, and her heartbeat was still strong. We didn't get to see the Doctor who had been primarily caring for us, but we were able to share some hugs good bye with staff. We also took a quick walk from their office over to the check-in station for Labor and Delivery, just to make sure we head to the right place when the time comes. In a very heart wrenching moment, one of the staff members shared how that day, two mothers were already in the hospital for deliveries just like ours. We can only imagine how challenging that work must be - to care for families like ours on a daily basis.  We hope they know how much their care and compassion means to us and other families like ours.

As May drew to a close, we marked milestones at school, with Edward's promotion ceremony from pre-school, and Jane's graduation from Kindergarten both at Our Lady of Bethlehem. This school has been so supportive and loving throughout this process and we can't thank everyone enough for all they have done.

Making Memories

In May, we took an afternoon to head to Nationwide Children's for a chance to make some memories as a family. Nationwide staffs and supplies a family art room for child patients to have family fun time and make positive memories. While Caroline couldn't participate in the way our other children could, the afternoon was a chance to take a few suggestions from their professionals on how to help our children (and ourselves) through this time. Throughout this process, they've been here to offer some children's books explaining "special births" to coincide with our counselor's advice, along with some other helpful suggestions on how to capture this short time as a family of 6.

We started by making a hand print canvas, saving some space for a later time when we can add Caroline's. Each of us got our hand painted  - something a little different and fun than the normal messes the kids make each day.

We also took some time to fill some Christmas ornaments. Each child had a short written message about Caroline to put in a small glass ball that will ultimately go with Caroline. Jane was able to write her own message in marker, and loved playing with the craft supplies. Edward chose some special "gems" for Caroline - he learned that emeralds were green and  rubies are red as he searched among the beads for sparkly treasures. And Tom used  6 colored pipe cleaners, one for each of us - to make a flower that is inside an ornament we can keep for our own Christmas tree each year.

 

Hope v. Reality - Tom's Perspective

Throughout this blog, we've tried to write in the third person as we share our collective story. While we are sharing this journey together, there are times when we experience things with different perspectives. Tom had some thoughts of his own to share, and so the rest of this post steps away from our usual voice into just Tom's.

I have continually experienced a spectrum between hope and reality, with a slow progression from the former to the latter as this journey has progressed. At the start, it was relatively easy to be inebriated with hope: through the strength of our faith, I could readily find comfort in God's love, mercy, and ability to grant miracles, and I had little knowledge and experience, and there was still time for something to happen. But journeys proceed with slow steps - our knowledge of Caroline's conditions grew, and we experienced watching her without seeing any healing. And there was always the growing reality that time (and opportunity for a miracle) were continually winding down towards the inevitable things that logically must follow. All of these test my hope and, to some extent, erode it.

Sometimes it feels like hope starts to leave, and then only reality remains. There's a helplessness that comes from an inability to fix the problem - something I struggle with, as serving others by fixing problems is not only my profession, but the core of my character. How could I be unable to help not only my daughter, but my wife and family? On the proverbial family road trip, can't I speed up so we all experience the mercy of ending the suffering car ride sooner? And as painful as it is, don't we all want this one road trip to last forever? There's a helplessness being so close to feeling Caroline through each of her kicks, yet so far away from feeling her give those big, smiling hugs his other kids give me. It's part of the helplessness that every father has walking past the broken toys on the workbench, as we have to give our time right now to some other more pressing need. But this is a level of helplessness far beyond that which we are supposed to experience.

There's times where I get too far in my own head - where I think about my own thinking processes (the million-dollar word for it is metacognition), and sometimes I go even further to think about why God designed our brains in a certain way. As that happens here, in this thinking about hope and reality, I sometimes see see hope as God's practical way of helping us through this journey. When there's a lengthy challenge, hope fuels us through the early stages, so that when we get to the later ones, we still have some gas in the tank to see it through.

At other times, I see hope as the mechanism which takes leads our minds to reach beyond to something bigger. In those times, our minds are limited to the reality we see and experience. Hope helps us rise above the current suffering and pain to recognize a higher purpose - from which we find strength to carry forward.

Through Caroline Mary, hope leads me to the higher purpose of supporting life - even if it will be "brief" (9 months + a few minutes) and not of the same "quality" that most get to experience. We hope that God gives Caroline the chance to experience more time on earth, and that God will use our suffering to show love and mercy. But even if the reality we know comes to pass, hope is the strength and faith is the heart that led us through an experience-one that we wouldn't wish on anyone.

Now, after getting this far inside my head, it's time to take a brief trip to the other side of my brain that's filled with bourbon, Buffett (and Dave Matthews), a boat, and a beach - that place we stayed on Anna Maria Island, to be exact.