My book report

I had an assignment for my college psych class to read a book called "The Prophet" and do a book report using five quotes from the book and talking about how they could be applied to my life. I turned it in last week and got it back today. With a possible score of 30, I got a 35 A+!

I am very proud of my paper, mostly because it is all about my babies in Heaven. I have to give them much of the credit!

Here it is!

Jenny Davidson
January 31, 2007
Psych 14
2:00-3:20

Book Report – The Prophet
In reading the book “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibron, I was touched by many of the concepts the author spoke of. His views on children, love, joy, sorrow, and death all spoke to me in a very personal way. I can not discuss these topics without mentioning my two youngest sons, Jordan and Joshua, who have taught me more on these subjects than any book ever could.
I had three children from a previous marriage, but my new husband and I very much wanted the blessing of child together. We prayed for a child and followed the advice of every pregnancy book we could find. We chose healthy foods, abstained from drinking alcohol, and exercised together. We found out after four months of trying that we were expecting our first child together. We were thrilled.
Gibran speaks of children on page 17 when he says, “For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.” This statement is very true of all children and we knew it was true of our youngest sons as well. What we didn’t know is the extent to which it would be true. When I was twenty weeks pregnant with Jordan we were told that he had a rare genetic condition called Trisomy 18. He had three chromosomes in the 18th position. This condition is fatal. 80% of babies diagnosed with Trisomy 18 will be stillborn. Of those born alive 90% will die before their first birthday.
The remaining time of my pregnancy we prayed to have time to spend with our son. We prayed to be able to conceive and give birth to his younger sibling so the two of them could meet before Jordan died. The physician who had been following my pregnancy urged us to terminate our pregnancy. When we told her that was not an option for us, she refused any treatments or tests that could help us to meet our son alive. We had to find a new doctor.
Our new doctor gave us hope. He began right away with extra ultrasounds to follow Jordan’s progress. He gave us extra photos from the ultrasound so our baby photo album could be full of his photos even before he took his first breath. We cried many tears as we made plans for his funeral. No mother should have to shop for urns while the much loved child is still growing in her womb. We began to cherish every kick, hiccup and milestone of the pregnancy.
Gibran speaks of the tie between joy and sorrow on page 29 when he says, “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain…When you are joyous look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful, look again into your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” The twelve weeks between Jordan’s diagnosis and his birth are this passage lived out. Every moment of deep sorrow, was only there because of the immeasurable joy that Jordan brought to us. Every moment of joy, was at the cost of deep sorrow.
Jordan was born alive on March 10, 2005, by emergency cesarean section. We heard his tiny cry only one time in the operating room before he was whisked away to the neonatal intensive care unit. As I recovered from surgery, my son Zachary who was twelve at the time would go back and forth between the NICU and my recovery room with the camcorder to show me Jordan’s progress. I saw his first bath, his measurements, and tiny kicks by video as my husband stood at his side at all times. Five hours later, I was released from recovery and allowed to spend some time at my son’s side. He was beautiful in every way. Weighing only two pounds six ounces, he was the smallest baby I had ever seen. Yet, he grasped my finger with such strength and love. Without a doubt he knew me, he knew my voice and my scent. We had been one for so many months, and now we were two, staring at each other and not wanting to let go.
Gibran speaks of love in words that both communicate love as the verb, and love as the being of God. On page 11, he states, “For even as love crowns you, so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth, so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the Earth.” During our time of Jordan’s life, God crowned us as parents in a way few parents will ever understand. To have been told there was almost no chance that we could meet Jordan alive, and then to be blessed with time with our son, was the sweetest gift of Love that we could have been given. But after 32 hours and 7 minutes we were pruned. We were shaken to the roots as we held our son and watched him take his final breath. Still even in that saddest of moments, we felt an overwhelming peace. We were surrounded by friends and family as we sang “On Holy Ground” and watched our son pass from this life to the next. I am sure our room was filled with angels that day singing the same song. We loved and continue to love our son with a depth that is unspeakable.
Three months after Jordan’s birth we got the amazing news that we were expecting another baby. We were thrilled again. We knew the odds were in our favor to have a healthy child. Jordan’s condition though genetic was not hereditary. The chances of us conceiving another child with a Trisomy were 1:100. We liked the odds. Our pregnancy progressed well, and our second son’s ultrasounds all looked great. We were in awe of our ability to love him so much. During a routine ultrasound in my second trimester we got the devastating news. Our son had died. We saw him there on the screen, lifeless, suspended in my womb, his tiny heart still. Once again our world crashed to the ground. A month later we got the autopsy results that he had Trisomy 21, Down’s Syndrome. There is no link between the two syndromes. There is no link to what they had and our chromosomes. We were just being struck by lightning a second time.
Gibran addresses the feelings that we had after our second loss in a quote about pain. On page 53 he says, “And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with his own sacred tears.” Very few people really understand the pain of losing a child. I have found that most people do not understand our grief no matter how carefully I try to explain it to them, in fact, most don’t want the explanation at all. I do know, however, that God does understand that pain. He watched his own son die on the cross. I am not sure that I could have felt the love of God during our painful experiences had he not experienced this. I would have screamed out to him, “You don’t understand!” But I do know that he does understand. He walked this road before me. He cried his own sacred tears before I did. And as he handed this cup to me to drink, it was moistened not only by the tears he shed when his son died, but also by the tears he shed knowing we would lose our sons.
The death of a child is unspeakably painful. It is not something that can be explained or understood by anyone who has not survived it. However to those of us who have, we are of a kindred spirit now. We can speak into each others’ hurts and joys in ways that no one else ever could. I am involved in a few bereaved parents support groups, both online and in person, and I do know that those people understand my hurt. I know that they have lived it. I also know that they understand the depth of joy that I feel when talking about Jordan and Joshua even if the words are joined by tears.
Gibran addresses death on page 81 when he writes, “Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the Earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.” I believe this quote so eloquently addresses death. Not only for the person who died, for whom I believe it is meant, but also for those of us who survive. It also brings me back to the quote on joy and sorrow. Through the depth of the sorrow, through our sons’ deaths, we have been carved so deeply with pain, and yet, in knowing that someday we will be reunited with our sons in Heaven, the depth of that carving is filled with a joy unspeakable. It is through drinking of the river of silence that we have learned to sing.