In my article, Skip
Those Red Buckets, I warned of the Salvation Army’s promotion of abortion
for babies expected to have a short lifespan outside the womb. The story below is about the very short life of Aaron
Schreiner. It was originally published in Amazing
Grace for the Catholic Heart. Aaron
lived for only an hour, but he dramatically changed many lives in that one hour.
The Smallest Stone by Linda
Schreiner
sat down in a chair across from my husband, Craig and me. Her expression looked grim. We gripped each other’s hands tightly. “Your baby has
anencephaly.”
that rolls up to form the neural tube, which becomes the spine and brain,” the
doctor explained. “For some reason your baby’s tube did not seal properly,
so only the most primitive brain stem was able to develop.”
shaking. I pictured a child with a
gaping hole in its head. “What kind
of a life will it have?”
go full-term, but they rarely survive the birthing process,” Dr.
Christopher explained. “If they are
born alive, they usually live for only an hour or so.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, pressing her
hand on ours.
“If you wish, you may terminate the pregnancy now,” she said in her
kindest tone. “I’ll leave you two
alone to discuss it.”
something I hadn’t seen him do since the joyful tears of our wedding day. “I’d have rather had a disabled
child,” he whispered.
I said through my tears. I put my
hand on my slightly rounded stomach, wanting to hold my baby close while I
still could. “I cannot end this
baby’s life,” I said.
can do it! Here comes the
head!” cried Dr. Christopher. I tried to forget that in a moment ‘hello’
would mean goodbye. Please God, let it
be born alive, I prayed and tried to concentrate on bearing down. “It’s a boy, and he’s alive!” cried Dr. Christopher in jubilation.
the moment I’d been praying for and yet dreading for the last six months. What if I was so repulsed by the way he
looked that I could not bring myself to hold him during his last moments with
us? She was turning toward me, bringing
him to me. I did not want to see his
head
“Wait! Put a hat–“
toward mine, and the swollen lids parted just a little. He opened his mouth and made a tiny sound,
then closed his eyes and nestled down in his blanket. He didn’t seem to be in any distress at
all. The head I had been so afraid of
was small and ended just above his eyebrows in a little topknot of skin. I lifted the blanket. From the eyes down he was heartbreakingly
perfect. Craig put one finger into the tiny hand. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes and
smiled. It was a quiet sort of joy, but joy nonetheless.
midnight, and he arrived in record time.
My mother, brother, Craig’s sister, and her husband were
there. It was the only time I’d ever
seen my brother-in-law so subdued. He
wiped his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Aaron even had godparents there; some dear
friends had asked us if they could be his godparents after the anencephaly was diagnosed.
of serenity. It was tinged with sadness,
but for one hour we celebrated the gift of our child. No sooner had Father Tom pronounced the final
blessing, when Aaron suddenly felt different to me.
welled in her eyes.
you know I’m not a religious person, but there was a holy feeling in that room
last night.”
home and actually opened my Bible. I
don’t think I’ve touched it since Dad left Mom.
I read exactly what I needed to hear and started to bawl like a
baby.”
or since. My friends in the diocesan
choir outdid themselves. It was a
perfect spring day. The sweet smell of
damp earth was in the air. I was able to
walk away from that little casket without a tear. I knew that was not where Aaron was.
favorite cousins. “How’s
Ken?” I asked.
whether to marry him? Well, we had plans
for today, but I was sure Ken would understand my going to the funeral. Instead, he
hit the ceiling. “
able to see him for what he was if not for Aaron. I broke up with him, and I couldn’t be
happier!”
off a loaf of freshly baked bread and a card.
In the card, she wrote about a baby girl she had lost in the late
fifties. She had never been allowed to
see the baby. She never
experienced closure until she went to Aaron’s funeral. “Now,” she wrote, “I am at peace with it.”
the funeral. I huddled on the couch
when Craig came in with the mail. There
was a card from Healing the Children, the organization we had encouraged people
to donate their memorials to. They wrote
that they had received enough money to fly two children from Nicaragua to the
U.S. for life-saving operations. One of
the children was a little girl with a cyst the size of an adult fist in her
nasal passage.
landing. It had stopped raining. A tiny drop of water fell into the puddle forming
small ripples. It occurred to me that
Aaron was like a tiny stone that had been tossed into an immense lake. Even the smallest stone creates ripples.