James and I met and married (in 1987) at Neuse Baptist Church in Raleigh, NC. I also worked there in the Christian school as a teacher. We were married for just over 3 years when I had an abnormally heavy cyle and had to go to the doctor. He examined me and didn't find anything wrong, so he decided to "help me along" be suctioning me out right then and there (no medication--like you; very painful). He suddenly stopped and started rattling off orders to the nurse, and a flurry of activity began. I had no idea of what was happening other than I was alone (I didn't see the need for my husband to go with me that day), in pain, and scared. When he was finished, he told the nurse to have me lie there until my blood pressure went back down, and then to have me go to his office.
I was crying, and when we were alone, the nurse asked me why I was crying. I told her I was scared because I didn't know what was wrong (I was thinking tumor--cancer). I was completely floored when the doctor later told me that I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage (where the placenta is still in the uterus, even though the baby had been passed previously). It was a very early pregnancy--probably 6-8 weeks. My cyles were very irregular, and we had not even seriously discussed having a baby, so this was a real surprise. I was in such shock when I left the doctor's, I went to the school to pick up my pay check, and drove to two different banks before going home and calling James and then my mom. James left work and came straight home. My mom said she was afraid that that was the case.
Physically, in a few days, I was fine. Emotionally, it did a number on me. The strongest emotion I remember feeling besides grief was embarrassment--my body was not able to do what everyone else could. Since I had not known I was pregnant, people found out about everything all at once. I became convinced that I could fix it by having a baby. That became a very long journey.
At this time in our lives, God introduced the most caring, compassionate pastor that we had ever met--Rev. M. L. Walters, Jr. (the brother of our current pastor--Ken Walters). God had used tragedy in his life (the suicide of his son, David), to prepare him to help us deal with what we would be facing.
I was unable to get pregnant again. I went to my OB-GYN, and he put me on some pills. They did not help. I went through a blood workup and it was discovered that I suffered from polycystic ovary disease (instead of eggs being released from the ovary and going down the fallopian tube, they stick to the ovary) and could not ovulate. I decided to go to a fertility specialist because I could not go to my doctor and sit in a waiting room of pregnant women.
We met with the specialist in November. He was very surprised, but encouraged, that I had become pregnant on my own. Just for the sake of argument, he had me try another month of pills, and monitored me closely. There was no activity. Then came one of the more interesting trials. If I wanted to have a baby, I would have to undergo a two-week series of (very expensive) daily injections. You have to understand that I was deathly afraid of needles to appreciate the humor in this. Oh, the other part of this is that James had to give them to me every evening!
Every morning or so for the rest of the round, I had to go to the specialist and have blood drawn (another needle) to check my hormone levels, and sometimes an ultrasound to count the eggs as they matured (I actually had 23 follicles that responded, but my estrogen level only allowed for the possibility of three to release).
Finally, I was told to take the chemical that would cause me to ovulate. Then, it was time to wait.....that was the longest 4 weeks (they would not do a pregnancy test until 2 weeks after my cyle was late). My cycle did not come, but that was not unusual. I could not do a home test, because with my condition, they don't come out correctly. The day for the test came. It was positive! I was pregnant at last. I took the test with me and went straight to James' office to let him know, then I went to my mom's office (she worked for our family physician at the time, and one of the doctor's there was best buddies with my specialist). Our family was thrilled!
We had to wait 6 more weeks for an ultrasound. More waiting. The morning of the test, we arrived before the staff was even there. I was not feeling well, and the thought of someone pressing on my stomach was not something I was looking forward to, but I just had to see my baby. There was a nurse-midwife who worked for this doctor who had been through all of this herself--even had the same disease as me--and was the perfect person to work with me. She did my ultrasound that morning. I could see the monitor beside my head, she was at my side, and James was crouched down behind her. We all saw it at the same time--"there's one little heart beating...and there's another one!" What a shock! Thinking I would never have a baby to finding out that I was going to have two!! I remember it was a Wednesday, because we had church that night. James went to work, I went to my mom's office to show her the surprise, then I went to work and told everyone!! That was in February.
That year I was the school librarian, so it was not so much time on my feet, etc. My OB-GYN's office took excellent care of me. Even though I began my pregnancy overwight, they still were concerned that I did not gain a significant amount of weight. The babies were growing well, so there was no cause for alarm. By the end of the school year, I was 20 weeks, and my doctor said that it was time to take it easy. I was all for that.
It was Memorial Day weekend. We had a wedding at church on Saturday; our family drove to my brother's on Sunday, then back to my mom's house. We decided because I was so tired to spend the night at my mom's. I got up with James that Monday morning to drive him to work, then I headed home. As I pulled out of the driveway of his business, I went over the little bump, and I felt a pop. The whole way home I told myself that it was just a gas bubble. I talked and sang to the babies the whole way home, but I could not get the sense of dread out of my mind that something was wrong. When I got out of the car, fluid poured out of me. At first I thought I had wet my pants, but I couldn't make it stop. I knew. I pressed my knees together as hard as I could, and went into our house. I headed straight for the restroom, grabbing the phone on my way through. Then I tried to call my OB-GYN's office (8:30 on a Monday morning). I got the answering service. They had the doctor on call call me back. She didn't really think that my water had broken, but told me to go to the office and that someone would see me. I called James and my mom and they both met me there. The doctor did an ultrasound, and it was plainly visible that one of the amniotic sacs had a large tear in it. I was sent to the hospital where it was hoped that nothing further would happen. That was June 1.
The next day, I began to run a fever. That afternoon, contractions began. Despite everyone's efforts, Kimberly Joy Everette was born that evening. It was very quiet when she was born. She was immediately taken over to the warming station to be examined by a neonatologist. At 21 weeks, her lungs were too undeveloped, and there was nothing that could be done.
They brought her to me, and I was totally unprepared for what she looked like. She weighed 10 1/2 ounces and was 11 1/2 inches long. She was beautiful. She looked just like James. I stared at her in my arms. She was alive, but so still. The nurse asked me a question, and when I answered her, Kimberly turned her face to me. She could hear me! We made the decision to keep her with us (they did volunteer to take her away), and we held her, and talked to her, and showed her to our family that had come. She lived for two hours, before her tiny heart stopped beating. We stayed in the delivery room, waiting to see if I would deliver the second twin. Several hours later, there were still no contractions, so I was sent back to my room to rest.
They day was uneventful and hopeful, until the contractions returned about 3:00 that afternoon. That night, Jamie Lynn Everette entered the room exactly 24 hours to the minute that her sister had died. She weighed two ounces more than Kimberly, and looked just like her mother. The OB-GYN called everyone he could think of while I was in labor to see if anyone felt that she could be viable, but the answer was the same. Two hours later, Jamie joined her sister in eternal slumber. It was 4:00 in the morning when I was returned to my room.
I stayed in the hospital one more day. We did not go home. We stayed at my mom's for a few days so that someone would be with me (James had to go to work). That Sunday, Pastor (M.L.) Walters held a graveside service for us. We buried the girls in the same coffin. It didn't look like a coffin; it looked like a styrofoam cooler that you buy for $2 at the store. The service was comforting and reassuring, and Pastor closed it by having everyone (about 40 people) sing "Jesus Loves Me".
After this, we went home. I tried to put my maternity clothes and the few baby things that we had bought away, but I couldn't touch it. I did not leave the house except to go to church or my Mom's. My parents took us on vacation the next month to help us "get over it". I decided that the best thing to do was to get pregnant again--soon. I was told to wait three months. I went back to the specialist's office, declaring that I was ready to try again.
Just as before, I conceived the very first month. Before Kimberly and Jamie's due date rolled around, I was once again pregnant with twins. In my deluded state, I suppose to escape the horrible reality that I had been through, I was even able to briefly convince myself that it hadn't happened--that it was still the same pregnancy. Fortunately, I snapped out of that.
Christmas came, and I was once again swelling as my babies grew. At the end of January in 1993, I had to be hospitalized with a non-pregnancy issue. I was on a Demerol pump for severe pain for three days. The morning I was to go home, I was feeling well. I was preparing to go home, when I was overcome with severe pain. That pain turned out to be dialation--to 5 centimeters. I called for the nurse, and everyone came quickly--including my OB. One of the sacs was bulging through. I was turned almost upside down to try to coax it back in. I was also given magnesium-sulfate to stop contractions. Unfortunately, this made me violently ill. As I threw up, my water broke. I turned to my mom to tell her, and she said she knew, everyone had heard it. At this point (20 weeks), the unthinkable was occurring again.
That afternoon, our daughter, Kelsey Rae, was stillborn (she had become tangled in her own cord). I was pretty out of it because of the Demoral, and I thought I heard our pastor praying. I was very embarrased because I was still in the stirrups. It turned out that when Kelsey was born dead that our OB (who is Catholic) baptized her and gave her last rites. I hold no ill-will toward him for this; rather I thought it was very sweet on his part to go this extra step for our precious little girl.
Again, labor ceased with her birth. I still had one more baby. The next day went well, and the next, and the next. Kelsey was born on a Tuesday. By Sunday, we were rejoicing that I was still pregnant. This baby had a chance.
That afternoon, the doctor told me that the infection that causes contractions when the water brakes was returning. They upped my antibiotics; they increased my anti-contraction medication. Sunday night was long and painful as the contractions continued. Monday morning, James came to be with me; I told him what was going on, and we did something that we hadn't had the opportunity to do.
We wrote a birth plan. Our child was coming, there was nothing we could do to stop it, so we made our wishes known. For the nurses, our situation was awkward, because we all knew what was going to happen. So to make it easy on them, James took it to the nurses' station. They couldn't believe that we had the presence of mind to do it. He told them that we had already done this three times so we knew what to expect. The doctor came to check on me around noon. He was quiet, and said he would be right back. The nurses came in very quickly. One of them gave me a shot for pain. I was a little confused because I had not been moved to delivery. He came back in very soon in scrubs. There was no time to move me. I protested that my water hadn't broke; he said it didn't matter that the baby could be born in the sac. I think he sensed that I was very upset about this, so he broke my water.
Our son, Joshua Ross, was born in less than five minutes. We were so surprised! A boy! I wouldn't believe it until I saw him for myself. He was our biggest--he weighed in at a hefty 14 1/4 ounces (almost a pound). He was quite large for a baby of his age. Size did not help him though, he was unable to breath. He also lived two hours. We made arrangements with the cemetary and the funeral home to exhume our daughter's coffin, dig the hole deeper, and re-inter them. As we did with Kimberly and Jamie, Kelsey and Joshua were buried in the same coffin, and theirs was placed on top of the other. All four babies are in the same grave waiting for the shout from heaven that will set them free. We decided that it would be best for my body to rest for a while. No more babies for now.
Eight months later, I experienced another "unexplainable" spontaneous pregnancy and miscarriage. I threw myself into work. I became as involved as possible with church and family activities. I also suffered from terrifying nightmares of the most horrible things happening to our beloved 18 month old nephew. I didn't sleep well for a long time. We joined two support groups, and that helped alot. In March of 1995, we read about a new medication that would aid in the conception for people with PCOD that had a lower risk of multiple births. After much prayer and discussion with family, we decided to try "one more time". The medication worked the first month, and the ultrasound revealed just one precious little beating heart.
I changed OB-GYN's this time--not because the others had done anything wrong; I just couldn't go in there again. My new doctors decided to perform a cerclage at 14 weeks--they stitched my cervix shut (under general anesthesia) to keep me from dialting. I was also put on partial bed rest. I was allowed to shower, go to the doctor, attend one church service a week (not even Sunday School and Sunday morning--only Sunday morning), and I could go to my parent's house and lie on their couch for a change of scenery and that was it. We had many ultrasounds done to make sure that everything was continuing on, and the baby did well.
I successfully passed 22 weeks, and breathed a little sigh of relief. I passed 28 weeks, and I was ready to party--even if my baby came then, they had a chance. The church threw a huge baby shower for us. That was the longest I had been up for quite a while. I was scheduled to be induced at 37 weeks on December 19. The day before, we went to the doctor. They did an ultrasound (I was measuring 42 weeks), and said that the baby was not big--just long.
They did an amniocentesis to make sure that the lungs were developed (no problem there), then they took out the stitches that had been put in so long before. I was sent home to walk, walk, walk. The next morning we went to the hospital and induction began. That was worse than any other labor I had ever experienced. Fortunately, the epidural worked; unfortunately, the induction did not. Sarah Rose Everette was delivered that evening by C-section at 6:05 p.m.
There was a noise in the room that I could not identify. I asked the anesthesiologist what it was. He laughed and said "That's your baby crying!" I had never heard anything like that before! It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was breathing, and crying, and perfect! She is our happy ending. She is now 10 years old. She doesn't replace any of her sisters or brothers, but God gave her to us as a testimony of his unending grace.
I was crying, and when we were alone, the nurse asked me why I was crying. I told her I was scared because I didn't know what was wrong (I was thinking tumor--cancer). I was completely floored when the doctor later told me that I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage (where the placenta is still in the uterus, even though the baby had been passed previously). It was a very early pregnancy--probably 6-8 weeks. My cyles were very irregular, and we had not even seriously discussed having a baby, so this was a real surprise. I was in such shock when I left the doctor's, I went to the school to pick up my pay check, and drove to two different banks before going home and calling James and then my mom. James left work and came straight home. My mom said she was afraid that that was the case.
Physically, in a few days, I was fine. Emotionally, it did a number on me. The strongest emotion I remember feeling besides grief was embarrassment--my body was not able to do what everyone else could. Since I had not known I was pregnant, people found out about everything all at once. I became convinced that I could fix it by having a baby. That became a very long journey.
At this time in our lives, God introduced the most caring, compassionate pastor that we had ever met--Rev. M. L. Walters, Jr. (the brother of our current pastor--Ken Walters). God had used tragedy in his life (the suicide of his son, David), to prepare him to help us deal with what we would be facing.
I was unable to get pregnant again. I went to my OB-GYN, and he put me on some pills. They did not help. I went through a blood workup and it was discovered that I suffered from polycystic ovary disease (instead of eggs being released from the ovary and going down the fallopian tube, they stick to the ovary) and could not ovulate. I decided to go to a fertility specialist because I could not go to my doctor and sit in a waiting room of pregnant women.
We met with the specialist in November. He was very surprised, but encouraged, that I had become pregnant on my own. Just for the sake of argument, he had me try another month of pills, and monitored me closely. There was no activity. Then came one of the more interesting trials. If I wanted to have a baby, I would have to undergo a two-week series of (very expensive) daily injections. You have to understand that I was deathly afraid of needles to appreciate the humor in this. Oh, the other part of this is that James had to give them to me every evening!
Every morning or so for the rest of the round, I had to go to the specialist and have blood drawn (another needle) to check my hormone levels, and sometimes an ultrasound to count the eggs as they matured (I actually had 23 follicles that responded, but my estrogen level only allowed for the possibility of three to release).
Finally, I was told to take the chemical that would cause me to ovulate. Then, it was time to wait.....that was the longest 4 weeks (they would not do a pregnancy test until 2 weeks after my cyle was late). My cycle did not come, but that was not unusual. I could not do a home test, because with my condition, they don't come out correctly. The day for the test came. It was positive! I was pregnant at last. I took the test with me and went straight to James' office to let him know, then I went to my mom's office (she worked for our family physician at the time, and one of the doctor's there was best buddies with my specialist). Our family was thrilled!
We had to wait 6 more weeks for an ultrasound. More waiting. The morning of the test, we arrived before the staff was even there. I was not feeling well, and the thought of someone pressing on my stomach was not something I was looking forward to, but I just had to see my baby. There was a nurse-midwife who worked for this doctor who had been through all of this herself--even had the same disease as me--and was the perfect person to work with me. She did my ultrasound that morning. I could see the monitor beside my head, she was at my side, and James was crouched down behind her. We all saw it at the same time--"there's one little heart beating...and there's another one!" What a shock! Thinking I would never have a baby to finding out that I was going to have two!! I remember it was a Wednesday, because we had church that night. James went to work, I went to my mom's office to show her the surprise, then I went to work and told everyone!! That was in February.
That year I was the school librarian, so it was not so much time on my feet, etc. My OB-GYN's office took excellent care of me. Even though I began my pregnancy overwight, they still were concerned that I did not gain a significant amount of weight. The babies were growing well, so there was no cause for alarm. By the end of the school year, I was 20 weeks, and my doctor said that it was time to take it easy. I was all for that.
It was Memorial Day weekend. We had a wedding at church on Saturday; our family drove to my brother's on Sunday, then back to my mom's house. We decided because I was so tired to spend the night at my mom's. I got up with James that Monday morning to drive him to work, then I headed home. As I pulled out of the driveway of his business, I went over the little bump, and I felt a pop. The whole way home I told myself that it was just a gas bubble. I talked and sang to the babies the whole way home, but I could not get the sense of dread out of my mind that something was wrong. When I got out of the car, fluid poured out of me. At first I thought I had wet my pants, but I couldn't make it stop. I knew. I pressed my knees together as hard as I could, and went into our house. I headed straight for the restroom, grabbing the phone on my way through. Then I tried to call my OB-GYN's office (8:30 on a Monday morning). I got the answering service. They had the doctor on call call me back. She didn't really think that my water had broken, but told me to go to the office and that someone would see me. I called James and my mom and they both met me there. The doctor did an ultrasound, and it was plainly visible that one of the amniotic sacs had a large tear in it. I was sent to the hospital where it was hoped that nothing further would happen. That was June 1.
The next day, I began to run a fever. That afternoon, contractions began. Despite everyone's efforts, Kimberly Joy Everette was born that evening. It was very quiet when she was born. She was immediately taken over to the warming station to be examined by a neonatologist. At 21 weeks, her lungs were too undeveloped, and there was nothing that could be done.
They brought her to me, and I was totally unprepared for what she looked like. She weighed 10 1/2 ounces and was 11 1/2 inches long. She was beautiful. She looked just like James. I stared at her in my arms. She was alive, but so still. The nurse asked me a question, and when I answered her, Kimberly turned her face to me. She could hear me! We made the decision to keep her with us (they did volunteer to take her away), and we held her, and talked to her, and showed her to our family that had come. She lived for two hours, before her tiny heart stopped beating. We stayed in the delivery room, waiting to see if I would deliver the second twin. Several hours later, there were still no contractions, so I was sent back to my room to rest.
They day was uneventful and hopeful, until the contractions returned about 3:00 that afternoon. That night, Jamie Lynn Everette entered the room exactly 24 hours to the minute that her sister had died. She weighed two ounces more than Kimberly, and looked just like her mother. The OB-GYN called everyone he could think of while I was in labor to see if anyone felt that she could be viable, but the answer was the same. Two hours later, Jamie joined her sister in eternal slumber. It was 4:00 in the morning when I was returned to my room.
I stayed in the hospital one more day. We did not go home. We stayed at my mom's for a few days so that someone would be with me (James had to go to work). That Sunday, Pastor (M.L.) Walters held a graveside service for us. We buried the girls in the same coffin. It didn't look like a coffin; it looked like a styrofoam cooler that you buy for $2 at the store. The service was comforting and reassuring, and Pastor closed it by having everyone (about 40 people) sing "Jesus Loves Me".
After this, we went home. I tried to put my maternity clothes and the few baby things that we had bought away, but I couldn't touch it. I did not leave the house except to go to church or my Mom's. My parents took us on vacation the next month to help us "get over it". I decided that the best thing to do was to get pregnant again--soon. I was told to wait three months. I went back to the specialist's office, declaring that I was ready to try again.
Just as before, I conceived the very first month. Before Kimberly and Jamie's due date rolled around, I was once again pregnant with twins. In my deluded state, I suppose to escape the horrible reality that I had been through, I was even able to briefly convince myself that it hadn't happened--that it was still the same pregnancy. Fortunately, I snapped out of that.
Christmas came, and I was once again swelling as my babies grew. At the end of January in 1993, I had to be hospitalized with a non-pregnancy issue. I was on a Demerol pump for severe pain for three days. The morning I was to go home, I was feeling well. I was preparing to go home, when I was overcome with severe pain. That pain turned out to be dialation--to 5 centimeters. I called for the nurse, and everyone came quickly--including my OB. One of the sacs was bulging through. I was turned almost upside down to try to coax it back in. I was also given magnesium-sulfate to stop contractions. Unfortunately, this made me violently ill. As I threw up, my water broke. I turned to my mom to tell her, and she said she knew, everyone had heard it. At this point (20 weeks), the unthinkable was occurring again.
That afternoon, our daughter, Kelsey Rae, was stillborn (she had become tangled in her own cord). I was pretty out of it because of the Demoral, and I thought I heard our pastor praying. I was very embarrased because I was still in the stirrups. It turned out that when Kelsey was born dead that our OB (who is Catholic) baptized her and gave her last rites. I hold no ill-will toward him for this; rather I thought it was very sweet on his part to go this extra step for our precious little girl.
Again, labor ceased with her birth. I still had one more baby. The next day went well, and the next, and the next. Kelsey was born on a Tuesday. By Sunday, we were rejoicing that I was still pregnant. This baby had a chance.
That afternoon, the doctor told me that the infection that causes contractions when the water brakes was returning. They upped my antibiotics; they increased my anti-contraction medication. Sunday night was long and painful as the contractions continued. Monday morning, James came to be with me; I told him what was going on, and we did something that we hadn't had the opportunity to do.
We wrote a birth plan. Our child was coming, there was nothing we could do to stop it, so we made our wishes known. For the nurses, our situation was awkward, because we all knew what was going to happen. So to make it easy on them, James took it to the nurses' station. They couldn't believe that we had the presence of mind to do it. He told them that we had already done this three times so we knew what to expect. The doctor came to check on me around noon. He was quiet, and said he would be right back. The nurses came in very quickly. One of them gave me a shot for pain. I was a little confused because I had not been moved to delivery. He came back in very soon in scrubs. There was no time to move me. I protested that my water hadn't broke; he said it didn't matter that the baby could be born in the sac. I think he sensed that I was very upset about this, so he broke my water.
Our son, Joshua Ross, was born in less than five minutes. We were so surprised! A boy! I wouldn't believe it until I saw him for myself. He was our biggest--he weighed in at a hefty 14 1/4 ounces (almost a pound). He was quite large for a baby of his age. Size did not help him though, he was unable to breath. He also lived two hours. We made arrangements with the cemetary and the funeral home to exhume our daughter's coffin, dig the hole deeper, and re-inter them. As we did with Kimberly and Jamie, Kelsey and Joshua were buried in the same coffin, and theirs was placed on top of the other. All four babies are in the same grave waiting for the shout from heaven that will set them free. We decided that it would be best for my body to rest for a while. No more babies for now.
Eight months later, I experienced another "unexplainable" spontaneous pregnancy and miscarriage. I threw myself into work. I became as involved as possible with church and family activities. I also suffered from terrifying nightmares of the most horrible things happening to our beloved 18 month old nephew. I didn't sleep well for a long time. We joined two support groups, and that helped alot. In March of 1995, we read about a new medication that would aid in the conception for people with PCOD that had a lower risk of multiple births. After much prayer and discussion with family, we decided to try "one more time". The medication worked the first month, and the ultrasound revealed just one precious little beating heart.
I changed OB-GYN's this time--not because the others had done anything wrong; I just couldn't go in there again. My new doctors decided to perform a cerclage at 14 weeks--they stitched my cervix shut (under general anesthesia) to keep me from dialting. I was also put on partial bed rest. I was allowed to shower, go to the doctor, attend one church service a week (not even Sunday School and Sunday morning--only Sunday morning), and I could go to my parent's house and lie on their couch for a change of scenery and that was it. We had many ultrasounds done to make sure that everything was continuing on, and the baby did well.
I successfully passed 22 weeks, and breathed a little sigh of relief. I passed 28 weeks, and I was ready to party--even if my baby came then, they had a chance. The church threw a huge baby shower for us. That was the longest I had been up for quite a while. I was scheduled to be induced at 37 weeks on December 19. The day before, we went to the doctor. They did an ultrasound (I was measuring 42 weeks), and said that the baby was not big--just long.
They did an amniocentesis to make sure that the lungs were developed (no problem there), then they took out the stitches that had been put in so long before. I was sent home to walk, walk, walk. The next morning we went to the hospital and induction began. That was worse than any other labor I had ever experienced. Fortunately, the epidural worked; unfortunately, the induction did not. Sarah Rose Everette was delivered that evening by C-section at 6:05 p.m.
There was a noise in the room that I could not identify. I asked the anesthesiologist what it was. He laughed and said "That's your baby crying!" I had never heard anything like that before! It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was breathing, and crying, and perfect! She is our happy ending. She is now 10 years old. She doesn't replace any of her sisters or brothers, but God gave her to us as a testimony of his unending grace.
I know this was very long, but it was a very long journey. This June, it will be 14 years since Kimberly and Jamie entered our lives. It never goes away. We did not lose them; we know where they are. Pastor M.L. Walters told us so many times "As long as you know where they are, you can never consider them lost. You did not lose them; they are your treasure in heaven."
Thank you again,
Valerie
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