Keeping The Faith

Some big decisions in life can suddenly be thrust upon us and can impact our inner core forever.

Sometimes these decisions need to be made when you are incapable of doing so alone.

Sometimes people mysteriously enter our lives to assist and impact that decision.

On March 24th, 2011, my wife and I unexpectedly encountered an event that blindsided us and broke our hearts.

One man took our hands and guided us through the worst 72 hours of our marriage.

Monsignor Daniel Logan took my phone call that afternoon and directed me to a decision that avoided us a lifetime of pain and directed us towards a path of healing.

If you knew Father Logan, you know that he didn’t “advise” you on anything. He told you directly what to do.

Old school.

But just what we needed that afternoon.

March 24th, 2011

“Something doesn’t look right.”

Four words you never want to hear in a doctor’s office.

Mariana and I digested the warning as we stared blankly at the screen above us.

When it became clear there was no longer a heartbeat to our twenty-week unborn daughter, time seemed to stop.

After allowing us fifteen minutes of alone time, Mariana’s OBGYN began to explain to us the beginning steps of dealing with the loss.

Mariana would need to go to the hospital that evening to prep for delivery the next morning.

The same place where we hoped to welcome a baby girl to join our five year & four-year-old sons in four months.

For some reason, that news shocked me.

“Doesn’t it kinda just go away?” I foolishly thought to myself.

Little did I know that I expected the emotional pain to “just go away” as well.

Were it that easy.

Having already experienced two first term miscarriages in addition to the births of two healthy boys, we knew better than most that nothing was guaranteed in the game of creating life.

Still, for many reasons, the reality of the news hit us much harder than the first two disappointments.

I was 46 years old, and Mariana was 40. We both knew there was not going to be many more attempts in the future.

So off we went to the delivery ward of Baptist South Hospital.

Just not for the reason we hoped.

March 25th, 2011

Part of being Irish is the ability to seek humor in moments of darkness.

Another part of that heritage is sometimes pretending something didn’t really happen.

Once we arrived at the maternity ward, we received a corner room at the end of the hall. As Mariana and I waited for her medicine to do its job, we sat together and talked. Our slightly opened door allowed us to see and hear families celebrating newborns entering the world.

For some reason, we found this very amusing and humorous. Perhaps because of the irony or perhaps because we were in some sort of denial.

After Mariana delivered our daughter, the nurse asked us if we wanted to give her a name.

During the first five months of pregnancy, Mariana and I engaged in “spirited” conversations about the name.

Completely physically and emotionally spent, Mariana waved her hand away at me and gave me the “you do it” look.

I did not waste a second.

“Savannah Theresa McGarry!”

Mariana turned in her bed and gave me the stink eye. And then we both laughed.

But neither of us understood or appreciated the consequence of that decision.

I was able to hold our baby in my hands for about a half hour. I could not believe how I could easily detect Mariana’s face in this twenty-week unborn fetus.

I found none of this horrifying. Rather, I found it to be extremely calm, warm and peaceful.

I felt full of light.

I even used an instant camera provided by the hospital and took pictures.

For some reason, it just seemed natural to do so.

Like when Shane and Jonathan were born.

Decision Time

When the nurse eventually asked me if I wanted to call a funeral home or allow the hospital to handle the unborn baby in a “respectful manner”, I froze and could not answer.

Our brief time with our unborn daughter was coming to an end and the cold harsh reality of next steps hit us like a punch to the stomach.

What drove me to call my parish, Our Lady Star of the Sea, I really do not know.

I just knew that I did not have an answer to the question and I needed somebody's help quickly. I knew enough that neither my wife nor I owned the experience or emotional detachment to make a decision.

The church operator patched me into the one person who would take control of our nightmare.

Our pastor, Monsignor Logan, firmly directed me to do nothing and sign no papers until he sent a priest to the hospital.

Best advice that I ever received and followed.

By the time Father Steven arrived at our room, Monsignor already contacted the local crematorium and made all the logistical decisions.

He also asked us to call him when we were ready to hold the funeral mass.

I stepped outside the room to call our family and deliver the tough news. After doing so, I walked to a corner window and stared outside at the parking lot for quite some time.

Reality hit me hard, and no Irish humor could save me from that moment.

Mariana’s doctor pulled a chair next to me, put his arm around me, said absolutely nothing, and we both cried.

After Mariana and I told our boys what happened, we both knew that we needed to stop trying for another child.

There was nothing left in the tank to ever repeat that day.

A Regret

After the funeral mass, I made a decision that I still regret today.

I went back to work a day later.

Complete mistake.

After my sister’s murder ten years earlier, bachelor Patrick went back to work and threw himself into his job at full force to make the pain go away.

To try to forget what happened.

Mariana’s mom and sister stayed for a few days, and I felt like they could do a better job at handling the initial pain with her.

I would find time to do so later.

Or so I thought.

I never tried to process the photos of Savannah until ten years later.

Why not?

Probably because I could not process the totality of the event.

I just kept that Kodak Instant Camera on the top of my dresser and never touched it.

In a way, it was like not letting go of Savannah.

A Irish Blessing

Father Daniel Logan

Though I regret not taking time off in the days following the loss of our unborn daughter, I will always feel blessed that I called Monsignor Logan and followed all his advice.

By placing a name to our unborn daughter, we memorialized the loss with a name.

I had no clue whatsoever how important that decision would be.

Though I rate as a subpar Catholic on many levels, my faith in joining loved ones someday fuels me during difficult times like losing Savannah.

We placed her ashes in the church Columbarium and plan to rest in peace someday with her in the same place.

The Columbarium was provided by Monsignor Logan as part of his grace and compassion to my family on March 26th.

During crisis moments, some people just seem to come along at the right time and give you some of the best advice you ever received.

For me, a tough old Irish priest from County Kildare, gave me some of the best counsel ever and reminded me a critical life lesson.

We all need help sometimes trying to figure stuff out.

You just gotta ask.

If you keep the faith, you can survive anything.

Peace & Love

Patrick McGarry

July 24, 2022

Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida

Written in memory of Daniel Logan and Savannah Teresa McGarry