Grace

Several weeks before Cori died our local newspaper printed an article about a new publication for women: Stories
with Grace. Grace was the woman who had started the publication. They were asking for articles from local
women about their daily lives. I submitted what you read below to them. They chose not to print it. I feel it was
because of my faith and unabashed talk of the death of my child that it was not published.
© 2004 Stacy Berndtson

New World Dictionary lists one of the definitions of the word “Grace:” A delay granted for payment of an
obligation; another: the love and favor of God toward man. But as I pondered the first I came to the
understanding that God didn’t just delay our payment for our debt, or obligation, He removed it. Jesus,
God’s own son paid our debt, on a cross, took away death that we might live with Him forevermore. Now
THAT’S grace.

When I first read that the next issue of Stories with Grace was themed “birth,” I wanted to tell in detail the
special story of my daughter’s birth. Since then my life has been changed forever. I write today a different
woman than I was just three short months ago. I do not know whether my story will be printed, though I
am compelled to send it in, just in case.

I married my husband at the age of 26 in 1989. We started to try for a family right away. But this was not
to be, so after many attempts we began to accept that we might never be parents, biologically. It only
takes one sentence to say that, but it took years to accept. In 1996 we decided to become foster parents.
We went from no children to a family of four, overnight. It was hard. Though they were only three and
six, they had been through so much that the word “baggage” couldn’t begin to imply what was ahead of
us. We fought for their rights in school; in court; whenever and wherever they needed advocates we
were there. We tried and I believe were successful in providing them with as much of a safe, stable loving
environment as anyone could have. The day we got the call that after two years of court battles and heart
wrenching ups and downs they were eligible for adoption, was the same day that someone suggested to
me perhaps I didn’t have an ulcer, maybe I was pregnant!

After ten years of marriage, what couldn’t be, suddenly was. A baby was on her way! We felt that the
decision to adopt was too important to be making when we were in the throes of morning sickness and
preparation for the day we had thought would never come. Our darling Corinne Joy was born November
15, 1999. The pregnancy had gone relatively well but the birth turned traumatic when she got stuck in
the birth canal. Thankfully, our doctor was able to take Cori out but not without an injury called Brachial
Plexis.   After such a scary entry into this world, she spent her first week of life in the NICU. At her six week
check up the doctor told me that he felt her muscle tone was too loose and wanted a neurologist to see
her. After five minutes the neurologist told us she had Cerebral Palsy, to get her into therapy and love her.
And so began our journey into the world of a special needs child. By Cori’s first birthday it would be
determined that CP was an incorrect diagnosis. We made the difficult decision to let our foster children be
adopted by a couple who could give them everything they needed. We knew we couldn’t do that. Today
they are living very happily in another state and we are still in contact with them.

We spent two and a half years searching for a true diagnosis for Cori Joy. She endured many medical
procedures to that end. It was always our hope that if we found out what was wrong, we could
somehow help her. Cori never walked, crawled or sat on her own, although by August 2002 she could
say or attempt to say over 30 words and could almost roll over on her own. However, after another
diagnostic test under anesthesia, all her accomplishments vanished. Though we will never know, it is
believed Cori’s problems stemmed from an undetected Mitochondrial Disorder.

The year 2003 consisted of feeding pumps, oxygen tanks, oxygen monitors, over ten seizure meds per day
that had to be crushed up and diluted in water so that they could be put through the feeding pump, and
suctioning sometimes dozens of times per day. Biweekly trips to Children’s Hospital in Seattle. Two calls to
911 because she had turned blue. A week long stay at Children’s in May and a month long stay at
Children’s in August. Nurses in my home daily after being released from the hospital.
And a smile every single morning. When she was just an infant my husband would ask how long we had
to have the baby monitor in our room…the answer to that was…three years and 364 days. She would
make her little “I’m awake now” sounds and I would go in and say, “Is anyone here awake?” and look
down upon the most beautiful smile I will ever look on in my life. It didn’t matter what the day would hold
for her. It didn’t matter what the night had held. Same smile every morning for three years and 363 days.
On day 364 my little girl did not wake up. The next day was to have been her 4th birthday. My miracle
baby did not celebrate that birthday here on earth.

For me, Cori’s story does not end there, that day in November 2003. Four years may not seem like
very long, but I believe this child had an important message, not just for me and her daddy, but for every
one of us. I think part of her message would be that we each need to consider our own views on death
and dying. No one likes to think it could be their child, or themselves, but the fact is, we, every single one
of us is only one breath away from not existing on this planet anymore.

Because of the grace of God, I KNOW where Cori Joy is. And it’s a REAL place called Heaven. Not a
fairytale place of clouds and spirits floating endlessly through space, but a place where real people live, and
play and praise. There are many things I don’t know about Heaven. Cori may be wearing a white robe
and I don’t know if angels really have wings, but I do know that her smile is still as bright and her blue eyes
still sparkle like diamonds. Everything she could not do here, she can do there. And I am counting on
being with her again one day. Holding her in my arms and touching her long blond hair and kissing
forever those sweet pink cheeks.

     I simply refuse to believe that this life is all there is. It doesn’t make sense to me that Cori’s life had no
meaning other than the four years of time and space she inhabited. How could anyone look at this picture
of Cori or look into the faces of their own children and really believe that at the end of their days all they
have to look forward to is coming back as an ant or squirrel? And if we are “God” as some believe…why is
there still death? Surely someone who calls themselves God would have figured out a way to remove
death from their own future.

Today, there are no more machines, no more feeding tubes, no more medicines. But there are also no
more smiles every morning. I dedicated the last four years of my life to Cori. Everything I did, I did for her
or because of her. I miss her so much, only those of you who have walked this journey of grief know just
how I long for her. I do not know what my future holds, and most days I feel very lost. What consumes
my mind now is learning more about where Cori lives and making sure that I will join her there one day. I
also have a desire like never before to share what I believe with those I meet along the way, and challenge
them to at least think about where they want to be the moment after they take their last breath. Search
your hearts, question your beliefs. Can you really trust what you believe, especially in the face of death? I
pray that you can. I pray that when you consider your eternity, you find what I find when memories of Cori
flood my heart. Complete assurance. There, standing in my place, taking away the lasting sting of death, so
that I too will join my child one day, forever...is the Grace of God…His son Jesus Christ.

In Loving Memory of Corinne Joy Berndtson
Beloved only child of Steve and Stacy Berndtson
     November 15, 1999 – November 14, 2003