Bella's Gift

by Rick Santorum

  Bella’s diagnosis was particularly crippling. I had buried a child once. God could not allow that to happen again. I was sure I could not bear to lose another child, and for the first year of her life, I lived in fear. I reacted as a protective mother and went into survival mode. But as the years went on, I learned how to be a mother again, how to love and care for my child with different needs. Bella brought great joy to our family, and we adjusted to life with our little girl. But the truth is, I felt terribly isolated and alone.

  Three years after her birth, Rick gave his testimony about Bella at the Iowa Thanksgiving Family Forum. He told the audience that he had once felt disconnected from Bella, that he didn’t let himself fully love her until she was hospitalized several months after her birth. I was stunned and deeply hurt that he would have shared something so raw and private. Unfortunately, as he said earlier in this book, his words inaccurately expressed what had really gone on in his heart and mind. Rick had made it appear as though he did not love Bella, when in fact he did love her. What he’d failed to do was love her completely because the pain from the loss of Gabriel had left a huge hole in Rick’s heart. The thought of losing another child was unbearable to Rick, but this was the crucial point he left out of his answer at the Iowa Thanksgiving Family Forum.

  Whereas I had carried the fear and pain of loss and translated it into protective and definite action, Rick had emotionally distanced himself from Bella because of that same fear. If he didn’t allow himself to embrace Bella completely, he thought he wouldn’t be hurt when we lost her. He insulated his heart, guarding it from letting her in until she was on death’s doorstep. I could see why he would be tempted to do this. It’s almost instinctual to protect your heart from pain. It’s a very normal human response to the overwhelming experience of pain, and losing a child is undoubtedly one of the worst types of pain a parent can endure. I knew, and after experiencing it in the NICU with so many parents, I understood. But it is also instinctual to love and fiercely protect your child.

  At first I felt heartbroken that Rick would share his story about Bella in such a public fashion. This was an issue I thought should have been kept within the privacy of our family. I revolted at the thought of his even hinting he had not loved Bella, because it wasn’t true. I knew that his faith in God and love for Bella were beyond question. His acceptance and understanding of Bella’s diagnosis was a process, as it was for me.

  Rick could pray, and as heartbroken as he was, he was at peace with what was happening, but he put up a wall, emotionally separating himself from Bella. The distance allowed him to hold it together, but I was drowning in despair as I fought for Bella’s life. Pregnancy, childbirth, and nursing have a way of turning a mother into a grizzly bear.

  In the first few years of Bella’s life, we weren’t living at the foot of the cross; rather, we were on the cross. Rick and I had spent the last nineteen years of our lives on a spiritual journey together. We went to Mass, prayed as a family every day, went on retreats, studied sacred Scripture, and read books to help us grow in our faith and love of Christ. We loved our Lord deeply. But when it came time for me to completely live my faith, I felt as though I had failed my test of faith! The words of Saint Peter kept going through my mind: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). There was no place to go except to Christ, but at times it felt as if He were so far away.

  We had very different understandings of what following God’s will meant. For Rick, it meant abandonment to Divine Providence, no matter the outcome. I agreed. But that didn’t mean we shouldn’t open our hearts to Bella for as long as she was going to be here. In my heart, I knew God had given us our Bella to love, protect, and to fight for, no matter the challenges or personal sacrifice it would entail.

  As with any married couple, Rick and I are of different temperaments, and it was so noticeable during this time. He’s the cool-headed, steady Eddie, and I’m the feisty Irish woman. I recall a conversation with my dear friend Muriel, and I was bawling my eyes out. I told her I felt like a bear and my claws never came in. I really did not want to feel this way all the time. I wanted to be at peace, like Rick, but at the time it was like being in a war zone, and it was my child I was fighting for.

  In the day-to-day of ordinary life, Rick was an outstanding father to Bella. After her birth he cared for her just as he had for our other babies. He held her, fed her, rocked her, sang to her, and was a doting father. He was just so afraid of losing Bella. His heart ached at the thought, and he carried that dread with him for five months. Then, the moment of truth dawned as he stood at the hospital bedside of his five-month-old daughter as she fought for her life. He saw that, although he had gone through the motions of fatherhood, he had hardened his heart out of fear. He wept.

  Ever since that day, Bella has had Rick wrapped around her little finger. He has devoted himself to learning all the intricate details of her care: how to feed her with a nasogastric tube and then a Mini button, how to use the feeding pump and syringes, how to administer medications, how to use the oxygen concentrator and cylinders with the nasal cannulas or mask, how to do nebulizer treatments, and so on. Rick, and the entire family, took a two-day course to get Red Cross certified in infant and adult CPR and emergency medicine. He has always been involved with every aspect of Bella’s care, every single day. Even when I felt isolated, he was right at my side, loving me, loving Bella, and holding our family together.

  Rick’s faith and love provided a pillar of strength for our family and me during those painful times, even when I didn’t want to see it. He held me through many tear-filled nights, he told me that we were going to get through this together, and he took care of me when the pain from my broken heart was too much to bear. We were both hurting and needed each other more than ever. Rick was constantly with our children and me during this time. When Bella was in the hospital, he brought the children to and from the hospital, took them out for ice cream or lunch, and held them as they cried. I remember many occasions when Rick and I would fall asleep on hospital benches sitting next to each other.

  At the beginning, when Rick and I contemplated our futures, we had planned our lives by “the rule,” never anticipating the exception. As I said, “I do,” I thought I knew perfect happiness; I thought I knew love and that I couldn’t love him more, but our love has only deepened and strengthened over time. Therein lies the beauty and the challenge of marriage: you share in both together. What could have torn us apart drew us together, thanks be to God.

  Anyone who sets out on a journey, seeking adventure, often does so with the intention of being changed. Traveling, exploring, and discovering are all formative experiences. But there is nothing in life that compares to the thrill, the adventure, of journeying through the peaks and valleys of this life with your soul mate. It changed me, and it changed us together as our hearts were refined in both fire and joy.

  When newlywed couples ask me for advice, I always tell them it is good to understand that marriage is never fifty-fifty. Sometimes, whether it’s emotionally, physically, or spiritually, one of you will need the encouragement and strength of the other. You will give 90 percent. Sometimes you’ll receive that. Believe and love each other through the imbalances. Don’t be afraid to sacrifice for the other, because there’s no room for selfishness in marriage. The other piece of advice for married couples comes from Ephesians 4:26: “Do not let the sun go down on your anger.” Rick always says, “I’m not going anywhere, so let’s just work it out.” Amen.

  Rick and I were blessed to have strong marriages to emulate. My parents were in their sixty-seventh year of marriage when my dad died, and Rick’s parents were in their fifty-fifth year of marriage when his father died. They had very different marriages, but they were strong and built on solid foundations. I can still see my parents in the day to day of their loving and affectionate marriage. They were so in love and would look at each other with that special look only true lovers have. The fire of their love n
ever waned, and they truly enjoyed being together. They always lived a Christlike life, worked hard, laughed with sheer joy, sang the funniest songs, read a lot of books, traveled in retirement to their beach home, and took the time to dance. Theirs was a match made in heaven.

  I can still see my parents in our garden on the chilly misty mornings every spring as they taught me and my brothers and sisters how to prepare the soil and plant the seeds. They loved working in the garden together. As the sun warmed the earth, my parents never failed to delight when the seeds sprouted into various fruit and vegetable plants. My parents were brilliant, but they were filled with a childlike wonder and appreciation about the world. We watered and weeded and complained, and my parents would sing songs to keep us working.

  Our gardens produced an abundance of fruits and vegetables, and a typical summer meal was a huge and colorful vegetable platter. We’d be up all hours of the night week after week making jams, sauces, and pies. Our conversations were at times deep and insightful—and sometimes really funny—but there was always something to learn. Throughout the years, our gardens were an important part of my formation.

  Being in a large family also meant there were always chores to do. We also took sewing lessons for years and made a lot of our clothes. The daily needs and care of a large family were hard work that required patience and fortitude. There’s no doubt that the values my parents instilled in me when I was growing up have given me the faith and inner strength to have the marriage and family life I now have, as well as to endure the journey with Bella for these past seven years.

  When I think of our time in the NICU and how five words changed our lives forever, it reaffirms in me the truth that hope in Christ is everything. Truth is, He was preparing me for Bella’s birth during my upbringing and in blessing me with my parents and family. Bella’s Trisomy 18 diagnosis was a sword that pierced my heart, but it was the solid foundation rooted in faith and family that has made all the difference. Without it I could not have weathered the storm, but with Christ as a guiding light and the strength from my family, anything is possible.

  The uncertainties of youth allow their own sort of freedom. Back in the younger phases of my life, the unknown, though sometimes scary, evoked feelings of hope, not fear. Unfortunately, I have seen that as you love more and more, fear is a very human reaction. There is more to lose. Loss: a word I didn’t really understand until Gabriel. I believe that God gave us the gift of Bella for many reasons, but one of the most important reasons was to revisit and strengthen my understanding of love through the fear of loss.

  Through Bella’s life, Rick and I both understood that “there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). As Rick and I said our marital vows, I thought I could not have possibly loved him more, but now, after knowing him for twenty-six years, I do. I did not think that weathering the storms we’ve gone through together would bring us closer, but in our journey through life, our love has matured and deepened. Our love for each other and for our Lord has unified us through all the ups and downs. The twists and turns of life have brought us even closer together.

  Twenty-six years later we thank God every day for the gift of our love and marriage and know we are blessed to have each other. Twenty-six years later and our journey through life continues.

  14

  LOVE ENCOURAGES SELFLESSNESS

  • Rick Santorum •

  By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.

  —1 JOHN 3:16

  When I speak about the family, I often recite a litany of firsts. The family is the first economy, the first hospital, the first school, and so forth. In a healthy family environment, the family takes care of the needs of each of its members. Families are the foundation of society, so when families are healthy, so is the country. There are many reasons families function well. The most obvious are that they know one another and their wants and needs, and they tend to one another’s needs by serving one another out of love. It goes without saying that the more members of the family give of themselves to one another in the home, the happier and healthier the family.

  While the family has changed and the web of support varies widely, the family still is the place where almost everyone learns life’s most important lessons. I mean every member of the family, not just children. Take, for example, selflessness. My parents taught me the importance of service to others, starting first with our family. All of us had responsibilities beyond taking care of our own stuff that served the family enterprise. While we were also “encouraged,” to put it mildly, to serve others by volunteering in the community, we all knew that family came first.

  I can remember many times when a friend wanted me to come over to help on a project at his house and the first comment out of my dad’s mouth was “Did you finish your chores?” or “Did you ask your mother whether she needs your help on something?” It’s not that he didn’t want to help the neighbor, but family was first, period.

  The best way my parents taught me selflessness was by modeling it in their lives. They each worked forty years serving our nation’s injured veterans at several VA hospitals across our country. After work they devoted themselves to giving us a shot at the American dream. They were products of the Great Depression, so they learned to defer gratification and save for the future. And save they did. We lived in World War II–era public rental housing on the VA post all during my childhood. We drove used cars, and, with two or three exceptions, vacations consisted of visiting relatives and staying at their homes. But they saved money in order to invest in our future by sending us to Catholic grade school and paying for our undergraduate college education.

  My dad, who was an immigrant to this country and grew up in poverty during the Depression, lived in a company-owned town. His father was a coal miner who gave his family the greatest gift, coming to America. He ended up working in the deep mines outside of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, until he was seventy-two. He was a Democrat and a union man—he was treasurer of the local mine workers union.

  Our family would make the two-hour trip to my grandparents’ home in Tire Hill, Pennsylvania, one weekend every month. We would often complain about leaving our friends or missing weekend activities to hang out at their converted duplex on a busy road. The house sat across a creek from the coal mine. When I was a kid, we didn’t think anything of the orange-colored creek water or the raw sewage that floated by as we played on the banks. Nor did we think twice about ignoring our parents’ warnings and the signs that said, “Danger: High Voltage” as we played on the electrified train tracks that ran from the mouth of the mine.

  We went there, no matter the weather, once a month from second grade until we moved to Chicago my senior year in high school. My dad wanted us to realize that family came first even after you leave the house. He also wanted us to learn where he had come from and our heritage. In the end, he was giving his parents, who by then were in their eighties and not able to travel, the gift of time with their grandchildren, and giving us something even more special.

  I never thought it then, but some of my best memories now are of the “boring” times I sat on the porch in the summer with my grandfather, listening to Bob Prince broadcast over my grandfather’s transistor radio the Pittsburgh Pirate games, and shoveling coal into the furnace with him on a cold winter day, and taking turns with my grandmother stirring polenta in the old copper pot with a hickory stick. Those times helped me learn where I came from, and that helps me understand who I am.

  My grandfather rose from poverty to self-sufficiency, but he never did well enough to have money to help his children go to college. As it turned out, World War II took care of that. My dad turned eighteen in 1941. He ended up serving four years in the Army Air Corps, and Uncle Sam thanked him with the GI Bill. He returned the favor by working his entire career as a mental health professional counseling veterans.

  I certainly was blessed with great role models of selfl
ess service to others, but it wasn’t until I got married that it really entered my consciousness, and it wasn’t until Bella that it all fell in place for me.

  Karen and I were married three weeks after I won the Republican primary to run in the Eighteenth Congressional District of Pennsylvania and one week after she graduated from the University of Pittsburgh Law School. Our honeymoon was short, but blissful, and we wished it could have gone on forever. We spent a few nights at my parents’ beach condo (They weren’t there!); then it was back on the campaign trail.

  When I met Karen, she was not a fan of politics. She wasn’t apolitical; it just wasn’t her thing. That summer she put off studying for the bar exam and went back to work part-time as a nurse to help us make ends meet. I had taken a leave of absence from my law firm, Kirkpatrick and Lockhart, and we needed every penny. In her free time she would join me on the campaign. She was at my side, knocking on doors, working at the headquarters, attending coffees for me, and encouraging me every step of the way. She was the model of selflessness that summer, and she not only did it well, but with more enthusiasm than me.

  The odds of us winning the race for Congress were at least a hundred to one. Back then, members of Congress were generally popular, and incumbents had a 95 percent reelection rate. Our campaign was so off anybody’s radar that the night we won, the Wall Street Journal called the National Republican Congressional Committee to get information on the person who’d won a huge upset victory in the Eighteenth Congressional District of Pennsylvania (me). Not only didn’t they have any information on me; they couldn’t even tell the WSJ my name! We ended up defeating by a few thousand votes a fourteen-year incumbent who outspent me three to one. It was a political miracle that changed our lives and marriage.