Happy Birthday Keller!

Keller,

I told Mary about your birthday and she asked, “Are we going to go to Heaven for his birthday?” I told her we couldn’t until we died. She then responded with, “But how will he get his cake?” Our family clearly values food. Mary hopes you enjoy the vanilla cake with sprinkles that God made you. We are going to have a small family birthday party for you today. (Mary is going to eat some cake down here for you.) I wish you could be here. I know that you wish we could be with you and the Lord. I think you are right, that is the better option. One day Keller Feller. One day.

Your Mommy, Daddy, and sister love you so much. I am thankful you have only ever known love. I can only imagine how incredible it is to sit at the feet of Jesus. I long to sit with you in my lap and hold you tight as we sway and sing praises to our King. One day Keller Feller. One day. I know you never lived here on earth, but a lot of people know and love you. They all say, “Happy Birthday!” too. Your short life has done mighty things. It’s really incredible. People all over the world love you and praise and trust the Lord more fully because of the really awesome work God did through your life. I’m so proud of you. You are such a good boy. We really are over the top proud of you Keller. We’ll make sure to keep telling more and more people about Jesus the Overcomer. I know you know Jesus pretty well by now. That’s really cool. Tell God to give you extra hugs and kisses today. Mary hopes you enjoy the balloon.

Miss you so much,

Mommy, Daddy, and Mary

A lot of large and important decisions must be made relatively quickly following the death of a loved one. There are many practical aspects of death that must be addressed. It’s bizarre to make nearly “business-like” decisions after death has stopped your world from turning. But you have to. So you do.

We chose to have Keller’s perfect body cremated. My sister found a funeral home that offered this service as well as an official death certificate. Having a death certificate was important to me. I needed some official document proving that Keller Norman Bartlett lived, even if recording his death was the only way to legally do so.

Going to the funeral home was an interesting experience. I am thankful for those who dedicate their lives to helping others say goodbye to loved ones. It is a job that has great potential to reach out and hug all of humanity and love them in their darkest moments. It is an incredibly selfless and mighty work.

The funeral home itself was rather macabre. The building was musty and the floor creaked with each step. The lights were kept low and an eery ambiance was cast through purple and yellow stained glass windows. It was almost as if the home was trying to manufacture sadness and sobriety. It made both Nathan and I feel uneasy. In our hearts, death is not something that needs visual and artificial aids in order for the audience to realize the somber finality of it all.

Everyone we worked with was kind and professional. We were asked if we wanted to purchase an urn before leaving. Honestly, looking at the urns made us shudder a bit. None of them made sense for Keller. We declined, and it was then I decided we should paint pottery.

Aside from my parents, our families had gone home. My parents had been busy pouring all the love they had pent up for Keller out on Mary. She was loved up while Nathan and I took care of practicalities, and took advantage of the quiet to mourn and draw closer. Not long after Keller’s memorial service, Nathan and I took Mary out to paint pottery. Nathan and I chose a small lidded box for Keller. Nathan would paint the lid, and I would paint the box. We let Mary choose anything she wanted to paint. We told her it would be her special thing we would keep on her shelf to always remember baby brother. She chose a little boy playing baseball. I think that is just so darling. I was expecting her to choose something  bizarre like a lobster, but she thoughtfully picked a little boy. She has gifted us so many precious moments that I will for always treasure deep in my heart.

We were the only ones in the pottery studio. I think it was a Tuesday afternoon. We all sat and painted. There were no rules. There were no dim lights or mood lighting. It was a bright and cheery space. No one had any idea that the pieces we painted were heavy with significance and loss. We painted anything we wanted. Each little piece expressed a tiny bit of our love for Keller. Everything about that time and space was right. It was a “Keller moment”. It paid tribute to him in the best way we knew how.

Tomorrow is Keller’s first birthday. We have been at a total loss in how best to honor and celebrate his life. Our love for him cannot be fully captured in any one event. It’s been difficult, but I have accepted this. We have decided to spend the day as a family. We will have a picnic, eat birthday cake, and let Mary release a balloon so Keller can have some party decorations up in Heaven. (Mary let me know that God is making him a vanilla cake with sprinkles.) We will spend the day singing the hymns so closely tied to Keller’s life. We will play at the park and watch Mary’s toddler joy and imagine Keller crawling up beside her and flashing her smiles of big sister admiration. It will be our “Keller moment” – the best way we know to pay tribute to our son. We (Nathan and I) will stay up till 11:57 p.m. and light a candle for our boy. A candle to represent the light his life has shown in the middle of total darkness. We will listen to his memorial service and weep with our community all over again. We will praise our Lord for the incredible things He has done through Keller’s life. We will petition to our God for continued comfort, trust, and healing. We will pour our hearts to our God because we deeply long to hold our son again.

I imagine throughout our lives we will have many “Keller moments”. Quiet moments focused in on showing our love for our boy. These moments will join up to a lifetime of “Keller moments”, and even though he was never with us, Keller will keep on living and shining the light of Heaven. That’s Jesus. And that’s awesome.

It’s difficult to know the best way to honor and remember a stillborn child. Funerals and memorial services allow people a dedicated time to grieve and mourn the loss of a loved one. Friends and family take time to hug and reminisce the memories shared with the deceased. No one ever knew Keller. Aside from our medical team, my parents, Wendy, Nathan, and myself – no one even saw Keller’s perfect tiny body. We knew we wanted to set aside time to honor our son, but initially, we weren’t sure of the best way. It seemed strange to hold a memorial service for a little boy that no one in the room had ever known.

A couple days after returning home, I was laying next to Mary while she took her nap. In those quiet moments, I decided, strange or not, we needed to have memorial service for Keller. I think this was the first time I used the phrase “my love song to Keller”. We needed to have a memorial service precisely because no one in the room had ever known him. His arrival had been eagerly anticipated by everyone in our community. We all needed to gather up and mourn the little boy we would never know. We all needed to gather up and recognize and praise the great Overcomer. Nathan and I needed hugs. We needed to be loved on by those we loved the most. We needed to show the world our son.

Over the next few days, Nathan and I retreated to our room and worked out the details of the service. It would be held at our church in Sunnyvale on Sunday September 21 at 5:45 p.m.. We chose our fathers and our preacher to say any words the Lord had placed on their hearts. We chose my brother and brother-in-law to read scriptures that had been providing us divine comfort. We chose two of our dearest brothers in Christ to open and close the service with prayers and petitions to our God. We chose another beloved brother in Him to lead hymns that had been providing us with solace and hope. We put together a slide show. We only had 9 months of pictures to share, but each picture captured the large and forever footprint Keller had placed on our hearts. Nathan ended the service with a message and leading the song “How Great Is Our God”. This is Keller’s song. 60 years from now, this will still be Keller’s song.

It was difficult trying to mentally and emotionally prepare for Keller’s service. Some moments are so heavy with importance and meaning that the idea of finally sitting and experiencing that moment is almost frightening. I feel a lot of these same emotions as Keller’s first birthday is approaching. It’s another momentous occasion intended to honor our son in the best possible way. Nothing will ever feel quite grand or large enough to capture the love song we have in our hearts for Keller. We have to be content with every feeble attempt we make and allow God and His love to work and shine through us.

Our church was at the ready to provide all they could to make his service everything we needed it to be. Several went up to the building the evening before to ensure the sound system worked properly and songs we wanted played worked with the current set up. The normal Sunday evening service was shortened in order to dedicate as much time to Keller’s service as possible.

The Saturday before the service, the best man at our wedding, Andrew, called Nathan to let us know he was at his layover in Dallas on his way to be at Keller’s service. Nathan and I were and are forever deeply moved by this lavish act of love and loyalty. Y’all should get an Andrew too. We really have some very amazing souls in our life.

Sunday afternoon, my mom and sister put Mary down for a nap so that Nathan and I could go up to the church building and make all the last minute arrangements. 

We placed the beautiful and abundant flowers we had received on the steps of the stage. We sat the toy Mary had chose for Keller at the welcome table, along with his baby brother onesie, and crocheted hat. I sat while Nathan and our loved ones did most of the manual labor. My body was still so fragile from giving birth. We tested our slide show. Everything was ready. My family dressed Mary in her big sister shirt and a silver tutu.

Mary and our families arrived. One by one, an incredible amount of people we love to eternity and back filled the auditorium. The only other similar moment I have experienced was at our wedding. My dad was at my side and the doors opened for me to walk down the aisle to Nathan. The doors opened and the chapel was filled with all the loved ones that had helped get me to this point in my life. It was one of the most moving and worship-filled experiences I had ever had. In that moment, I cried and praised the Lord for the community with which He had surrounded me. Keller’s service had that same worship-filled moment. Friends from the community. Co-workers. Friends from who had driven from across the entire state of California. Friends who had flown in just for this very day. Family. Brothers and sisters in Christ. Our entire community gathered up in order to sit for a time and weep with us. Moments like these bring you to your knees as you bow down before the Creator with a sacrifice of thanksgiving.

The service began and we all joined together and sat in the house of mourning. Mary sat next to us and played with Fisher Price Little People and the Scottie Dog she had bought for Keller. We sang “Blessed Be Your Name”, “Glorious Day”, “Just As I am (I Come Broken)”, “Mighty to Save”, “Greater”, and “How Great is Our God”. Each song offered a unique comfort and shared a unique message we needed to be shared. We read II Corinthians 1: 3-7, excerpts from Exodus 14 and John 16, and Phillipians 4:10-13. Words of love for our boy and praise to our God were shared. “Where Joy and Sorrow Meet” was the song that accompanied our slide show.

“Where Joy and Sorrow Meet”

There’s a place of quiet stillness ‘tween the light and shadows reach
Where the hurting and the hopeless seek everlasting peace
Words of men and songs of angels whisper comfort bittersweet
Mending grief and life eternal where joy and sorrow meet

There is a place where hope remains
In crowns of thorns and crimson stains
And tears that fall on Jesus’ feet
Where joy and sorrow meet

There’s a place the lost surrender and the weary will retreat
Full of grace and mercy tender in times of unbelief
For the wounded there is healing, strength is given to the weak
Broken hearts find love redeeming where joy and sorrow meet

There’s a place of thirst and hunger where the roots of faith grow deep
And there is rain and rolling thunder when the road is rough and steep
There is hope in desperation there is victory in defeat
At the cross of restoration where joy and sorrow meet

There is a place where hope remains
In crowns of thorns and crimson stains
And tears that fall on Jesus’ feet
Where joy and sorrow meet

We all sat in that place – the place where joy and sorrow meet. I think that this is same place the writer of Ecclesiastes was talking about when he said, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart.” We all sat in the house of mourning, where joy and sorrow meet, and worshipped. I cannot articulate all the blessings that come with accepting and embracing seasons of grief and pain. It’s truly difficult to allow yourself the time and energy to sit with sadness and loss and accept they have entered your life and forever changed the way you do and perceive everything. It will take more time and wisdom for me to be able to list the reasons and benefits of time spent in the house of mourning. For now, I simply know beyond doubt that the time spent face to face with death and agony in the shadow of the cross has profoundly changed me for the better. Allow yourself the grace and gift of pulling up a chair and spending all the time you need in the house of mourning.

We stayed at the church building until close to 10. We laughed, cried, and embraced each person who had come to be with us. Mary had the time of her life. She and her best friends ran around the building and played as hard as they could. Nathan and I both vividly recall thinking, “Man. Mary is having a blast!” – which is really awesome. It’s SO good to see sparks of innocent joy in the shadows of darkness.

Nathan and I have made “Crack Pies” for both Mary and Keller’s “Coming-home-from-the-hospital-hooray-you-are-born” celebration. We made each of them a couple weeks before our babies were born. The pies stayed in the freezer at the ready for the birth of our children. We decided that we would have the pies after Keller’s memorial service. Our family and several of our friends crammed into our tiny living room and celebrated Keller with pie. Pie is a good way to celebrate most things. (Especially this pie – it is really, REALLY, good.) We hadn’t really told Mary why we were having the pies, but as soon as we got to our front door she said, “It’s Keller’s birthday party.” Precious child – we will forever treasure the tender moments you provided us in those days of darkness.

We have an audio copy of the Keller’s memorial service. We have yet to listen to it. No time has felt still or worthy enough of taking time to once again sit in the house of mourning and worship. We will take time and listen to it this week. We will sit and weep with our loved ones all over again and praise the great Overcomer of death.

The staff gave us the option of going to recovery in either the “Mommy & Me” wing or down to a regular hospital room on the second floor. We chose the later option, imagining it would be difficult to hear the tiny cries of newborns. Looking back, both Nathan and I regret this decision a bit. We lost our feeling of security in the regular hospital wing. We were a bit lost in the shuffle of nurses caring for a variety of patients. The nurses were (rightfully) busy and many didn’t know that we had just lost our son. It was our initial introduction into the real world. The thing about functioning in the real world when you are broken is that no one knows you are broken. I have shared this sentiment with others and we all agree that wearing a shirt that says “I just went through stillbirth. Please treat me gently, and if you have them, cookies and hugs are appreciated.”would be helpful. I’ve yet to find that graphic tee in an Etsy shop.

A dear friend brought us breakfast. He asked if I had any requests, so I said “Bagel and Lox.” Sweet man had NO idea what lox was but drove around to SEVERAL different bagel shops until he found it. Just the beginning of the ridiculous love that was poured out on us in the weeks and months to come.

Wendy said goodbye while we were in this room. She had stood by our side for over 24 hours. The real world called. The need for rest called. It was the first of many small transitional steps into our “new normal”. We hugged. I don’t remember any profound words of love and thanks spilling from my lips, but it’s a comfort to have a friend who can read your heart.

It was now time to tell Mary. We had been mourning over this moment for many hours. Our neighbors brought her to the hospital and my parents went down the lobby to bring her up to our room. They gave us time alone as a family to explain everything that had happened to baby brother. I know Mary was only just 2, but she fully understood that her brother Keller was going to come out of mommy’s belly and come home and live with us. It was something we had been discussing with her for months. Not only did she understand, she was excited. She knew that when “Auntie” brought her to the hospital, she would get to meet and hold Keller. She came in the room and Nathan and I fought back every urge to breakdown in tears and frighten Mary.

“Hey baby! How are you? We missed you.”

“We have something we need to tell you ok honey?”

“You know how baby brother came out of mommy’s tummy in the hospital? Well, baby brother got hurt. Keller died and went to Heaven. Heaven is where God and Jesus live. So since he got hurt and died, he won’t be able to come and live with us. He’s going to stay with God and Jesus in Heaven. We are so sorry you don’t get to hold him. We know you were so excited.”

“….But I love him. I miss him. I want to see him… … … I want some nummies.”

I love toddlers. I love their moments of profound tenderness that are quickly followed by a loud reality check that your child is in fact only 2.

We had brought a few gifts for her to the hospital to open once Keller was born. She opened both her gifts, and the gifts she had picked out for Keller. Daddy, Mary, and I decided it would be ok if Mary opened them and kept them for him. One of the presents we got her was a Veggie Tales “God Loves You” DVD. The providence of this is not lost on me. We put it in and curled up on the bed and watched it as a family.

Our neighbors, their son, and my parents all came back in the room. My parents gave Mary a lollipop and the three of them drove back to grab some lunch and head to our apartment. We talked with our neighbors. We cried together. We thanked them.

At this point everyone had left. Nathan and I ate some lunch and took a nap in my hospital bed. I mention this because I just want to take a moment to praise the Lord for my husband and that nap I got to take in his arms. He is my champion.

My sister arrived around 2 that afternoon. She was immediately dropped off at the hospital. She crawled up in the bed beside me and we both sat and wept. For so many reasons, we wept. We shared pictures and moments we had with Keller. We laughed. We snacked. We held each other in silence.

A nurse technician came into our room not long after my sister had arrived. She came in, looked around at our somber faces, and said “Well you all are quiet! Did someone do something bad?” Bless her heart. I had no brain and or will power to say anything other than “Well. My son just died. It was a stillbirth.” Again. Bless her heart. (Here comes the bizarre/funny part.) “Well that’s sad… [looks down at the lollipop Mary had left on the table] That looks good! Whose is it?” “Our daughters. She’s 2.”  “Well you better watch out. I might steal it when you are sleeping.” And walks out the door. Bless that dear woman’s heart. We dropped quite a bomb on her. It’s hard to know just what to say when you are met with a shocking statement such as, “My son just died”. I’m certain she walked out of that room thinking “What in the WORLD did I just say? Did I just threaten to steal their daughter’s lollipop?!” I have all the sympathy. I have a terrible case of inappropriate word vomit as well. Bless your heart.

It was then time to go. My body was returning to “normalcy” rather quickly and we worked to be able to leave within the hour. We got a call on our hospital phone. “Congratulations on the birth of your child. Would you like to pay by credit card now or be billed later?” The employee on the other end of the line was doing her job and doing it well. She had no idea. That was ok, there is no way she could have known. It was just a bleak reminder that we were about the step out in the world. We were about to step into a world that couldn’t see our bruises.

It was such a still feeling packing up to leave. I imagine it was similar to what it must be like sorting through the wreckage after a disastrous tornado. What was once chaos and swirling and howling all around you, was now quiet, as if nothing had ever happen, save the rubble you are left sort through. Quite surreal.

We didn’t need to make sure to pack up all the diapers, bottles, wipes, and blankets the hospital provided. There was no need for a “going home” outfit. It was such a contrast from going home after Mary was born. When you leave a hospital after being pregnant for nine months, it is assumed you will go home with a baby. 36 hours prior we were eagerly awaiting our boys arrival. We had given birth to Keller, but he would not be coming home with us. Nathan and I both liken it to the rewind button being pressed on our life. Things would be “just as they were” nine months prior. Nathan, myself, and Mary – no Keller. It was almost as if those nine months had never happened. There was no baby to prove that he was real. There was nothing that showed those outside of our network that we had two children. Nothing to indicate that I had carried a second child inside my womb for nine months. It was and is difficult for our minds to process. Stepping back into life, a life completely new yet completely the same, was a daunting and scary process.

Nathan and my sister went to get our car and I was wheeled down to the front doors.

Seeing a world that is functioning the exact same capacity as it did two days before was overwhelming. I remember that even the way the volunteer wheeled me to the lobby felt trite considering everything that leaving that hospital meant.

We didn’t want to listen to the radio. It was another reminder that life was marching on without us. We needed everything to keep still for a while longer. The carseat sat empty. The backseat mirror was installed, but there was no squishy baby to glance at. The car was silent, yet every little thing around us screamed out loud that Keller would never be with us.

I remember the car ride home. Both Nathan and I were struck to the core with the truth -“Everyone needs compassion”.

We were battered and broken and no one around us knew. There are so many around us bruised and crumbling under the weight of sorrow and trial – our cashier, the driver who just laid on their horn, the colleague with the snide comment, the teacher lacking patience, the quiet mother at the park who can’t bring herself to smile – and we all so desperately need compassion. We don’t need details. We need love. We needed love. We needed everyone around us to assume that what we needed right at that moment was overflowing compassion.

This lesson has been both a gift and test. It is a difficult lesson to engrain. I constantly have to remind myself that EVERYONE needs that same tender compassion we needed so badly. Compassion looks different for different people and different circumstances, but it is always begins with love.

Mighty to Save

I need to pause from telling the story of Keller’s birth, and highlight a few incredible servants.

Dr. O – 

Praise the Lord for providing us with Dr. O. I asked Wendy and my family to send me everything they could remember about Keller’s labor and delivery. Each one mentioned our Doctor. She worked with the perfect blend of professionalism and compassion. I love her. I always will. She was tender and strong. She saw our pain, and reached out in love. She saw our agony, and became family. She saw our fear, and rolled up her sleeves, ready to work with and for us.

September 15 was just another day of work. September 15 was the day our world stopped. Dr. O saw our world come to a screeching halt and made herself vulnerable to our grief. She cried with us. She attentively cared for us. She had to be the one to tell us our son’s heart had stopped beating. There is such poetry in the fact that she bookended Keller’s birth. My body progressed very little throughout the day, and then Dr. O came back into work. Within a few hours, Keller’s little body was ready to be born and the same doctor that told us of Keller’s death was able to bring him into this world.  She held my parents as they wept on the floor outside of the delivery room moments after Keller was born. She was and is everything you want a Doctor to be. Praise the Lord for you Dr. O. You are doing a good and mighty work. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to day in and day out, making yourself vulnerable to the tragedies of others, but thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for opening your heart and serving us with perfect compassion. You are forever a part of our story.

The Nurses –

Each nurse played their role perfectly in our story. I know each of their names. I praise the Lord for the career path they have chosen. Take this as my bear hug to all those who serve as nurses. Nursing offers you a unique opportunity to touch the most intimate and raw moments of others lives. God bless those who put themselves aside and give fully to those they attend each and every shift.

Our first nurse wept with us as we came to grips with Keller’s death. Our second nurse had a heart filled with empathy. [She snuck me popsicles, jello, and chicken broth as long as I didn’t tell ;)] Our third nurse had perfect attention to detail. She did not neglect a single need. She worked her hardest to provide the best possible medical care in the worst possible situation. Our fourth nurse got our boys feet and hand prints with perfect respect and gentility. She was the nurse who wheeled Keller away after we said goodbye. I have no words for this act of service. Our fifth nurse provided  a comedic anecdote to share in the days after Keller’s death. I won’t go into details, but you know, everyone has a role to play, and her role was to shock us into laughing till we cried. Our last nurse didn’t know much of our situation. We were moved out of labor and delivery, and into a regular hospital room. She checked in with us and brought us lunch and juice. Thank you for feeding us.

So this is my love song to all those who serve in the medical field with compassion and vulnerability. Labor and delivery nurses are able to see and experience incredibly joyful moments. They witness moments of new creation entering this world, surrounded by parents ready to fully sacrifice themselves for the sake of their child. Our story was different. Our nurses had to witness incredible grief. I can’t imagine the difficulty of toggling the two emotions. One room is filled with the light and love of new birth, and another heavy with the heartache of the death of a child.  Thank you for putting yourself aside to serve so beautifully in each capacity. I cherish your talents. They leave me in awe. You touch so many lives. You have such power to bring light into darkness. Thank you for serving us on our darkest day. You are forever a part of our story.

Dr. M-

Dr. M was my prenatal and postpartum therapist. I can only fall to my knees and thank the  Lord for providing Dr. M. When I became pregnant with Keller, my insurance had recently started offering free counseling to pregnant and postpartum women. She and I had gotten to know each other rather well throughout my pregnancy. She patiently worked to guide me through the dense forest of Anxiety and OCD. She expertly led me to resources and exercises to rewire my misfiring brain. I credit her for the bulk of my progress.

If you are reading Dr. M, I’m out of the darkness. I turned a corner. I still battle, I know you know that. I just want you to know how much you have meant in our lives. I praise the Lord for you. I scream out thanksgiving because of the skill set and compassion you gifted me.

She heard that we had lost Keller, and, on her own time, came to our hospital room. We hugged and we wept. I will never forget or minimize this act. In later visits, she told me she was angry for days after Keller died. She saw our struggle and made herself vulnerable to our pain. Empathy is an incredible gift. You are everything you want and need in a Psychologist. I love you. You are forever a part of our story.

Abby –

Guys. You should get yourself an Abby – as well as a Wendy. Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is an incredible ministry. NILMDTS “trains, educates, and mobilizes professional quality photographers to provide beautiful heirloom portraits to families facing the untimely death of an infant.” Each photographer volunteers their time and hearts and offers “a free gift of professional portraiture” to families of stillbirth and infant loss. I know. What an INCREDIBLE work.

We only had 7 hours with Keller. 7 hours. 7 hours can’t hold enough memories or take enough mental snapshots to ever capture Keller’s face perfectly in our minds, no matter how hard we may have tried. Wendy and the medical staff were aware of NILMDTS and contacted the agency for information regarding a local photographer. They were put in touch with Abby. Wendy recently told me that NILMDTS doesn’t do photography between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m. (Keller was born at 11:57 p.m.). So, Abby reached out and told Wendy to contact her directly whenever Keller was born. She got to the hospital within 15 minutes. She left her husband and toddler in the middle of the night to serve our family. She sacrificed her rest and her heart to provide a gift to total strangers. She captured so many incredible moments with our son. We will forever know each little detail about Keller’s perfect body thanks to the selfless service of Abby. I’ll forever be certain that he indeed has my nose. Man. Isn’t he just the most handsome thing you have ever seen?

Abby and I formed a friendship that I imagine will last forever. She shared her heartache of miscarriage, infertility, and failed adoptions – all of which led her tender heart to serve others experiencing loss. Our toddlers played together. She took family photos of us and our “Keller Bear” before leaving California. We keep in touch and I am in constant awe of her undeniable urge to serve the defenseless. I love you Abby. You are forever a part of our story.

Thank you all for your service. Thank you all for using your talents to enrich the lives of others. Thank you for changing our lives. Thank you for allowing the Lord to work through you. You are FOREVER a part of our story.

Some have asked how they can honor Keller on his upcoming 1st birthday. If you are inclined, please consider making a donation in his name to Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. Click here for more information.