St. Ezekiel Michael David Donaire Higgins was born, baptized, confirmed, and died on July 16, 2025. Baptism wiped away the stain of Adam’s sin from the fall of man, and Ezekiel was incapable of committing a personal sin in the course of his short life. Therefore, we can be assured that he is now in heaven.
Why I’m writing this
My wife Lizanie and I are shockingly similar in so many ways, but one area in which we are quite different is the way in which we express ourselves. I like to frame it like this. Liz is 50% Martha and 50% Mary the Mother of God. That’s a big statement let me say more about WHY.
Liz is like Martha in that she defines herself through humble acts of service. She doesn’t like the limelight; she’s not interested in making a show. She is all about playing the integral support role. She loves to cook for people. She is not like Martha, though, in that she would never expect others to help her. In fact, quite the opposite, she wants those whom she serves to enjoy themselves and not think about how they can contribute, but to be totally in the moment, whether it’s a gathering at our house, or volunteering to support the Christmas pageant at church. She happily takes on her role to serve as “the better part.” Her service is a prayer and a gift. She is like Mary in that she quietly treasures these things in her heart rather than taking the spotlight and making herself known. Mary, too, lived a life of service to the Lord.
Me? I am like Peter in so many ways. I’m outspoken. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I want to take action with the best intentions, but sometimes I suggest building tents on the mountain of transfiguration instead of drinking in the moment. Or I’m trying to wrestle with the Lord and his plan and may need a rebuke now and again to help me see the wisdom in his plan. And though I am unworthy, God sees fit to use me despite my flaws and turns me back to him when my will is too strong.
In our experience with our son Ezekiel, we wanted to make his life known to show that from the very moment of conception, his life had worth, his life mattered, despite the diagnosis we would receive. Ezekiel is a precious gift from God. In his short life with us here on Earth, he touched so many, and that was a story worth telling. This is a story that many families out there share, and often they experience it alone, unknown, in the quiet of their home.
Ezekiel's Impact
Our pregnancy announcement was accompanied by sorrow. We shared that moment with our community through Facebook, and the outpouring of love, support, and prayers we received was truly overwhelming. Hundreds began to pray for us and Ezekiel, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts! By the time of his funeral, hundreds, if not thousands, of people were praying, and we truly felt those prayers, and they sustained us. We also received many comments from our friends and acquaintances thanking us for allowing them to journey with us through this moment and for letting God’s light shine through the midst of our grief.
We pride ourselves in being of service and taking the lead, and we were humbled in our moment of need by our community's response to lift us up and to step in and serve. We were astounded by the volunteers who jumped in with their time, talent, and treasure to truly be Christ to us, and to minister to us through the corporal works of mercy, from young people volunteering to watch our children to offers of meals and helping with funeral arrangements. We saw Christ in their selfless gifts to walk with us during this difficult time, and we truly believe their reward will be great in heaven.
An Inconvenient Life
Natural family planning is an awkward concept in our culture, even among the Catholic faithful. It’s easy in our culture to fall into societal norms with decisions that are so private and intimate. The temptation to develop an opinion contrary to Church teaching is strong.
The Catechism states:
“Periodic continence, that is, the methods of birth regulation based on self-observation and the use of infertile periods, is in conformity with the objective criteria of morality.
These methods respect the bodies of the spouses, encourage tenderness between them, and favor the education of an authentic freedom.
In contrast, ‘every action which, whether in anticipation of the conjugal act, or in its accomplishment, or in the development of its natural consequences, proposes, whether as an end or as a means, to render procreation impossible’ is intrinsically evil.” – CCC 2370
But knowing the truth and living it are two very different things. We can get caught up in the minutia with justifications and excuses and lose sight of how God calls us to live.
Liz and I believed our family was complete; we remained open to life, but we were hoping God’s plan for the size of our family was fulfilled. Then God surprised us, and I’d like to paint a false picture that we were overjoyed and ready to accept this new life into our family, but we were in turmoil. Seven?! How God? Why God? We’re too old. How will we provide? We’re tired from 13 years of car seats and diapers! How will he connect with his siblings with such a large age gap? For heaven's sake, we’ll be in our 60s when he is 20!
Living a life open to God’s will is challenging—there is no sugar coating that. And at that moment, when we were preparing for our whirlwind trip around the country for my graduation from Augustine Institute, we did not feel ready for this.
The Diagnosis
The cloudiness of our own discomfort with this new person who had entered our lives faded during our road trip across the country. As we reunited with old friends and family, saw our nation's capital, and swam in the Gulf of America, we learned to trust the Lord and to be at peace with what was to come despite the challenges that faced us.
When we returned home, Liz scheduled her first doctor’s visit. We knew right away something was amiss when the ultrasound technician fell silent. The ultrasound was long, and she spent a lot of time looking at the baby’s internal organs. When the doctor came in to see us, she had a grim look on her face that we had never seen. We’ve known Dr. Gerhards for a long time. She had delivered 5 of our children. We had never seen her like this. She told us that they were seeing numerous abnormalities with the baby’s organs, and she wanted to refer us to internal fetal medicine for a second opinion. She said, “It could be nothing, but it could also be very serious.” She then indicated that usually time was of the essence in these situations, but then she stopped and said, “I presume, knowing you, that despite what the diagnosis is, you won’t want to do anything.” She didn’t say it, but she was alluding to the fact that many in our shoes would be anxious to abort if the diagnosis were serious. We said that whatever the situation was, we would trust in God’s plan and see it through.
When we arrived at fetal medicine, they whisked us away to the genetic counselor after filling out an exhaustive form about our medical history. She told us that what they had seen in the preliminary findings was likely some form of trisomy. Either Trisomy-13, Trisomy-18, or Trisomy-23 (Down syndrome). She told us that Trisomy-13 and Trisomy-18 have an incredibly low survivability rate, and that if that were the diagnosis, our son would have a very low chance of making it to term. Even if he were born, he would likely live less than a year and have a slew of medical complications. I never imagined I would be hoping for a Down syndrome diagnosis. She felt pretty confident that the baby didn’t have Trisomy-13 or 18 because we had no previous medical history and six healthy pregnancies prior to this one.
We went into another ultrasound, which seemed to take forever. Our sadness and worry were mixed together with love and joy at seeing our little boy again and watching him kick at the ultrasound probe and hide his face from the camera. When the ultrasound was finished, we met a new doctor, and she told us the diagnosis was Trisomy-13. Our hearts sank. There was a very real chance now that we would never see our son alive. The doctor detailed the abnormalities she had seen in making her diagnosis: a large hole in his heart, a misshapen heart, a heart that was on the right side of his chest instead of the left, a brain that was developmentally behind… she went on, and we listened in stunned silence. She said that he was incompatible with life, and that there were very real risks to Liz’s health, and that the only way to ensure her health was to remove the baby. Liz said, “He’s not incompatible with life! He’s alive now.” The doctor was not prepared for her reaction. We saw a lump form in her throat as she choked out an apology for the way she had framed the situation, but she stood by her diagnosis that it was very unlikely he would make it to term alive, and if he did, his short life would be filled with suffering. We thanked her and said that we understand that delivering this kind of news is not easy.
We asked if anything could be done, and she said no. At this point, there was nothing she could do for the baby aside from the genetic testing, which the genetic counselor had told us about. We could test Liz’s blood, which had a small chance of indicating that the Trisomy-13 diagnosis was not accurate, or we could do an invasive procedure to get blood from the baby, which would give us a concrete answer, but the latter test had a 1 in 1,500 chance of causing a miscarriage. We opted for the blood test on Liz. The doctor said that if we would like to continue to come in, they could monitor the baby via ultrasound, but that there was nothing more they could do for him. She said some people like to do this, but she recommended we not come back until a month before the due date, when we could make a plan for what types of medical interventions we might want to request.
We left the doctor in silence with lumps not just in our throats, but extending down to a knot in our stomachs. When we got into the car, I said, “So, this is what this feels like…” We had always counted our blessings that we had never dealt with a miscarriage when so many of our friends had, that we had never had to experience the loss of a child, and now it seemed all but inevitable.
Love Prevails
The day we first went to the doctor, we had told the kids that we were going to have a new baby. They were over the moon. They began planning for who was going to teach him to do things. Our two youngest, Lucas and Julianna couldn’t wait to be big brother and big sister. After our first doctor appointment, our daughter Isabella told us that just the night before, she had a dream that we had a baby boy, and that he was named Ezekiel. So, we went with it. Who are we to deny the prophetic dreams of children? Our youngest son really wanted to name the baby Michael, so we gave him Michael as a middle name. After that doctor appointment, we also sat the kids down and told them that the baby had some complications, and that we needed to pray hard for him because he might be very sick.
When we returned from the appointment with fetal medicine, we sat the kids down again and spelled out for them exactly what Ezekiel was facing. There were many tears, but also a great deal of hope for a miracle. We believe in a God of miracles, and the Lord said, “Whatever you ask in my name I will do.” So, I sat down that night and wrote a family prayer which we said every night for Ezekiel after our family rosary. I posted that prayer in this Facebook post, and asked our prayer network to join us in praying for a miracle for baby Ezekiel.
Blessed Peter O'Higgins,
You lived a life of service to the Church, and in protection and love for your enemies. We ask Mother Mary, ever-virgin, to guide you to the feet of her son, our Lord Jesus Christ, and humbly beg the Father, in the name of our merciful savior Jesus Christ, for the complete healing and health of our unborn son, we pray that through the mercy of our loving Lord, who knowing he would perform a miracle still wept at the tomb of Lazarus, that our son may live a full and normal life free from this illness that threatens him, that he may serve the Lord and bring glory to his name.
Amen.
We took every moment from that point on, one step at a time. We thanked God for each day with our seven children, and every night we gave kisses to Mama’s tummy and said, “Good night, baby Ezekiel, we love you.” Every night, I blessed the family and Mama’s tummy with holy water from Lourdes. We fell in love with our sweet little baby and tried not to waste a single precious moment with him. Our Julianna had a special relationship with the baby; she would greet him every morning and kiss him goodnight every night, and she was constantly at Liz’s side, talking with the baby and feeling for his kicks.
Time Ran Out
We had time, or so we thought. At 29 weeks, Liz and I spent an evening canning peaches. When we were finished, her legs had swollen quite a bit. We were worried, so we put her feet up on the couch for her to rest, and she Googled her symptoms for hours. Her swelling went down quite a bit the next day, and we thought the episode was over, but she began not to feel well and decided to take her blood pressure. Her blood pressure was extremely high, 175/87, so we called the doctor, who suggested she be immediately admitted to the mother and baby unit at Sacred Heart Riverbend Hospital. When we arrived, her blood pressure was much worse, and they immediately started her on an IV and did a blood test. The blood test came back good, but Liz had 1,000 ppm of protein in her urine, which is an indicator of pre-eclampsia, so they admitted her to observe her overnight.
In the morning, they took a blood test again, and when it came back, it indicated that her liver was beginning to fail. Toxins in her blood were 5 times what was normal, and the doctor said her liver function was at 50% what it should be. They diagnosed her with severe pre-eclampsia and told us that the only way to ensure her safety was to induce the baby. We stalled, still looking for answers about what could be done for Ezekiel. We told our family that it was looking like the baby was going to come early, and they came to be with us at the hospital along with our close friends Belle and Robert Caracol. Belle brought us some delicious food, which was a blessing after several hospital meals.
With our family present, we spoke to the NICU doctor, who strongly recommended we not put the baby into the NICU because his chances of survival were not good. He called the situation grim and again told us that our baby was not compatible with life. We asked him to investigate what could be done for the baby’s heart. Could we transfer to OHSU and get the baby into surgery? The doctor made calls that afternoon, and when he returned, he said that his colleagues at two other hospitals would not perform a surgery unless Ezekiel made it through the two months since his premature birth to his original due date. He told us that he would not survive long enough to receive the surgery he needed. We were panicked; we thought we had months to work out how we wanted to deliver our baby and what kind of care he would receive, and we had to make those decisions now in just a few short hours. We were out of time. Dr. Gerhards came to the hospital, and she said very directly to Liz. If we don’t deliver this baby now, you will die. With all our options exhausted, we made the gut-wrenching decision to provide only palliative care for Ezekiel when he was born. We opted for his short time with us to be spent in the arms of those who love him instead of inside a plastic box connected to tubes. We also wanted to ensure that we could get Ezekiel baptized, whatever happened. We resigned ourselves to the fact that there was nothing more we could do for our son, and he was in God’s hands now. We insisted that they give Liz the steroid that might help Ezekiel’s lung function when he was born, which they did, and they began Liz on a drug to induce labor.
The hospital staff had contacted St. Mary’s, and Fr. Secil came to celebrate the anointing of the sick for Liz. He gave us his cellphone number and asked us to call him the moment the baby began to come so that we could be sure to get him baptized.
It was truly a blessing to have Belle and Robert Caracol present with us in the hospital, along with my parents and our children. Once our decisions were made and we had a plan, they began the induction. Robert took my parents and the kids to their house to get some much-needed rest and pizza. Belle stayed with us to let our family know what was happening and to help wherever she could. The word began to go out to our prayer network that we were in the hospital, and we had many well-wishes and prayers pouring in. We cherished these prayers. Several people wanted to visit us and help in any way they could, but we had the support of our family and the Caracols, so we thanked them and asked them to wait on visiting because of how stressful the situation was. It was a restless night as we caught brief naps in between nurses’ visits and the machines beeping. In the morning, at about 4:00 A.M., the doctor visited us and broke Liz’s water. We still had some time before the baby was ready to come, so we had some instant coffee that Belle had brought for us, and we waited.
The Gift of Life
Ezekiel Michael David Donaire Higgins was born on July 16, at 5:50 A.M. It took some time to get the labor going. But when he finally came, it all happened so fast. Liz was standing up–trying to get the labor to progress–when suddenly she shouted, “The baby’s coming! The baby is coming!” She barely had time to get to the bed before Ezekiel made his dramatic entrance into the world. The doctor did not have time to come in, and our nurse, who was standing nearby, ran over to help. Ezekiel was already mostly out before the nurse got to Liz. She caught him, held him up, and he began to cry immediately. She placed Ezekiel on Liz’s chest, and he cried for a few moments, letting his beautiful voice be heard for the first and the last time.
Ezekiel calmed down and rested silently on Liz as she examined his toes and his fingers and said, “He’s perfect. He’s so beautiful.” And he was. We spent a few moments there in awe of this precious gift of life. God had graced us with a beautiful baby boy, at least on the outside. We marveled at how perfect he was to us. His premature birth and the medical difficulties of having Trisomy-13 meant that he couldn’t nurse as he needed to focus on his breathing. We cried happy tears, in love with this amazing, tiny person that God had brought into our lives. Belle and I were in the middle of texting our family that they should probably head over to the hospital when Ezekiel was born. We deleted messages that said the baby was coming and instead told them he was here! The kids were up in a flash and out the door. I called Fr. Secil to let him know the baby was here. Fr. Secil arrived just a few minutes after our family. The hospital staff provided a white garment for Ezekiel, and Fr. Secil celebrated Ezekiel’s baptism and confirmation in our hospital room. This was his first baptism in the United States since he came over from India. Belle and Robert served as godparents. They had lost a baby when he was very young, too, his name is Evan, and they had hoped to be able to serve as his godparents, a wish we were overjoyed to grant.
After the baptism and some pictures, the nurses came in to check Ezekiel’s vitals. His heartbeat was faint. Everyone in the room, including Fr. Secil, took a turn holding baby Ezekiel and showering him with love and kisses. Our oldest son, William, had a particularly difficult time with the reality of the situation and what we knew was about to happen. I held him, and he wept bitterly.
Saying Goodbye
Our family stayed with us the entire time Ezekiel was here with us. Liz took the baby back and held him while we all waited for the inevitable. I sang our family lullaby, “The Buckaroo Song” to Ezekiel as he struggled to take his final breaths. At 8:46 a.m. the nurses came in to check for vital signs, along with the attending doctor. The doctor, with tears in her eyes, said to Liz and me, “I’m sorry, I no longer hear a heartbeat. He has passed away.” We wept. Choking on our words my mother led us, and we prayed together an Our Father, a Hail Mary, a Glory Be, and the Apostles Creed, and I choked out the words, “Eternal Rest grant unto him, O, Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon him.” These words were very difficult for Liz to hear. They were so final. Our family stayed with us for about an hour as we grieved together. We told our children that Ezekiel was in heaven now. If we don’t believe that, then we might as well not go to church anymore. The Church teaches that a baby baptized who has never committed a personal sin does not go to purgatory, but straight to heaven to be with our Lord. Grandma Higgins and Mama Mary were now taking turns holding him.
After the longest hour of our lives, my parents took the children home. The hospital staff brought in 6 teddy bears for the kids and said, “When you want to hug your baby brother, you can hug this bear and he will feel it.”
Liz was not out of the woods yet; her blood pressure was still through the roof, and she was being pumped full of a number of drugs to prevent a seizure. We were unable to spend that time with our children as much as we longed to. They spent the evening at home with their grandparents. Being apart from them was very difficult.
Liz and I held on to precious moments with the body of our beloved son, Ezekiel. We had spoken before about people being in the room with an infant who had passed, and how strange that seemed to us, but sitting there quietly holding his lifeless body, we never wanted it to end. We dreaded the thought of handing him over to the morgue. He remained in the room with us all night as we examined every inch of him, not wanting to forget his face or his perfect little fingers and toes. We memorized his scent and took turns holding him, lest he get cold. We even mentioned how we wanted to be sure he was bundled up when we did eventually give him to the hospital staff, so he wouldn’t get cold in the morgue. We watched Liz’s blood pressure carefully, longing to be home with our family, but dreading saying goodbye. This night was so precious to us, and we repented of the thoughts we had had in the past about how weird spending the evening with a dead body must be. We are body and soul, part of Ezekiel was still there with us, and we spoke to him all night long. We told him we loved him, asked him to watch over his siblings, asked him to pray for us, and asked him to pray for all of you, our loving community. The hours went by, and the nurses were keeping their distance, allowing us our time to grieve. They put a sign on our door to let others know to be quiet and respectful as they moved through the hallway. The hours slipped by, and in the morning, he was cold to the touch. The nurses unplugged Liz from the IV and the machines, and she was free to move around in the room. She sat in the rocking chair and rocked our little saint. When it was my turn to hold him, I bounced back and forth to soothe him out of habit, but it was really soothing me.
Eventually, the hospital gave us the all clear to leave. They handed us packets on grieving, and paperwork for funeral preparations, and the birth certificate and social security number. We tucked these things away for later and held on to every precious moment we could. The hospital administrator came to take Ezekiel to the morgue, and they asked us if we wanted to leave him there in the room as we left. We begged them to take him out while we watched, so we knew he was in good hands. The administrator stopped and asked if she could give us a hug. She looked at my shirt, which said, “Put on the full armor of God,” and she said I hope you do what your shirt says. They put a wristband on Ezekiel, and Liz swaddled his body for the last time. The administrator wheeled the basinet away, and out the door, and we stood by breathless as he left us. We wept. We couldn’t wait to get out of that room. We didn’t want to be there without him. They discharged Liz, and we walked in complete silence out to the parking lot. This was the 6th time we had departed the mother and baby ward, but it was the first time we had left without a car seat. When we got in the car, we sat there for a few minutes in silence, and then I said again, “So this is what this feels like.” Our eyes were puffy and sore from crying, and we drove home, trading moments of silence with memories of the last 48 hours. When we arrived home, we gathered our children in our living room, where our altar is, and we reassured them that Ezekiel was still and will always be a part of our family, and that he was in heaven now praying for us. We said, “Our most important role as your parents is to get you to heaven, and we have accomplished that now for one out of seven of you. Now it’s our job to live the best lives that we can so we can see Ezekiel again.”
Funeral Planning
Funeral planning is terrible. In the days following Ezekiel’s death, we spent our time making arrangements and signing releases for his body to be transferred. It’s all so surreal. Our minds still wrestled with why we weren’t caring for a newborn. We had little moments of panic trying to recall where we left the baby and remembering he was still at the hospital in the morgue. To be honest, we still struggle with this. We see his picture on the wall, and just for a second, we think, “Oh no, where is the baby?!” and then the obvious truth washes over us again. Rachel at Musgroves Mortuary was amazing. She guided us through the process with tact and gentleness. There were, of course, many things to think about and to struggle with. For example, when we should have the funeral planning around the schedules of the cemetery, the mortuary, and the church was stressful enough, but we also wanted our dear friend Fr. Maro to be present, and my dad was going to undergo foot reconstructive surgery soon. I had to type out an obituary for my son, which was hard. There were missed connections and confusion; one night, it all came out in front of my parents. We were a crying, yelling, emotional mess; we were heartbroken and frustrated, and it wasn’t pretty. But Liz and I had each other, and by the grace of God, we made it through united throughout this time about how we wanted to remember and bury our son.
A friend of ours introduced us to a Trappist monastery in Iowa that provides infant caskets for only the price of shipping. If you know anyone who has lost a child, please share this with them. Other friends from church volunteered to put on a luncheon for us after the service. They spent their time and their money to help us; we want to thank the Caracols, the Beltrans, our friend Marie, and the Edmundson clan, especially for giving us this gift. We were thinking only 60 or so would join us after the service, but Lily in the parish office and our friends told us, “We don’t think you realize how many people love you and want to be with you at this time.” They planned for 200, and they were right. After much scheduling, planning, flower arrangements, luncheon conversations, and several trips to Eugene to make arrangements, the funeral was set for Friday, July 25. My sister and her family also flew in to be there with us.
The day of the funeral was tough as we prepared ourselves and the kids; we were painfully aware that we were about to see Ezekiel for the last time on this Earth. We arrived 30 minutes early to the viewing so that we could have our own private time with Ezekiel before others arrived. Liz and I had found a suspenders and bow tie outfit for Ezekiel earlier in the week, and as we stood there and looked at him in the casket in his dapper clothes, we marveled once more at how perfect he was. We stood there for some time until we realized others wanted to see him too, so we moved out of the room and sat at the back of the church as people shuffled past and expressed their condolences. I was sitting with William and Marcus, and we were all crying, but I noticed Liz at the other side of the pew having a tough time, so I got up to comfort her. I was moved to see my good friend, Eric Beltran, walk over behind my boys and comfort them. Eric was minutes away from needing to catch a flight back to the East Coast, but he spent those minutes being there for my family, and this was a very meaningful moment for me.
As the time approached to begin the rosary, the funeral director needed to close the coffin and bring Ezekiel to the front of the Church. This was the moment. The last time we would see his face. We shuffled back into the viewing area and choked out our good-byes, and I remember thinking for a moment, maybe we can just delay the funeral or do the rosary quickly in a shorter amount of time so we could sit here with our son for just a moment longer, but time slipped by, the moment passed, and as we said good-bye and touched his little fingers for the last time we slipped out of the viewing room, and our little boy slipped out of our reach until me meet him again in heaven.
I wish we had taken more pictures. As we sat in the front pew and stared at this tiny little coffin holding our precious baby, the thought of pictures was the last thing in my mind, but now looking back, I wish I could see the casket there again, and remember what it was like to offer our son up in prayer to the Father, before the Blessed Sacrament, in the arms of Mama Mary. The moment was pure suffering, but it was beautiful too. I was in agony to come face-to-face with God’s will being different than mine. We had prayed so hard for a miracle. We enlisted the help of a blessed, who needed a miracle to be officially recognized as a saint. We activated a prayer network of hundreds, if not a thousand or more. We asked in the name of Jesus, but a miracle for Ezekiel’s health was not God’s plan. The weight of that reality was very heavy. When all of this started, we were exasperated at the thought of receiving another baby, and now, as we offered him back to the Lord, we were desperate not to let him go, but also at peace with where he was going.
“[Job] said, ‘Naked I came forth from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I go back there. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!’”
- Job 1:21
These words are so much more difficult to feel than to read.
At the beginning of the funeral, I had prepared the following statement to be read to all who attended.
From the family:
Hello, and thank you for joining us for this funeral mass for Ezekiel Higgins. Ezekiel was born on this Earth on July 16th 2025, and on the same day, we will celebrate his heavenly birthday, as he was only with us for less than three hours.
He was able to be baptized and confirmed in that time, and in the Catechism paragraph 1263 it says, “By Baptism all sins are forgiven, original sin and all personal sins, as well as all punishment for sin.”
St. Augustine tells us, “Who can be so impious as to believe that infants who die after baptism can be separated from Christ?” So, our Catechism and our Church Fathers assure us that a child who dies in circumstances such as Ezekiel will immediately join Christ in heaven with no temporal punishment to suffer in Purgatory.
This is a reason to rejoice, and whereas in most funerals we turn our hearts and our prayers toward praying for the deceased to be freed from any temporal punishment due from sin, and not to treat the funeral as an early canonization of our beloved dead. We can now, with confidence, ask Ezekiel to pray for us. You are all now receiving a personal intercessor through your observance of the corporal work of mercy to bury the dead. We ask you to remember Ezekiel, God's Strength, when you are in need, and be assured of our prayers and his.
Liz and I have a primary role as parents to get each other and our children to heaven; everything else comes second. In Ezekiel’s case, we already have treasure stored in heaven waiting for us, but we don’t have to wait for death to receive the benefits of that treasure. Ezekiel prays for us now. He is close to God, and he is close to us, and we have asked him to be close to you, too. He is certainly adhering to the fifth commandment in heaven, and we ask him to pray for all of you every day. We ask him to pray for all those who helped us and continue to help us during this difficult time, especially all those who have prayed and are praying for us.
The funeral was beautiful. Fr. Raj presided, and Fr. Ron and Fr. Secil concelebrated with him. Father Raj’s homily was also beautiful, and I asked him for a copy of his homily after Mass. Dave Philips and the St. Mary choir brought tears to our eyes with lovely music. Sending Ezekiel forth with “O, Loving God” (to the tune of O, Danny Boy) was particularly memorable. We recessed behind the casket to the entrance of the church, where the hearse was waiting. My family watched as I picked the casket up and carried it to the hearse. Once Ezekiel was secure in the hearse, we moved over to the parish hall, where our amazing friends and family had prepared a beautiful luncheon for us. Belle and Robert had created a poster board with Ezekiel’s pictures for us, and there were indeed around 200 people there. We talked with people, thanked them for being there, and mostly went through the motions of social interaction. The presence of our friends and family was an incredible blessing to see and feel their love, but in the moment, it was also a bit overwhelming. As with a lot of things in the grieving process, there was a confusing cocktail of emotions as we talked with people: sadness, joy, guilt, anger, numbness, empathy, fear, frustration, depression, love, relief, guilt again…
We left for the cemetery at 2:30. When we arrived, Ezekiel was still inside the hearse. Our funeral director asked me if I would carry him to the grave site, and I was glad to do so. I carried the box containing my son to his final resting place. At Mt. Calvary Cemetery, they have run out of spots to bury infants in the graveyard. This is our family cemetery, and it was very important for us to be able to bury him among our loved ones so we can visit them all together. The staff suggested that we could bury Ezekiel with my grandparents. Originally, we were going to bury him next to Grandpa Bob, but the spacing wouldn’t work on that side, so they opted for burial with Grandma DeEsta. As I placed the coffin over the hole in the ground, I could almost hear my grandma’s voice saying, “Let me hold that baby for you.” The tears came again, but happy tears this time. Fr. Maro’s schedule was very busy that day, but he was able to get away long enough to be there for us at the grave site, and after Fr. Raj did the grave site service, Fr. Maro said some words that were very moving for us. Fr. Maro baptized 5 of our seven children, and his presence at the grave site was a blessing for all of us. I reiterated to our family who came to lay our son to rest that Ezekiel is praying for us, and not to forget about his prayers when you are in need. The cemetery staff lowered Ezekiel into the ground while we watched silently. My cousin Justin brought Liz and me two of Grandpa Bob’s prized roses to place over the coffin, and then each of us present placed a handful of dirt in the hole. Lucas grabbed a large dirt clod for his handful of dirt and dropped it into the hole. It made a loud thud as it landed on the top of the coffin. One first and last little bit of mischief with his baby brother. Even this, Liz and I treasured thinking of how those two would have been thick as thieves getting into mischief and playing with and loving each other if Ezekiel were still here with us.
We stood there in silence for a long time, watching the groundskeeper fill the grave with dirt. When he was finished, we said one last goodbye and walked to our cars we said goodbye to our extended family who had joined us at the grave site, and as we got into our van we reassured the kids that Ezekiel was in heaven, and that if we are good, and we listen to God and follow his Church, we will see him again. We also reminded them that Ezekiel was praying for us now, and that we had to be sure to talk to him frequently and ask him to pray to God for us. The drive home was surreal. We were raw, but weary from grief. Part of me wants to type that we were numb, but that’s not really it either.
When we got home, my uncle Adrian and aunt Tricia were there. They had driven their trailer out to be with us, and they stayed the night. It was good not to be alone. They brought us a rose of sharon which we planted in our yard as somewhat of a memorial. My sister and her family brought us food, and Belle and Robert came later to spend time with us. We placed all of the pictures, cards, and flowers on the buffet table in our living room, and they are still there exactly where we placed them a month and a half later. We can’t bring ourselves to put them away, but we are also reminded of our grief every time we see them. The flowers are wilted and dry. Every night when we pray the rosary, we sit next to the pictures of Ezekiel and remember him, and we end every prayer by saying, “St. Ezekiel, pray for us!”
Legacy
Ezekiel left a permanent mark on our hearts; he will always have a place in our prayers. One of the lasting sadnesses of losing someone is the contrast between how important they remain to you and how they fade into a distant memory for others in your life. Many who attended the funeral, or who prayed for us, have moved past this chapter. Ezekiel’s life was a sad moment that they will put behind them. His memory will fade until they can barely recall that we had a baby named Ezekiel. This is normal, and even good. We can’t live in the past, but I want to encourage you to keep Ezekiel in your prayers. Although we may not feel it all the time, he is very close to us. There were not a huge number of people connected to him in this life. He is a saint focusing a lot of his prayer and attention on you, on us. St. Ezekiel loves you for the care you have shown us and for the care you have shown each other during this difficult time, and he is praying for you. St. Ezekiel’s feast day is on July 16. Remember him, tell him what your prayers are so that he can pray for them too. Remember him on All Saints’ Day. Remember him, and he will remember you before God.
When finances allow, we will place a headstone for him at Mount Calvary, where you can visit him. For now, you can find him by finding Robert and DeEsta Higgins. They are all the way at the top by the office, about 10 graves down and two rows from the back of the property.
Thank you
Again, we want to thank everyone who provided their time, talent, and treasure in support of Ezekiel’s funeral. The reception was beautiful, and it was such a blessing to have that space to greet everyone. We also want to thank all of you for your prayers and financial assistance. As I mentioned at the beginning, Liz and I are private people. We typically like to keep our problems to ourselves and be the ones to support and serve others, but part of the virtue of humility is being able to set your pride aside and ask for help when you need it.
My sister asked us immediately after Ezekiel died if she could set up a meal train for us. Yoncalla is a hard place to get to, especially for delivery food, and preparing our family meals is part of our coping mechanism; it’s one of our safe places where our family feels whole. But we did need assistance, and we still do. We didn’t want to ask at first, but my sister encouraged us. We didn’t know how much help we would need until thousands of dollars in hospital bills began to roll in. We have also been dealing with the concerning reality since the first week of June, that my last day in my current job will be October 3. Looking at being out of work in the wake of significant unexpected costs is a troubling thing, especially since we are a single-income household. We weren’t prepared for any of this, but we trust in God. He has a plan for all of this, and even if we don’t understand why, we bear in mind the words of Peter after many of Jesus’s disciples abandoned him over his teaching about his real presence in the Eucharist:
“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. So Jesus said to the twelve, ‘Do you want to go away as well?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.’” - John 6:66-69
My sister wrote the message below and shared it on social media for us. We truly wouldn’t have made it through the last two months without many of you who shared a gift with us. From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you so much!
From Amanda Carney Dear friends and family of Jed and Liz,
As many of you are aware, Jed and Liz lost their sweet baby Ezekiel earlier this week. Our family thanks you so much for your prayers and support during this very difficult time. Given the large and beautiful network of friends and family across the globe that Jed and Liz have, who have asked how they can support, I wanted to send a quick note and say, your prayers are most important and most welcome.
For those who have asked about more tangible ways to support, the most helpful support would be donations to help offset hospital and funeral costs as they navigate this very trying time. While meals are a kind and beautiful gesture, they take comfort in coming together as a family to prepare meals and use that time to fellowship and grieve.
Jed’s Venmo is: @jethrohiggins, his Zelle email is jethrohiggins@gmail.com, and his PayPal is @TheSocialCatholic. Please note, there is no GoFundMe being set-up. If you have any questions on other ways to support Jed and Liz please reach out and we will help coordinate!
Again, on behalf of Jed and Liz, thank you for your prayers and support as they navigate this time.
