Service Details
Service to be held on Wednesday, May 20th at 6:30pm.
City Church STL - 1908 Lafayette Ave 63104
City Church STL - 1908 Lafayette Ave 63104
Obituary
by Timothy Weeks
Lydia Iris Weeks was born on Monday, May 11, at 3:40pm, but her story doesn’t start there. Six months earlier, Heather was starting dinner on a Friday evening. I had just finished work for the week, and Reo and Esther were watching cartoons in the living room. Heather had known for a couple of days that Lydia was here and had planned to save the surprise for tomorrow’s dinner out for her birthday. Maybe I seemed beaten by the week I had, but as soon as I saw Heather, the best news came tumbling out. There are five of us.
Six days later, between benchpresses and deadlifts, Josh Day was the first friend to know about Lydia, and he and I shared the joy and excitement of her new life, as we’d talked often about our hopes and imaginations for both our families’ futures.
A few days later, I was picking up our favorite bagels from the Station and paused to watch a dad of two little ones bend over his double-stroller. The white burp cloth tucked into his jeans pocket instantly took me back to when Reo and Esther were so small and made Lydia’s birth feel real and tangible to me in a new way.
In the first week of December, Heather and I started sharing the news of Lydia’s life with our family. We tried to sit Reo and Esther down on our living room couch, but that lasted only a few sentences before they were skipping and bouncing and dancing around. They wanted to know everything they could about Lydia. Predictably, Reo hoped a little that Lydia would be a boy. Esther asked him, “What will you think if it’s not a boy?” and Reo said, “I wouldn’t mind. I like girls– I like you!” All of our hearts had room, welcoming Lydia, and I was so proud.
In the next few months, Lydia grew, and we planned for 2026: a vacation in May, trading up from the Accord to an Odyssey, a July delivery. Almost every morning began with the five of us snuggled in bed together; the kids would kiss Mom and baby before heading down to breakfast. All of us talked about Lydia constantly: what it would be like to have a baby in the house, what she would like to do or eat or what she should be for Halloween.
At our 20-week ultrasound, we learned that she was a precious little girl. Lydia flipped and wiggled and made measurements as difficult as possible. Then the room was quiet for a long time. This moment of silent concern was the first of many we three would share, waiting for a result or an explanation. As I stood beside Heather and Lydia on the bed, more sonographers gathered around the pictures of Lydia on the screen, and then a white-haired doctor told us that he’d never seen a baby like her before.
For the next two months, we looked at Lydia several times a week. Lydia met the brightest and most caring team of doctors and nurses, and they learned everything about her. They explained the abnormal structure of blood vessels between her heart and left lung, the resulting strain on her vital organs, that her heart was beginning to fail. They held all three of us as we cried together, and they made a plan.
In this time, City Church learned a lot about Lydia too. Drs. Eric and Paula Coln visited and sat with Heather and Lydia and me, helping us understand the best care for the littlest humans. Pastor Mike and Pastor Justin sat with the three of us as we cried and prayed and hoped. We named her “Lydia” for the faithful saint who founded the Philippian church and “Iris” to remember Heather’s grandmother Linda through her favorite flower. Jena and Brooke stood right up here and lifted Lydia’s name in prayer. Many whispered private prayers.
On May 3, the journey got harder. Heather and Lydia were in the hospital now. There were monitors and transfusions and medications. We were surrounded by Weeks and Vaught family members, at home and at the hospital. The three of us started Mother’s Day at midnight– Lydia’s heart was slowing, and Heather was bruised from so many needle sticks and showing signs of severe complications from carrying Lydia this far. All of us were tired. That afternoon, John and Kathleen Thro stood beside our hospital bed and sang, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases… Great is your faithfulness, O Lord.”
May 11 is Lydia’s day. A dozen doctors shared everything they knew about Lydia and their plan for her birth and one-of-a-kind procedure. In the operating room, I again sat in a chair beside Heather and Lydia. In a flurry of activity, Lydia was born at 3:40pm, and I watched her small foot kick and hopefully called out her strong heart rate to Heather from the other side of the drape. Within minutes, Lydia was ready to leave the operating room, and I went with her across the bridge to Children’s, where she would have the procedure to restore a healthy blood flow in and out of her heart. I would learn later that the procedure worked, that Lydia was responding well, and that they were ready to move her back to her own NICU room, when she crashed. When the doctors got me from the waiting room, we knew there would be precious little time with her. Heather and I held her and told her how much we love her. We told her about her brother and sister, our yellow house, and our neighborhood park. We prayed and sang with her, and I told her that I was entrusting her soul to a great and merciful God. Lydia, our beloved daughter and sister, died in my arms and went to be with Jesus. We will meet her again.
Lydia’s body will wait for the resurrection of the dead at Sunset Memorial Park. Her soul has gone ahead of me, her dad, Timothy, her mom, Heather, her brother, Reo, and sister, Esther, as well as so many members of the Weeks, Vaught, Appelbaum, Bridgman, Morris, and Bozarth families who loved her dearly and long to be reunited with her.
Six days later, between benchpresses and deadlifts, Josh Day was the first friend to know about Lydia, and he and I shared the joy and excitement of her new life, as we’d talked often about our hopes and imaginations for both our families’ futures.
A few days later, I was picking up our favorite bagels from the Station and paused to watch a dad of two little ones bend over his double-stroller. The white burp cloth tucked into his jeans pocket instantly took me back to when Reo and Esther were so small and made Lydia’s birth feel real and tangible to me in a new way.
In the first week of December, Heather and I started sharing the news of Lydia’s life with our family. We tried to sit Reo and Esther down on our living room couch, but that lasted only a few sentences before they were skipping and bouncing and dancing around. They wanted to know everything they could about Lydia. Predictably, Reo hoped a little that Lydia would be a boy. Esther asked him, “What will you think if it’s not a boy?” and Reo said, “I wouldn’t mind. I like girls– I like you!” All of our hearts had room, welcoming Lydia, and I was so proud.
In the next few months, Lydia grew, and we planned for 2026: a vacation in May, trading up from the Accord to an Odyssey, a July delivery. Almost every morning began with the five of us snuggled in bed together; the kids would kiss Mom and baby before heading down to breakfast. All of us talked about Lydia constantly: what it would be like to have a baby in the house, what she would like to do or eat or what she should be for Halloween.
At our 20-week ultrasound, we learned that she was a precious little girl. Lydia flipped and wiggled and made measurements as difficult as possible. Then the room was quiet for a long time. This moment of silent concern was the first of many we three would share, waiting for a result or an explanation. As I stood beside Heather and Lydia on the bed, more sonographers gathered around the pictures of Lydia on the screen, and then a white-haired doctor told us that he’d never seen a baby like her before.
For the next two months, we looked at Lydia several times a week. Lydia met the brightest and most caring team of doctors and nurses, and they learned everything about her. They explained the abnormal structure of blood vessels between her heart and left lung, the resulting strain on her vital organs, that her heart was beginning to fail. They held all three of us as we cried together, and they made a plan.
In this time, City Church learned a lot about Lydia too. Drs. Eric and Paula Coln visited and sat with Heather and Lydia and me, helping us understand the best care for the littlest humans. Pastor Mike and Pastor Justin sat with the three of us as we cried and prayed and hoped. We named her “Lydia” for the faithful saint who founded the Philippian church and “Iris” to remember Heather’s grandmother Linda through her favorite flower. Jena and Brooke stood right up here and lifted Lydia’s name in prayer. Many whispered private prayers.
On May 3, the journey got harder. Heather and Lydia were in the hospital now. There were monitors and transfusions and medications. We were surrounded by Weeks and Vaught family members, at home and at the hospital. The three of us started Mother’s Day at midnight– Lydia’s heart was slowing, and Heather was bruised from so many needle sticks and showing signs of severe complications from carrying Lydia this far. All of us were tired. That afternoon, John and Kathleen Thro stood beside our hospital bed and sang, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases… Great is your faithfulness, O Lord.”
May 11 is Lydia’s day. A dozen doctors shared everything they knew about Lydia and their plan for her birth and one-of-a-kind procedure. In the operating room, I again sat in a chair beside Heather and Lydia. In a flurry of activity, Lydia was born at 3:40pm, and I watched her small foot kick and hopefully called out her strong heart rate to Heather from the other side of the drape. Within minutes, Lydia was ready to leave the operating room, and I went with her across the bridge to Children’s, where she would have the procedure to restore a healthy blood flow in and out of her heart. I would learn later that the procedure worked, that Lydia was responding well, and that they were ready to move her back to her own NICU room, when she crashed. When the doctors got me from the waiting room, we knew there would be precious little time with her. Heather and I held her and told her how much we love her. We told her about her brother and sister, our yellow house, and our neighborhood park. We prayed and sang with her, and I told her that I was entrusting her soul to a great and merciful God. Lydia, our beloved daughter and sister, died in my arms and went to be with Jesus. We will meet her again.
Lydia’s body will wait for the resurrection of the dead at Sunset Memorial Park. Her soul has gone ahead of me, her dad, Timothy, her mom, Heather, her brother, Reo, and sister, Esther, as well as so many members of the Weeks, Vaught, Appelbaum, Bridgman, Morris, and Bozarth families who loved her dearly and long to be reunited with her.