Existence

One of the most melancholy feelings is loving and missing a person, who by all rights, never actually existed. I have been pregnant twice, I have carried two children, I have given birth to two babies, but to all of the world one of those children has never even existed. I know many of you are thinking, "of course your baby existed," but I often think of the birth certificate, social security card, insurance forms that we had to fill out to prove that MJ existed, and it hits me in an odd way that there is none of that for Sparrow, for my first child. Her birth did not happen with big procession, there were no inked foot prints, no blood tests, no social security numbers to apply for, no records of her being outside of my medical charts which read G2P1. While I named her, love her, miss her, and am completely changed by her, her existence will never be acknowledged in a tangible way. I suspect that many of you have dwelt on these thoughts, and have probably felt the same sadness that I have . Rather than sadness, though, these thoughts should be a reminder that this world is not our home, our residence here on earth is not permanent, and that putting stake on any earthly existence is futile. There may not have been any pomp on this earth, Sparrow may have entered this world behind a closed door, amidst grief, but the day my child was born into heaven their was great rejoicing, there were hosts to welcome her, and I am sure there was more celebration over her spirit entering heaven than MJ coming into this world. While my child may not exist on this earth, she exists in eternity, the part of her that matters exists, the part of her which will spend eternity in the presence of our Lord, her soul. 

Abraham & Sarah, the original story of infertility

I grew up hearing the story of Abraham and Sarah, of their desire for children that seemed totally out of reach, eventually of the son they bore, and then of God asking for that son back as a sacrifice. It never really occurred to me, until I heard this song that Sara and Abraham's story was the original story of infertility, and then this story took on a whole new meaning. I came to realize that the desire Sarah had for children was one that was unquenchable, so much so that she sent Abraham to have a child with her servant. Even then I can only imagine the pain Sarah had to feel as Hagar's belly began to swell. The Bible tells us of an anger that grew between Sarah and Hagar, and that truthfully doesn't come as a surprise to me, Sarah spent decades desiring children, and though she suggested her husband bear a child with another woman, I am not sure she imagined the pain it would bring her,. To know that another woman was making Abraham a father and not her, to know that she wasn't the one to grow their family must have been an agonizing feeling. After we lost Sparrow, I felt quite betrayed by my body, that as a woman I was made to carry a child, and my body couldn't even accomplish that very task; did Sarah feel this way? I can imagine that she had the same feelings that I did, wondering why everyone around her could be carrying babies and having children, and she couldn't. Through all of this pain, I can only imagine the joy that came the day that Sarah and Abraham were blessed with their son Isaac. I remember finding out I was pregnant again after our loss, elation doesn't even come close to the feeling I had that day, then the day my son came into this world, and after a long wait took his first breath. It was a joy like I had never known. I can truly say that I only knew such bliss because I had known loss and desire. I know Sarah's joy was also that much deeper because she knew what it felt to truly desire a child, because she had settled into a place in life where her children did not and would not exist. I remember one night in the car, listening to the radio, feeling completely broken, and laying it all at God's feet, telling Him that it was okay if I never got pregnant again, never had another child, and I meant this; I imagine that Sarah may have made the same vow, had this same peace and so to know such a blessing as a child you thought would never be, is joy beyond any other. Then we go on to learn that God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac on an altar, oh what faith! To listen to God's promises that you will father nations, that your descendants will be as numerous as the sand and the stars, and then to be asked to sacrifice that, to be the very one to take your long coveted sons life, but God was faithful. Despite the moments of doubt they had, God rewarded Abraham and Sarah, He blessed them, He did what He has long promised to do, He gave them the desires of their heart.

The New Normal

After the loss of a child, whether from miscarriage, or stillbirth, or even a living child, one of the first questions is often "will I ever feel normal again?" and while that might seem like a yes or no question, it is much more complicated than that. Feeling normal again, entails going backwards, it means getting back to where you used to be, and the harsh reality is that this is impossible. You cannot go back to where you used to be, because you aren't who you used to be; loss, grief, and mourning changes you, you become a new person, with a new life. That new life contains many new things, many things that weren't a part of the old normal; it contains hurt, grief, sorrow, loss, loss of innocence, and the single most thing that will change you the most is the child who you are no longer able to carry. Each one of these things changes the core of who you are, it changes how you view the world, it changes how you relate to people, it changes how you love those close to you, it changes your level of compassion, it changes the way you think and feel, you are a new person; even if you could go back to your old normal, it wouldn't feel right, you would feel out of balance and out of place. Rather than going back to normal, you will move forward into normal, a new normal, where you learn to function in spite of the grief, where you push forward through the painful days and relish the days you can smile, where you have greater compassion for the hurting souls around you, where many old problems seem trivial and many new ones feel insurmountable, where you love a child who is a part of you, but not near you. While you can never go back to the old normal, there will come a day when you are able to get out of bed without trying, when you find yourself laughing, when the sadness doesn't cripple you, and yes there will come a day when you realize you just don't hurt as badly as you once did.

Grief is exhausting

Grief is exhausting. You spend your days asking question after question, trying to make sense of your loss, trying to understand why this has happened to you, and if that isn't tiring enough there is the business of trying to hold your life together. Chances are, you have someone in your life who is relying on you, someone you have to care for, someone who needs you to maintain some sense of normalcy, which is a daunting task in itself. Not only are you trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for those around you, but you are also trying desperately yourself to feel normal again, to escape the sadness, desperation, anger, depression, hopelessness, the void left by loss. The spectrum of emotions brought that is the grief experience can make your head spin, it's downright tiring not knowing how or what you will be feeling from day to day, even minute to minute. And the loneliness grief can bring can make you feel like throwing in the towel yourself. I'm sure on more than one occasion you have thought or said "I'm just tired," and have probably wondered to yourself if you could find any sort of rest, reprieve, a solace from your grief, and you can! Matthew 11:28-29  states "come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Do you know that there is someone out there who wants to carry the burden of your grief ? Who wants to carry you? Who wants to give you rest? Do you know that you don't have to be alone in your pain and suffering? Do you know that Christ can bring an end to the exhaustion? Not only can He carry the immense burden that is weighing you down, but He can carry you, and He wants to be the one to hold you, He is waiting to take your heavy burden, and to give you His, that is light and easy, you need only ask Him to. Grief is exhausting, don't you want to rest?

Unanswered Questions

When you lose a child to miscarriage (even stillbirth) it can often leave a lot of questions in your life, many of which will never have answers; for me the biggest questions will always be "what happened?"  "How did my baby die?" "Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong?" And as my son grows, I have to wonder what my angel would have looked like, sounded like, smelled like, acted like, I always have this desire to know the person she would have been; I have always thought that as time passed and our family grew, that I would wonder less and less about life with my first baby, but time has me wondering more and more. Every milestone my son hits has me asking what my Sparrow would have looked like doing the same thing; would she have loved mushrooms and zucchini like he does? Would she have used one foot and one knee to crawl like he did? Would she have gotten mad when I tried to hold her hand while she was walking like he does? Would she have loved to give kisses and hugs like he does? Would she have jammed out with daddy while listening to loud music like he does? Would she have loved to cuddle and nurse with mommy like he does? Who would this little person have been? Would you call me crazy if I said that I often picture my son in a dress and headband with a few strawberry blonde curls, just because I am curious? And then I find myself asking what life would have been like with her in it; every time a little girl plays with my little guy, or gives him a hug, or tries to help him do something, I can't help, but picture this as my daughter and son, imagining that I have both of my babies, that it is my little family, and then reality snaps me back to a world where I can only wonder what my sons life would be like with a big sister in it. I suppose all of this sounds a bit hopeless, but I don't mean it to be so, my intention is to normalize the dreams, to normalize the questions, to let you know that you aren't alone in wondering. We may never get the answers we are looking for, but many times in life I have found that those unanswered questions are often much less painful than knowing, and that sometimes God doesn't let us know the answers to protect our hearts.

His Eye is on the Sparrow

As most of you know, this song was the inspiration for naming our baby, this is a new(er) version by Audrey Assad, and I just HAD to share it with you all, because it is my favorite! The week I went through my miscarriage, "His eye is on the Sparrow" was continually on my heart, my husband was away training with the Army, and this song was about the only comfort I felt during that time. When I heard this version, I was instantly in love, you know that moment when you hear a song that you are convinced was written for you? Well this song is that for me! In the final verse when she changes the lyrics to say "I sing because He loves me, I singe because I'm free," I knew this song was my gift! This was the first time I have ever heard those lyrics inserted, and it was perfect! We named our baby Sparrow, because this bird is a symbol of love and freedom, though we never met our first baby, she will be forever loved, and as I have said before, who is more free than a child who has only known heaven as her home? Free from pain, free from sorrow, free from suffering, a life spent in worship is as free as it gets! I hope this song touches you as it has touched me.

One Tough Question...

There is a question that I am frequently asked, a question that seems so innocent, so harmless, so benign that the questioner would never know the turmoil, and even pain, it causes. Whenever I am out with my son, and people take an interest in him I know it's coming, and I silently mull over it, knowing I will never give the answer that I want to. "Do you have any other children?" is a question that almost always comes from a stranger, and is always meant to make polite conversation, however, if I give the answer that I really wanted to, it would be an end to the conversation, and a very awkward end at that. The answer I would love to give is "Yes, I have another baby, who I lost," but somehow that's not ever the answer I give. My angel, Sparrow, is a big part of who I am, she has shaped me, and is part of my story, and so I don't ever have a problem talking about my miscarriage, so why is this question so hard for me to answer when it comes from a stranger? Because I know the response I will get, pity, and that is not what I am looking for. My desire to tell others that I have two children, not just the living boy they see, comes from a deep desire to acknowledge the existence of the baby I never met. I carried my first baby (briefly), I had dreams and hopes for her, I was excited to be her mom, I experienced pain when she came into this world, I looked upon her (again, briefly), she changed who I am, she has shaped my heart, and for all of these reasons I want so badly to tell others that I have two children. As I type this it seems so simple, but it never is. Like I said there is often the pity that comes with this answer, then I worry that it will make the other person feel uncomfortable, of course my husband always tells me that I shouldn't worry about how others feel about my lost baby, what matters is how I feel, but again it just doesn't feel that easy. I think the biggest fear I have, and I suspect I am not alone in this, is that people will think I am nuts to acknowledge a baby who never lived outside of the womb, who I truly never met, who lost their life before it truly ever began. I guess ultimately it comes down to me getting past my fears, me being comfortable enough to say, "no, he isn't my first child," me not worrying how awkward or uncomfortable my answer will make things, me acknowledging the existence of the first child I carried.