The Beginning

The other day I felt rather sabotaged by my grief, I found myself amidst many thoughts I hadn't entertained for a long time, and even some new thoughts that just brought on an overwhelming sadness. Over the summer I began a career as a hospice nurse, my morning started with thoughts of joy at the course my life was taking, supporting grieving families both in my job and in a support group for miscarriage and still birth. I thought back to that tiny babe that I carried for seven weeks, how despite a short life she was able to shape so much of who I am. I thought of the way that her untimely and unexpected death by miscarriage taught me to grieve and support others in grief. I thought of how one of the most devastating events in my life had become one of the most important. I thought of the way that God used a tragic event to show how powerfully He can bring beauty from ashes. Very quickly, though, the peace I was feeling was snatched away, I became sad, I began to cry, I was filled with this grief over questions that I will probably never have the answers to, the one in the forefront of my mind "did she feel scared during her death?" In Hospice we have a policy that no one dies alone, and I began to think of this tiny babe inside of me who had no one to hold her hand as she died, no one to whisper words of comfort in her ear. As I allowed my heart to be consumed with the hopelessness of those thoughts, I was reminded by my Saviour, by Sparrow's Saviour, that she wasn't alone when she died, I was holding her, as I did every second of her life. I was also reminded that there was no fear in her death, I imagined her very simply falling to sleep and awakening in the glorious presence of her Heavenly Father, of her creator, of the one who ordained her very being and life. And I knew that there was no thick, overwhelming silence, that even though I couldn't whisper words of comfort, that she awoke to the songs of centuries of believers who had entered heaven's gates before her. As sad as I felt, and as much as I longed to hold that little girl, I knew that the hopelessness that I was feeling was a lie, that her death wasn't the end, it wasn't the end for her and it wasn't the end for me. For Sparrow, it was the beginning of an eternity spent in the presence of the one who held her entire life in His hands, and for me it was the beginning of a career, or rather a life, dedicated to holding the hands and hearts of the grieving.

It's going to be okay

Today I heard a song that always takes me back to the week that I was waiting for the results of my HcG (to confirm or deny my miscarriage). The chorus has words that I imagined saying to the life growing inside of me; "Be strong in the Lord and, never give up hope. You're gonna do great things, I already know. God's got his hand on you so don't live life in fear, forgive and forget, but don't forget why you're here. Take your time and pray. These are the words I would say." As I sang along to these lyrics I had a peace that surpassed all understanding and I heard God whisper "it's going to be okay," and I felt like things were going to be okay. Unfortunately I received a call days later that everything was not okay, and I had even less understanding of that strange peace I felt days earlier. I counted it as a fluke, a desperate mother's final hope, even delusion because I wasn't okay, things weren't okay. It wasn't until today that I actually understood that peace, that I understood why God whispered those words "It's going to be okay." Four years ago it wasn't okay, I wasn't okay, and I couldn't see any way that things would be okay, but as I look back over those four years I can say that I am okay now. Don't get me wrong, not a day goes by that I don't think about my baby and wonder about life with her, but I can also look back and see the good in her very short life and death. I can look back over the last four years and see my own personal growth as a mom, as a Christian, as a nurse, and as a person in general. I can look back over the last four years and see the lives I have been able to speak into. I can look back over the last four years and see the compassion and understanding that I have gained for others. I can look back over the last four years and see the impact that one life, even one that never was, can have on others and the Kingdom of God. I can look back over the last four years and see that I am okay, and I know that the peace I was given on that day four years ago surpassed my understanding, but it did not surpass the understanding of my God who knew, even then, that it was going to be okay. I can look back over the last four years and see that God was faithful in fulfilling the promise that "it's going to be okay."

The tapestry of joy & grief

There is a strangeness about a day that should be a birthday, but isn’t; about a day that was the anticipation of a birth, but passed full of nothing more than heartache and grief; about a day that was meant for someone special, but that someone isn’t there. For the last three years this day has come and gone for me, and it is coming again, and it will go again, and there is a friction inside of me, a rubbing of grief and celebration, of sadness and joy, of sorrow and thankfulness. March sixth marks the day that I should have met my first child, that day never came for me and while that grieves me, I can't resist celebrating; celebrating that she existed, no matter how short that time was, celebrating the impact that she had on my life, and celebrating who I am because of her life and loss. Even so, on the other side of that celebration, comes the strangeness and the friction, the sadness of not having her here against the joy of knowing heaven is her home, of wondering what life and her birthday would be like had she been born that March day against the joy of knowing that her life has only known the perfection of living with her Heavenly Father, and of really not knowing what that day should look like. Should the day be solemn? should it be joyous? Do I let it pass like any other day? Do I mark it with something special? I am never quite sure what it "should" look like because I'm not sure there is an answer, I'm not sure someone can tell you how to spend the anniversary of the due date of your baby that didn't make it to her due date. Is it any wonder that the mother's heart feels so adrift in grief?  Getting lost under this tapestry that has been woven of grief and joy, never really knowing what you should do yet trying to follow the direction of a heart that has been broken. Ultimately that's what it comes down to, though, following your heart, whether that heart is in a million pieces, those pieces have been picked up, are in the process of being repaired, or have been put back together with a baby sized hole left in it. So as March sixth comes and March sixth goes for the third year in a row, I will rest in the tapestry that has been woven of my grief and joy and I will celebrate the life I carried even if that life isn't here to celebrate with me.

The most wonderful time of the year, or is it?

Last Monday I talked with several parents who are facing Christmas after the death of a child, the last few weeks I can't stop thinking about my Omi (grandma) who is facing her first Christmas without her eldest son, this weekend a young lady that I went to high school with lost her life after a long battle, days ago my husband's coworker suddenly died, today I walked past the emergency department at the hospital where my surgery center is located and heard the wail of a mother who just found out that her child died, my heart is heavy. I keep hearing songs touting this as the most wonderful time of the year, but I can't help thinking that for many it isn't. For many this season brings sadness, pain even, they can't find it in themselves to celebrate every snowflake and jingle bell, in fact some can barely find it in themselves to face the next day full of carols and shiny balls. There are many out there who are just praying that they can make it through this season with their heart and sanity intact, because there is only so much that egg nog and Christmas cookies can fix. When you look around your community or family gathering over the coming days, will you look past the tinsel and presents to find the broken hearts? Will you offer a hug, smile, card, greeting, listening ear, or compassion to someone who can't find the cheer in the season? Will you be the light that they can't see on their own?

[don't] Lean on me

I've long felt that it is important to turn to others who have been in your shoes when it comes to miscarriage, stillbirth, or really any death; that can be a support group, online message board, counselor, or even just a friend or family member who understands and can support you. Many times people look to their spouse for support, it seems logical because you love each other and are facing the same tragedy, unfortunately your spouse is rarely a strong source of support as they, too, are grieving. When you are both grieving, when you are both falling apart, it is nearly impossible for you to carry each other through your grief, though you may look to each other for support, you may not find what you want or need. With that in mind, it isn't surprising that so many relationships and marriages fall apart following the death of a child, the inability to support and comfort each other in grief becomes a major source of contention and drives a wedge in the relationship, which puts far too many relationships on the rocks or, unfortunately, ends them. While it is incredibly important for couples to keep the lines of communication open following the death of a child, it is also important that they don't place unrealistic expectations on each other, expectations that are far too high to place on a person who is grieving and feeling as if they can barely hold their own life together. It is important that couples give each other compassion and understanding, that they give each other grace and time, that they realize they will grieve differently, and will experience different emotions at different times. There will be good days and there will be bad days, and unfortunately you and your partner may not experience those days on the same day, which is why it is crucial to establish a support system to turn to when those days don't line up, when you and your partner can't seem to hold  your own selves together, let alone hold each other up. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, there are many resources for grieving parents, like Facebook groups, online message boards, support groups, grief counselors, clergymen, even friends or family who have been in your shoes, and on the days that you feel lost and alone, when you feel like you couldn't possibly muster the energy to move forward while carrying your partner, you will have the comfort of knowing that there is SOMEONE out there who can help carry you through.

Overwhelmed

I have heard this saying many times, in fact my mom cross stitched it for me on a small picture so I see it daily, but today I am overwhelmingly struck by its truth. When my son, MJ, was born and opened his eyes, he saw nurses, a doctor, flashing lights, machines, his daddy, and eventually me, his mommy; the world around him felt cold I'm sure; without the buffer of my body I can imagine this new place he entered seemed loud and disruptive; and considering the mode of his entrance into this world I'm sure the whole experience seemed quite cruel. On the other hand, when my angel, Sparrow, first opened her eyes she got to behold Jesus, she saw streets of pure gold, gates of pearl, she looked upon a literal paradise, she felt warmth, and heard the voices of generations of worshippers singing to their Mighty King; there was no cruelty in this birth, in entering this new world, there was only peace and perfection. My heart feels great joy and peace at this thought, today I am overwhelmingly struck by this truth!

Mother's Day

As I near my third Mother's Day (one without a child), I still find myself feeling a little bit of dread as Sunday approaches; As thankful as I am to be able to celebrate with my rainbow baby, there is still part of me that aches to celebrate with two children. That slight dread has me thinking back to my first Mother's Day after my miscarriage, the Mother's Day that I knew I couldn't bear to see the other moms at church receive flowers, the Mother's Day I knew I couldn't hear "Happy Mother's Day" due to my noticeable belly, but not for the baby I had lost, the Mother's Day where I literally had to get out of town to stay sane and protect my own heart. Yes! You read that right, my hubby literally took me out of town for the weekend to get away from it all because I wasn't sure I could handle it, and if you need to do the same, that is OKAY! But maybe heading to a big city for the weekend isn't a possibility for you, maybe you just stay home, pig out, watch movies, and just be with your significant other; maybe you spend the day in a secluded park or beach; maybe you spend the weekend camping; maybe you plan a day with those who you know will be understanding of what you are feeling; maybe you plan a celebration with other baby loss Mamma's; maybe you spend the day planting a memorial garden for your lost child; maybe you spend the day doing something or anything special in memory of your angel. Mother's Day will no doubt be painful, but it is okay to take steps to guard your own heart, to know the limits of what you can emotionally handle that day and be firm in that, and most importantly it is okay to cry.

 And to those of you who know someone who has lost a child, one of those moms who experience pain on Mother's Day instead of a joyful celebrations of motherhood, acknowledge her and her child; Send a card, a special note, flowers, or even a memorial gift in honor of her baby (my hubby bought me a ring with our babes name on it, and that is one of my most precious gifts). Holidays are incredibly painful, and Mother's Day can be one of the worst after the loss of her child, your thoughtfulness in remembering your loved one will mean the world to her and ease some of the pain she is inevitably feeling.