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.

Blessings

This song conjures such strong memories and emotion, that I can't even listen to it without being brought to tears, it's a very reflective song for me on so many levels. The image of those thousand sleepless nights she sings of, takes me back to the week that I miscarried, the hours I spent laying awake crying and crying out, the nights I did nothing, but beg for the life of the child inside of me. I spent a lot of time feeling as if those cries fell on unconcerned ears, thinking that God was indifferent to the fact that I lost my baby, and to the fact that I was hurting. I remember being so mad that God would let me go through something so awful while my husband was gone, I asked why He allowed this to happen while I was alone, and all I heard was that still small voice, dejectedly telling me "You're not alone, can't I be enough for you right now?" This song reminds me that God's love and promises should be enough, that He longs for them to be enough for us, and while my heart was breaking, so was His, not just because He was watching me hurt, but because I doubted that He only wants to give me the best, that I doubted His love, and that I doubted the promises He made to me as His child. I often think of Job when I reflect on that week, of God giving Lucifer permission to tempt and try Job in any way He wanted, did the same conversation happen about me? Did Satan asks God's permission, and did God oblige with confidence that it would only make me a stronger witness, give me greater ground for His kingdom? I cannot say that I was completely faithful to my Lord in the weeks and months following the loss of my baby, as I have shared before I was very cold and indifferent towards God, I never doubted His existence, but I doubted His plan. However, I can also say that when I threw off the shroud of doubt over my eyes, I knew that God was using my suffering in the lives of others, that it wasn't just about me, that it was about the other parents I would encounter who were grieving, that it was about allowing God to use me as a light in someone elses darkness, it was about letting blessings come through my rain, through my storms, through my hardest nights. As much as I want to offer comfort to other moms, I always wish it wasn't necessary, I often catch myself saying "It's just not right, I wish no parent had to experience this loss," in fact I often find myself wishing I had both of my babies here on earth with me, but this song really convicted me, that this world is NOT my home, that my heart doesn't belong here, and neither do my kids. My ultimate goal as a Christian parent is for my children to spend eternity praising the Lord, and my job is halfway done, yes, it hurts that I never met her, or held her, or cared for her, but she is in the care of the Most High, she IS home, in the arms of the Father who created her for His own joy, and for that I cannot be angry, for that I can feel blessed! I urge you all to remember that in the midst of life's storms, Gods love would never give you lesser things, that He wants to offer you mercy, and He wants to richly bless your life, don't lose faith in His promises, because one day your pain will be gone as you enter into the Home that God has been preparing for you since the beginning of time, your heart will soon enough have all of the things it has been longing for. 

Sparrow Liran

When I lost my first baby, I lost many things, and one of those things I thought I lost was naming a baby. It didn't take me long to realize that this wasn't true, that just because I didn't get to meet my baby, that didn't mean she didn't deserve a name like any other child. To some it may seem crazy to name a child that was never born into this world, and it may not be right for everyone, but for me this single act brought me a great deal of closure and healing, it gave me a small sense of normalcy, amidst chaos, it helped me to feel like that baby existed, that I was a mommy to a real child.
Shortly after my miscarriage had been confirmed, I brought up the idea of a tattoo in memory of the baby to Michael, he liked the idea and wondered what I had in mind. My mind went back to the song that had brought me so much comfort during the week of waiting for the results that confirmed I had lost our baby, "His eye is on the Sparrow." We did some research on pictures of sparrows, and even the symbolism of the sparrow, when we found that Sparrows are a symbol of freedom and love we knew this was perfect for our baby, our baby who we loved, and who was eternally free, in the truest sense of the word. After we got the Sparrow tattoo's the name Sparrow just really stuck for our baby.
While we had chosen a name for our baby, I still felt as if something was missing, Sparrow needed a middle name. One evening I looked through 100's of names, the meanings of names is very important to Michael and I, so I wrote down a few names that were especially meaningful and showed my list to Michael. I had one in mind that felt perfect, and much to my surprise it was the first name Michael pointed out on my list. The name is Liran, it is a Hebrew word meaning "my song, my joy." I don't think I will ever be able to explain why, but the name is perfect. While it was devastating that we lost her, I didn't want her name associated with sadness, I wanted it to be an expression of the perfect life of a child born into heaven. Freedom, love, songs, joy, all things I associate with heaven, and now with my heavenly child.

My Rainbow Baby*

I have gone back and forth on whether or not to share since this blog is for the purpose of sharing about and supporting those who have experienced a miscarriage, but I finally have decided that my readers have become a part of my journey and I wanted to share with you that on June 17th at 11:02pm I gave birth to my Rainbow Baby*.

 I was induced at 36 weeks and 6 days (June 16th) due to pre-eclampsia, After 28 hours of Pitocin induced labor I stopped progressing and my baby boy was delivered via C-section. It took him almost 30 seconds to take his first breathe and I will tell you, that was the longest 30 seconds of my life. It is so scary being pregnant after a loss, that I thought I was surely going to lose this baby, too. And if I thought being pregnant after a loss was scary, being a mom after a loss is even scarier. I am going to get honest here, because I think most new moms are too scared to be. I spent the first 2 weeks crying about everything, I was totally overwhelmed and convinced I was a terrible mother, I just knew that I wasn't competent enough to be a mother. His first night home he cried, I cried, neither of us slept more than a few minutes in a row, and I nearly dropped him when I fell asleep nursing him in my glider. I loved my baby, but I did not love being a mom. I am glad to say that has changed, but I still worry about that little man, I don't know if it is my previous loss or if it is normal, but I am constantly checking to make sure he is breathing, at night, I actually turn the baby monitor up so loud that I can hear him breathe as I fall asleep. I am petrified of being this child's mom, but I have never been more excited for anything (well, after the initial shock wore off, that is)

*"Rainbow Babies" is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted...

Psalm 34:18 tells us that "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." A year ago, I would have laughed at this verse, in fact it probably would have made me angry. I remember one Sunday morning about a month after my miscarriage, looking across the church sanctuary and seeing a little huddle of pregnant gals, I imagined what pregnancy and baby related topics they must be talking about, as I thought that I should be in that circle, too. I turned to Michael with tears in my eyes and told him "you know, sometimes I think God took our baby just because He could!" Michael just shook his head and said "You know that's not true, God doesn't do things like that" I just told him "I'm not so sure about that anymore." To me, God had become this big emotionless man, I knew He was there, I knew He had the control over everything that was happening in my life, but I honestly believed He didn't care. I was never truly angry at God, it was much worse, I became indifferent to Him, I just couldn't fathom that He could be a caring, emotional God and still allow my baby to die despite my prayers and begging. The sermon that Sunday was on the crucifixion, and I never imagined how it would impact me. I listened with tears in my eyes as the pastor talked about  God turning His head away as Jesus cried out to Him from the cross and a couple of truths being very evident to me. The first truth was that God genuinely knew how I felt, not only did He know what it felt like to lose a child, but He understood the pain I felt when I had to sit idly by, while my baby died, He knew what it felt like not to intervene, not to be able to protect His child, and He knew what it felt like to know that was the plan laid out and that changing it would have been dangerous. The second thing I finally understood was why God had to turn His head away as Jesus cried out to Him, I always thought this was cruel and selfish, but I realized that God hurt so badly for His son, that He could not stand to see Him in that pain. I knew in that moment that it was no different when I cried out to God, when I was begging for my baby's life, when I was in the deepest pain I had ever felt, He hurt that badly for me. So today, I can believe that "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

I'm not alone...

First of all I need to put a disclaimer on this post, it is going to be raw, it's going to be a bit graphic, and it may be a bit unsettling for those of you who have never experienced a miscarriage. That being said, I have struggled with sharing this, I am going to be honest in a way I am not comfortable, but I feel strongly called to do so, because my goal is to break the taboos associated with pregnancy loss, and let others know they are not alone.
I remember being told "I hope you don't have to have a D&C," and so I kept praying I wouldn't have to undergo this procedure, until the day I passed my baby. I was going to the bathroom, and as I looked down at the pad I was wearing I saw a clot, which is not unusual when you have a natural miscarriage, but this one was different, the coloring was not the same. As I looked closer, I realized the strange color was tissue, that what I was looking at was not just a blood clot, what I was seeing was a tiny, fully intact, fetus enclosed in a sac, just like the pictures I had seen in all of the pregnancy books. In that moment I wished I had had the D&C, I wished that I was not seeing what I knew I was.
It was unsettling to say the least, I had no idea what to do, so I quickly rolled that pad up and threw it away. My heart still breaks a little when I think about those few minutes I spent in the bathroom with my baby. I have spent a lot of time beating myself up over the fact that my baby was so unceremoniously disposed of, to this day, I wish I had had more clarity in that moment, to do things differently. I kept this secret for a while, but one day it became too much. I tearfully apologized to my husband for throwing our baby away, expecting him to hate me as much as I hated myself for this act, but he just held me. He told me he wasn't angry, and as I tried to convince him that he should be, he told me there was nothing I could do and that I needed to forgive myself.
There are times I have heard stories of moms who were able to save their baby and have a little memorial and burial, and I felt like the worst mother in the world for not doing the same for my baby. In meeting other angel mommies, though, I found that I was not alone in my actions or regrets, and this eased my pain some. It was comforting to know that I was not the only woman who had been so emotionally overwhelmed that she literally had no clue what to do, that the only thought she had was "I cannot possibly be looking at my baby right now, this cannot be happening!"
I am still working on totally forgiving myself, but I am coming to terms with what happened, and the sting isn't so acute. I am constantly reminding myself that what I saw was merely the earthly shell my child wore, that she no longer resided there, that the soul of who she is had already been born into heaven.