Watching Another's Loss

[Teddy bear for child loss-source]

Many years ago, I met a fellow traveler, a friend of my sister.  She had one beautiful daughter and had a son who died just before he was to be born.  She impressed me with her firm faith, how she had even spoken to her unborn, how she knew he was right there with her and often saw signs of him all around her.  Her loss was so much fresher than mine, yet she seemed more advanced in the healing path than I was then and even than I am now.  She was a pillar of trust and belief to me, one who just knew she would hold her baby again and who held her angel close to her even as she couldn't hold his physical body.  

[I can't even see her face without pain.]

Meanwhile, I still feel like a lost soul.  The way I survive day to day is to not think of my angel, not look for her, not do the things that give this friend comfort.  Because when I look at images of my beautiful Alamanda, it takes me back down the dark path of thinking of people who tried to steal my family, of DCSF agents who created a false image of us through intentional deceit in order to destroy my family.  It takes me back to those months when I almost lost everything, when those I trusted turned on us, and even family members invented lies to try to tear our world apart.  It's at those moments I realize that part of the pain is still an open wound, that I'm not sure how to go about forgiving those from whom I will never hear an apology.  

[Surrounded by angels-source]

Allamanda's image also brings me back to miracles when the Lord, Himself, promised angels to help us through.  He promised and delivered the words we would need to redeem our names at just the right time. His Spirit in the room brought tears to the eyes of some of those who heard us explain our side of the story and the truth in the face of lies.  It brings me to the moments when the enemy intentionally laid a trap for us, telling us we wouldn't need a lawyer the day we could have gotten one and then sent us the paperwork the very next day, to ensure we would not get the legal aid we needed for that Monday morning.  Yet the Lord sent us someone to defend us. I see the pain, but I also see the miracles.  

[Grudges like poison-source]

These complications do not mean I can't be healed like my sister's friend. But there's a lot of healing that still hasn't happened, likely because I haven't yet figured out how to let the pain and anger go.  I know the theory that keeping a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other guy to die.  Holding onto that pain will never hurt them and only will hurt me.  But just when I think healing is all but there, a trigger slaps me in the face and helps me realize I'm not there yet, even over 11 years later.  

[Expecting..but what to expect? Source]

This friend, after years of miscarriage and loss with which I can relate, finally became successfully pregnant a few months ago.  She posted her joys and her progress with her new and exciting pregnancy.  Her now-teenaged daughter was giddy with delight.  Their little one came...stillborn.  Another angel to join the first and all the ones in between.  And once again, they met the loss with pain but also an outpouring of love, an understanding they will hold this baby, too, again.  

[Another funeral. Source]

I would be destroyed, absolutely destroyed.  I only attend funerals if I can't avoid them.  Maybe I took the coward's path in backing away from loss after loss after loss.  After 15 miscarriages, I realized my body would not carry another baby, so my husband and I prayerfully gave up.  When I realized the sentence "I'm expecting" didn't end in "baby" but ended in "blood," I knew we were not meant to hold any more live children until the Lord comes again.  We accepted the gift of the angels and children we've been given.  We know we'll see them, hold them one day and gave up on the dream of our rainbow. I was delighted this friend would be greeting her own rainbow, having no idea that she'd be having a funeral instead.  

[A candle for death and rebirth-source]

I saw those images of smiling faces as they held heir baby with blue lips and purplish face and knew I'd be shriveling inside. There would be yet another jagged, bloody hole where my heart should be.  I don't know how they do it, especially this time of year.  I know there's so much more to the story than I could ever see or imagine.  I wish I could be joyous like that in the face of loss.  For now, I'll have to be thankful to know such heroes exist and that we can all have hope in holding our loved ones again, thanks to Christmas and the One we celebrate this season. 

Another Miscarriage?

[Baby shoes, source]

16 years ago, I had my first child, conceived on our honeymoon, even though we figured we'd wait a bit before we'd be ready to add a third party since we were both older when we got married. We wanted a little time together first. God had other plans, and my boy joined the party. 

[Girl booties-source]

14 years ago, I had my second child, conceived the very first weekend we even tried. I was giddy with delight the day I found out I would get my girl. It seemed our plan of having four beautiful babies in a row was right on track. Even though my husband was 38 when we had our first, and I was 28, we looked forward to joy with our armful of little ones. 

[Rose-Colored glasses fading-source]

12 years ago, we had our first miscarriage, and our glossy, rosy-eyed view of this baby-making process faltered. Devastation set it. Loss apparently COULD happen to us. Then, we tried for 11 months to have another baby. It was a struggle and a bit disappointing. But no worries. Everything would still be fine. 

[Miracle baby booties-source]

11 years ago, we welcomed our second daughter, precious Alamanda.  Her life was a miracle because we found out with her we were homozygous for Kell antibody, which kills through anemia almost every pregnancy it touches. All of that waiting and praying was worth it. She was tiny and honked like a gosling. But she was our little miracle, and we loved her. My little girl was beyond delighted to have her very own baby sister born just after her birthday. Our boy was mystified by our weird taste in pets because he didn't quite register babies as people. We were back on track. 

[Loss with a capital L-source]

Four months later, Alli was gone. I'd rearranged my life, our lives around her, and she rolled into a pillow that was nowhere near her, with unexpected and inexplicable actions she hadn't shown herself capable of before. She suffocated, and the doctors couldn't save her. And just like that, she was gone. My perfect princess number two went Home to her Father in Heaven, and we were left reeling. Not only could loss happen to us, but it was becoming a pattern. 

[Angel statues-source]

For the next several years, I dreamed of completing my perfect family. I yearned for that perfect rainbow baby, so I could once again count fingers and tiny toes. Instead, time and time again, no sooner did I get a positive pregnancy test than I'd also get a still, silent ultrasound or blood to show my dream of a rainbow had fallen into darkness again. Two or three years ago, we prayerfully decided we were done trying for a rainbow. We had 15 little angel statues representing 15 miscarriages on our angel shelf but only our first two children to hold.  

[Only babies allowed are cats-source]

I've come to terms that we won't hold any more babies until the Lord comes again. Once, my kids would have been delighted to pick out a name for a new little one. Now, they would vote me off the island if I even suggested the idea. They're teenagers with no interest in little ones unless they have four legs and fur or scales. 

[When the body is broken-source]

I missed a period recently, and when no symptoms came, I decided it must be the beginning of menopause. I actually viewed it with a kind of relief. I know symptoms pretty well by now. I've been pregnant 19+ times. After the second month, I even took a test, just to bring myself peace of mind. But the next day, I had what I'm pretty sure was yet another miscarriage. I'm not even sure how to feel about it. I don't feel the devastation I once did. Just a hollow echo of the melancholy I used to have every time. I'm more numb than anything. Too much loss is too much. 

[Through the glasses darkly-source]

I'm thankful I can feel empathy for those who bury a baby or have a miscarriage. But it's a hard thing when rose-colored glasses become sunglasses, where darkness is all you see. I am also thankful to mostly have peace with the whole situation. I remember the pain of fresh loss and can reach out to those who are new or at least newer to the empty arms club, also called parents of angels. I'm also thankful to know I will be able to hold my little ones again, thankful for the knowledge that families will be reunited again and that loss is not forever. In the meantime, the wound is still there. The pain is less acute, but I will always, at least in this lifetime, be a mother in mourning.