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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
