I want to share these primarily for people going through similar losses. I remember, vividly, scouring the Internet, looking for stories similar to my own. Looking for someone else who shared my very raw grief. When I found such people, it felt like a balm being poured into my soul. To know I wasn't alone was so very healing. Those stories gave me strength.
I also want to share these lessons for people who know someone, or who will one day know someone, experiencing the loss of a baby during pregnancy. It's impossible to know what each individual is experiencing, and it's so hard to find the right words ... in fact, maybe finding the exact right words also is impossible. But maybe, if we grow in our understanding of the very real pain experienced by women who lose babies to miscarriage or stillbirth, we can at least find words that say we're there, that we love them, and that it is OK to grieve.
1. You have lost a child. Not a pregnancy, not merely hopes and dreams, but an actual person. You are a parent to that child from the moment of its conception, and grieving your child makes sense, no matter how long or short a time you knew about that child. A year after losing my first baby, at 5 weeks, I came across this blog post by Kate Wicker, who also lost a baby very, very early in pregnancy. I still cherish that post -- because she showed that it hurt. Until then, I had felt almost like something was wrong with me for being sad about losing a baby I'd known about for such a short amount of time. Yes, we do that to our fellow women. Babies are so disposable if you don't want them, that it's hard for people to understand why you hurt if you do want them.
But again -- I will say this many, many times if it's necessary to make my point -- what we have lost is our child.
2. There is emptiness. So much emptiness, like I have never felt before, and I have had other women tell me they felt this way as well. I actually experienced this emotion the most with my shorter pregnancy, maybe because I had so little to go along with it. No one knew about the pregnancy; I'd had so little time to even realize I was pregnant when all of a sudden it was all taken away. My child was gone, and I was so very alone in mourning the loss. With our 21-week loss, Benedict, I had a labor and deliver, I got to hold him and see the way his hands curled under his face like he was merely sleeping. My husband, children, and I could talk about him more easily because he had been a reality in our lives for a longer amount of time. With Benny, I knew a bit more about who it was I had lost, and so it hurt in a different way.
There also is confusion, particularly with the later loss. One day you are pregnant, and you have possibly made significant changes in your life as a result of that fact. Then, you aren't. One day you are joking about the baby being a soccer player because of its kicking. And in a case like mine, the next day you are wondering whether that even was the baby you were feeling, or was it spasms? You find yourself trying to connect a puzzle, when you never will have all of the pieces. Losing Benedict wasn't just hard for my heart -- it also was hard for my brain to make sense of the huge change that happened so quickly.
3. You will feel alone. It will seem like the people around you who should understand don't -- at least not the way you wish they would. I was told everyone grieves differently, and that must be true. But I think the most important thing to do is to try to be patient with yourself and with others. Be honest, at least with God, about the anger or whatever other emotions come over you -- even if your anger is directed at Him! He is one of those friends who can handle the truth, and your relationship will grow as a result. As for everyone else, people will do and say the wrong things. Pray for the grace to forgive them. It will not come instantly, but persevere in that prayer, and in time you will see healing and growth, at least in yourself.
When God leads you to a place where you feel all alone, it may be, in part, because He wants you to turn to Him. You are not alone. And you never will be. He is there. Use this time to draw closer to Him, Who can and will meet all of your needs. He gave you the gift of this life; He will not leave your side as you mourn its loss. Great grace and growth has been poured into my life from the times I tried to turn to our Lord in my grief.
4. One way He will meet your needs is to bring people into your life who you wouldn't have expected, to help you on your path to healing, and to be there in the moments when a physical person is so essential. For me, one of these people was a woman who went to Adoration the hour before me at Church. I knew she had lost several babies, and she came to mind the day we were going to place Benedict at the cemetery -- the day I suddenly had no idea how I could go on one. more. moment. I called her, and she just ... understood. She too, had stood at a cemetery and said goodbye to children she'd never held, alive, in this world. And she stood by me through the months that followed, sometimes calling because she just remembered a certain milestone being particularly difficult, and she wanted me to know I was in her prayers. She is one of the most beautiful, faith-filled women I know.
Another friend, who lost a child at two years of age, sent me some books for people who were grieving the loss of a child. I cannot say what this meant to me -- that she saw Benedict as my child, and me as a parent grieving a child. My tears were not merely hormonal, as was once suggested to me, and having this friend validate that gave me much strength to continue forward.
5. Look for joy. Every day. On the day we buried our son, it came in the form of our almost-four-year-old daughter singing a silly song in the back of the car. We couldn't help but smile. Let God break through to your heart with rays of sunshine, birds singing, flowers blooming -- and hold on to those moments during darker times. God will find ways meaningful to you to let you know He is with you; look for them.
6. Recognize that you need to prioritize your own health and healing, to some extent. Your whole family will benefit if you do. For me, this included seeing a therapist, and even deciding not to homeschool when we were expecting another child and I didn't know what was going to happen with my emotions when he arrived. You may be asked to humble yourself ... like when my spiritual director suggested I attend a meeting for parents who had lost children. I sat there, listening to their stories, and feeling like I didn't belong. Then, I told my story and I met nothing but warmth and understanding. I didn't choose to go again, but am so thankful I took that first step toward trying to find some healing.
7. Being honest with those around you. I'm not saying to share everything with everyone, but I think it is helpful to find small ways to let those closest to us know that we are still hurting from our loss. I found great comfort, strength, and freedom when I could accept that I was grieving, and share that with others even in small ways. I wanted to remember my child, and to share that with others during some moments. In our home, I placed his footprints in a small frame in our room. My husband and I visit the cemetery on Christmas Day, on the way to a relatives' home. We remember our babies in ways that are meaningful and necessary to us, and have found much peace in doing so.
8. Your other children may surprise you with the depth of their grief. I will still find some of mine crying at odd times, saying they "miss Benny." They love to include our two miscarried children when they count how many children we have. I am so sad they have had to experience these losses, but am so thankful for the compassion I see in their hearts, and especially, for their recognition of the value of life at even its earliest stages.
9. This is perhaps a truth that most surprised and relieved me: What doesn't kill you does not merely "make you stronger." Yes, you will grow, but when you have experienced losses in the past, they often come up and make it more challenging to deal with losses you face in the future. Again, be patient with yourself, and with God, and trust He will lead you where He wants you to go. There is no "right" pace -- only the one that is right for you and your situation.
10. This one is for if you find yourself pregnant again. I now think it is helpful to give yourself some time to heal before getting pregnant again, but that will vary for everyone. I actually spent most of the year after our loss hoping to be pregnant again; it was only in retrospect that I was thankful God knew better than we did, and gave us time to heal, to grow, and to accept His will in whatever form it would come, be that another baby or not.
I also think you need to not be abashed in any efforts you feel compelled to make to ensure the health of your next pregnancy -- while many miscarriages are sometimes simply a fact of life, sometimes there are outside circumstances, like progesterone levels, that play a role and can be supplemented. Expect to feel, during your next pregnancy, like you are holding your breath, but also don't be afraid to hope and to love this precious gift! Rest in knowing God will continue to walk with you through this pregnancy and whatever it may bring, just as He always has in the past. Your trust, your faith in being open to life again, is beautiful.
Your new baby does not take the place of the baby you lost -- you wouldn't want it too! That child, God willing, has secured a place in heaven, and in its mother's heart, forever. Both of those things are gifts. I am thankful for all of my children, including the ones in heaven. I would not be who I am today without them. I would not want to be.
I recently discovered a blog by a nurse who specializes in dealing with the loss of a baby during pregnancy. It definitely is worth checking out if you or someone you know is facing this situation.
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