Happy Bereaved Mothers Day!

A day that I never knew existed until last year is here - Bereaved Mothers Day. You learn a lot when you lose a child. 

And I know some people would question my blog post title, because how can anyone ever put the words happy and bereaved in the same sentence? And yet, even as a bereaved mother, I have a lot to be happy about.

I am happy that I had the opportunity to carry my babies in my womb even if only for a short time.

I am happy that I have a sweet sunshine daughter June Bug who loves and remembers her baby sisters Mikayla and Selah.

I am happy each time I remember Mikayla's kicks, that hot chocolate always made her dance, and I am happy I got to see her face even though it was only a brief moment. Though all these memories are mingled with sadness, there is happiness there, too. 

I am happy that Selah passed peacefully and at home instead of in a cold hospital bed with drama and needles and doctors and nurses. I am happy I had the time to truly say good-bye. Again, I wish the ending could have been different, but if she had to go away so soon, I am glad it happened the way it did.

I am happy that I have a rainbow on the way who will not in any way replace Mikayla or Selah, or make me love or miss them any less, but who will enrich our lives and bring joy to our family.

I am happy that I have a loving heavenly father who knows and understands the pain in my heart and offers His comfort and peace.

I am happy that the same heavenly father is holding and loving my precious babies for me until the day I get to see them again. 

I am happy that through the wonders of the internet I have learned and found other beautiful and courageous mothers who are walking this most difficult of roads alongside me. I am happy we have each other for support and encouragement, and the healing power of a simple, "Me, too!"

So yes, I wish each and every mother who has ever had to say good-bye too soon to her precious child a very Happy (though probably bitter-sweet like so much of life) Bereaved Mother's Day. 

Sibling Day

In case you didn't know, today is sibling day.

My Facebook news-feed is filled with photos of people with their siblings. Some when they were children, some as adults, some even have both.

As much as I love my siblings, and enjoyed seeing the photo my own sister posted, it does hurt a bit. You see, I will never be able to have a photo with all my siblings, and neither will June Bug. I can't help but wonder how many of those other photos have missing siblings as well.

Though it was never talked about a lot in my house growing up, I lost a sibling to miscarriage when I was 4 years old. We never got to meet this sweet baby, and I don't even think we knew about the existence of this baby until we were much older. I never really gave it much thought until I experienced losing a baby of my own.

And now June Bug has two siblings she'll never get to see this side of heaven. I could try to get a photo, using the teddy bear we have for Mikayla and the little owl knitted by a fellow loss-Mama for Selah, but it's just not the same. Our family photos will be forever incomplete just like my heart will forever be missing pieces.

Until we are made complete. One day when I stand before my savior and he fills in the holes in my heart with His healing love, and fills my aching arms with my babies I miss so much, I will be complete. Until then, I will be glad that June Bug has a sibling she will hopefully get to see and touch and play with come July. I will be thankful for the siblings God blessed me with on earth and the laughter and tears we have been through together. And I will mourn for the missing siblings in far too many homes.  

My Letter to Grief

I got the idea for writing a letter to grief from Kate Motaung, who encouraged readers to write their own letters. I began this letter several weeks ago, but it got to be too raw, and I had to back away for a bit, but I came back today feeling ready to tackle it. So here goes.



Dear Grief,

Over the past nine months I have tried holding you at arms length. I have tried bringing you in for a snuggle session. I have tried ignoring you and trying to pretend you were never there. I have gotten angry at you. I have coddled you like a newborn kitten and fed you until you became a tiger who nearly turned to devour me. I have researched you. I have tried to plumb your depths. I have ridden out your waves, even when I nearly drowned. You could not take me under.

Grief, you came into my life that early morning in the Emergency Room of the local hospital when I stared at the screen of the ultrasound machine, eyes searching for my wiggly baby and only finding a still stone instead. Strange that there should be a stone there. Where was my baby? Was she hiding? There must be some mistake. And then when I should have been hearing the delightful wild-stallion cantering clip-clop of her precious heartbeat, there was only silence. And I knew. I knew she was gone, and you crept in and made yourself known. An unwelcome guest in a place that should have been filled with hope and reassurance. You showed your ugly head that morning.

 You weren't through with me yet. In fact, you were only getting started. You embraced me as I was caught in the throes of contractions which should usher forth life, but instead were only bringing forth death. You held me as my precious daughter slipped into this world silent and still, when the only cries were that of a mother whose heart was ripped in two.

You were gracious to me those first few weeks. You let me ignore you for a bit; hold you away from me. But slowly, slowly, bit by bit you wormed your way in. You twisted into my heart and left it open and raw and bleeding. Scabs have formed now, but every so often you like to come and rip the scabs off as well, bringing up all the pain all over again.

You've been a constant shadow to me these nine months, sometimes almost disappearing for brief times when the joyful sun shines so brightly straight ahead that I can ignore you for a while. At other times you stretch large and spooky and make me want to hide under the covers like a frightened child. Especially now, that new life is growing in my womb. Now I am scared of you more than ever. I know your full power, and I don't want you coming close again. And yet I am powerless to stop you.

But I don't have to. I can live with you. I can let you come and go, ebb and flow, because I know that there is one in me who is greater than you or anything else in the world. He beat death. And because He beat death, He will one day banish you, grief, forevermore.

So I can close my eyes tonight, snuggle with my pillow, and sleep in peace knowing that though you can be so all-encompassing some days, you are merely a constant companion until the day I see Jesus and He strips you off of me and clothes me instead in pure joy.

Until then,

A Grieving Mama choosing to live by FAITH, not fear

Day 15: LIFE!

Day 15 of 31 Days  of Healing is very special to me and near and dear to my heart. I also LOVE that Kate's prompt for today is LIFE! I believe we have a God who is sovereign even (especially?) in the small things - even things like blog prompt words, so I know this is no accident!

Today is special because it is a holiday. Not one you'll see on many calendars, not one you'll get a day off work for, and not one that anyone ever really wants to have a reason to celebrate. It is a holiday I wish there was never any need for, but since we do live in a fallen world where babies die, I am glad there is a day set aside to remember.

Today, October 15th, is set aside as Pregnancy and Infant Loss (PAIL) Remembrance Day.

The Bible talks a lot about remembering, and special times of remembrance for His people. They generally involve remembering God's faithfulness during times of trial and tribulation.

Today this is my day of remembrance of God's faithfulness to me in the midst of Mikayla's stillbirth and Selah's miscarriage. I remember God's faithfulness to me and my family in the days that followed. I proclaim again God's continuing faithfulness to me today and forever!

As part of PAIL remembrance day, people around the world light candles at 7 pm local time and keep them lit for at least one hour. The idea is that this will create a continuous  wave of light around the world.

I lit 4 little tea-light candles tonight. One for Mikayla Sophie, one for Selah, a third for June Bug: one for each of my babies. I wrote their names on their candles. On the fourth I wrote one word: hope. For me this candle represents the hope that God will bring more children into our family when His timing is right.

At one point tonight, I glanced over and all the candles had gone out except for June Bug's. I felt a bit like it was an omen of some kind, that only my living-on-earth child's candle had not gone out. I felt like it was a bad sign that the "hope" candle had gone out, especially!

But then I thought to myself, "What can you do when you start to lose hope?" I realized that the best way to rekindle hope is the way the writers of scripture so often did, by revisiting and remembering God's goodness, grace, mercy, and faithfulness in the past.

I looked at that June Bug candle still brightly glowing in the darkness, and it was very symbolic for me. June Bug is a living picture of God's faithfulness to me. So I used her candle to re-light the others.

As I did so I remembered that my hope is in God's faithfulness, goodness, mercy, and grace. I remembered God's faithfulness and grace in giving June Bug life that continues here on earth, and for giving Mikayla and Selah their brief lives here on earth followed by a life that can never be extinguished.

I thank God for LIFE. For June Bug's life. For Mikayla's life. For Selah's life. For the lives of the children He will bless us with in the future, whether biologically or through adoption or some other way of His choosing. I thank Him most of all for giving us eternal LIFE through His death and resurrection.

So today, we remember. We celebrate the LIFE of these little souls who came to us for a short time before returning to the giver of LIFE.

Day 9: Join the Praise

Day 9 of 31 Days of Healing ; following Kate's prompt - "Join" for 5 minutes of unedited free-write.



Welcome to the club, Jenna. The club of mothers who have little ones waiting for us in heaven. We know that no one wants to be a member of this club. The rite of passage to get in is one of the worst you will ever experience.

One thing I must say, though, is that the members here are incredibly supportive. We all know how much it sucks and how terrible it is to say good-bye to your baby, so we gather around any new recruits with open arms and flowing tears to embrace you with love and understanding.

Your little Shane joins a chorus of precious little souls who gather around the throne of our heavenly father, singing praise without ending to the one who gave them the blessing of being carried in a womb full of love, for however short a time, and the greater blessing of living for eternity free from suffering, sadness, and pain.

Jenna, I want to thank you on behalf of all of us in this club, for being brave enough to share your journey. Thank you for speaking out and letting others know that your baby matters, and by extension, our babies matter. Your Shane has touched the lives and hearts of thousands, and though our babies may only touch a few in our immediate families, they matter. Each one of them has changed the world just by being here, even the ones who never took a breathe of air outside the womb.

So we join together, a club of Mamas missing our Little Blessings, to sing praises to our Father who allowed us to carry them wrapped in our love, and gave us the strength to survive giving them back so soon.

We join together to praise through our tears. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.