Two babies were born into our family last week. Their arrivals were sandwiched in between a due date that came and went. That would be my first due date.
I hesitantly looked at the pictures that were e-mailed and it pained me to see a happy momma with her snuggly baby boy. It only made me realize more just what I lost on November 11, 2009. I lost not only the chance to carry my baby, but the chance to meet him and take lots of pictures of he and I. Together.
Some of had said to me. “Well it’s a good thing you didn’t already have children because then you would know exactly what you lost.”
Aside from the fact that this is an ignorant thing to say to any woman who has lost a baby, this is an all-together completely untrue thing to say.
Believe me, I do not need to have a child at home to know that I have lost two amazing gifts; two beautiful chances; two sweet what could-have-beens.
The agony I continue to feel on a daily basis tells me this.
July 25, 2010
July 16, 2010
Not Just An Ordinary Day for Me
Today would have been my due date for Jack. There's nothing more to say because nothing I write or say can accurately reflect what is stirring in my heart.
July 1, 2010
No Peace in Death
It’s been a hard couple of days around here.
This week marks what would have been the half-way point had I still been carrying Claire. We would have had our appointment to find out the gender of our baby, but alas, no appointment is needed.
And in just two short weeks we would have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of our first baby, Jack. July was to be a month full of birthdays: mine and Jack’s.
It’s so good for me to say their names. To write them. To see them.
But I feel as if I must fight for my right to grieve. It feels sometimes that I am being pushed to “move on” and “get over” the death of our babies.
Some want to know how I am doing and act surprised when I share that I am sad.
Some say that they hope that I have found some peace in the loss of my babies.
Let me tell you about peace in death…….there is none.
Death is not something that we are supposed to be at peace with. Death was not supposed to be, remember?
Katherine sent me this book and the writer had this to say about death and peace:
“Shalom is the fullness of life in all dimensions. Shalom is dwelling in justice and delight with God, with neighbor, with oneself, in nature. Death is shalom’s moral enemy. Death is demonic. We cannot live at peace with death. When the writer of Revelation spoke of the coming of the day of shalom, he did not say that on that day we would live at peace with death. He said that on that day ‘There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ “
I have shared with some that I feel different inside and I can’t quite put my finger on what the difference is or even how to express it. But then in the same book, I came across this passage and it hit the nail on the head of how I feel inside that may not be apparent outside:
“I remember delighting in them- trees, art, house, music, pink morning sky, work well done, flowers, books. I still delight in them. I’m still grateful. But the zest is gone. The passion is cooled, the striving quieted, the longing stilled. My attachment is loosened. No longer do I set my heart on them. I can do without them. They do not matter. Instead of rowing, I float. The joy that comes my way I savor. But the seeking, the clutching, the aiming is gone. I don’t suppose anyone on the outside notices. I go through my paces. What the world gives, I still accept. But what it promises, I no longer reach for. I’ve become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it’s not mine. I don’t belong anymore.”
I am changed.
And I will never come to peace with the death of my babies; or stop grieving them; or thinking about them and what could have been; or stop longing for them.
This week marks what would have been the half-way point had I still been carrying Claire. We would have had our appointment to find out the gender of our baby, but alas, no appointment is needed.
And in just two short weeks we would have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of our first baby, Jack. July was to be a month full of birthdays: mine and Jack’s.
It’s so good for me to say their names. To write them. To see them.
But I feel as if I must fight for my right to grieve. It feels sometimes that I am being pushed to “move on” and “get over” the death of our babies.
Some want to know how I am doing and act surprised when I share that I am sad.
Some say that they hope that I have found some peace in the loss of my babies.
Let me tell you about peace in death…….there is none.
Death is not something that we are supposed to be at peace with. Death was not supposed to be, remember?
Katherine sent me this book and the writer had this to say about death and peace:
“Shalom is the fullness of life in all dimensions. Shalom is dwelling in justice and delight with God, with neighbor, with oneself, in nature. Death is shalom’s moral enemy. Death is demonic. We cannot live at peace with death. When the writer of Revelation spoke of the coming of the day of shalom, he did not say that on that day we would live at peace with death. He said that on that day ‘There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ “
I have shared with some that I feel different inside and I can’t quite put my finger on what the difference is or even how to express it. But then in the same book, I came across this passage and it hit the nail on the head of how I feel inside that may not be apparent outside:
“I remember delighting in them- trees, art, house, music, pink morning sky, work well done, flowers, books. I still delight in them. I’m still grateful. But the zest is gone. The passion is cooled, the striving quieted, the longing stilled. My attachment is loosened. No longer do I set my heart on them. I can do without them. They do not matter. Instead of rowing, I float. The joy that comes my way I savor. But the seeking, the clutching, the aiming is gone. I don’t suppose anyone on the outside notices. I go through my paces. What the world gives, I still accept. But what it promises, I no longer reach for. I’ve become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it’s not mine. I don’t belong anymore.”
I am changed.
And I will never come to peace with the death of my babies; or stop grieving them; or thinking about them and what could have been; or stop longing for them.
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