I was prepared to offer up a happy blog with happy things today, but there’s been a miasma over the whole week. A beloved family member lost the child that he and his wife were looking forward to bringing into the world. It happened today. We know what caused it and have answers to the biological whys, but that doesn’t make the grieving process any easier.
I too have had pregnancy losses. Most of them were so early as to barely count as miscarriages, but there was one that was so late that it could almost have been a stillbirth, and that was the one that traumatized me the most.
I can’t claim to know what my relative and his wife are going through right now–each experience is different, and we all grieve in our own ways. I can speak to my own losses, though, and how they affected me.
First of all, they hurt like hell. Not just the cramps, but the loss itself. From my earliest memories, my biggest dream was to be a mother. My career aspirations changed all of the time–doctor, opera singer, botanist, actress, writer, art therapist, curator, webmistress, hospital administrator, small business owner, etc–but the one thing that never, ever changed was that burning desire to have a child of my own and raise him or her to the best of my abilities. To have my own body deny and betray me was hard to bear. I felt like less of a woman because my body just refused to let me carry a child all the way past the finish line.
With only one pregnancy loss, I was married–the other times, I was single or past my divorce. Sometimes I was in relationships, and sometimes I wasn’t. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done, but I refuse to believe that my unborn babies died for my sins.
I am a follower of Christ, and as such, I believe that Jesus died for my sins and was resurrected on the third day. I do not believe that my children were taken away for my sins–Jesus took care of that.
There is one reason and one alone that my unborn children died:
Shit happens.
Life is imperfect. Circumstances sometimes deprive us of the things we desire most. It’s not out of some cosmic desire to punish us for being the fallible creatures we are. We don’t all have perfect bodies. We aren’t all nubile and fecund. We don’t all have genius in ways that will bring us fortune and fame.
We are who we are. Life happens to us whether we are prepared for it or not. Sometimes great things happen to us, and sometimes unspeakably painful things happen to us. Sometimes we don’t even realize what a good thing we had until it is gone and can never be replaced.
What matters most is how we react to loss and pain. Do we allow it to destroy us or delay us, or do we learn from it and build something beautiful on the ashes of the loss? There’s nothing wrong with a little destruction, as long as we rise from the ashes of our loss with courage, wisdom, and the strength to build a better life in the name of those who we have lost.
At the end of my life, I want all of my children, regardless of whether they were born or not, to be able to be proud of the woman I am when it is my time to go. I want to hold them all and let them know that I always loved them, and that they are all a part of me. I want my living child (and any future children I have) to look at me and see strength, wisdom, courage, and a role model. When they lose something they hold dear (and because they are human and life is imperfect, they will), I hope that they look at my life and find the courage within themselves to carry on with faith, hope, and love, knowing that they too can make the best of any situation and draw strength even from the gravest of losses.
Some say that time heals all wounds. I respectfully disagree–time just gives us the ability to be stronger than our pain and carry on. The ache is still there, but it becomes more bearable with each passing day.
If you are grieving a lost child, please know that it gets better. Reach out for help if you need it–you don’t have to bear your burden alone!