Archives for January 2016

January 29, 2016

It Hurts Because We’re Pro-Life

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First, I want to thank you all for your emails, comments, messages, and prayers after I shared about our miscarriage.  My husband and I have felt an incredible amount of support and love from many people over the last month, and we are grateful.

When people ask how I’m doing I typically respond “I have good days and bad days.”  I’ve learned that grieving is a process.  There are days when I’m at peace, and there are days when it’s hard to smile.  
I’ve been able to hold myself together pretty well, especially when I’m around other people.  Sure, there are a tears that leak out from time to time, but if I cry it isn’t much more than that.  Last week, however, something happened.  I guess it was what folks call a “trigger” and it came without warning.
And I bawled for the first time since I lost the baby.
I’ve cried several times since December 15th, but nothing like this gut wrenching, sobbing, ugly cry.  Something set me off and it took me a moment before I was able to calm down and breathe again.
When the sobbing was over I realized two very important things.
  1. I needed to cry to that.  I needed a moment to feel the ache of losing our baby.  And
  2. hurting like this reminds me that I really am Pro-Life.  
It sounds almost silly to say it; it’s such a simple truth.  We lost a baby.  It wasn’t a foreign blob of tissue that perhaps someday might become worthy of our care… This was our child.

My husband and I have always been pro-life Catholics.  My high school led the March for Life in 2001, and I participated in the March all 4 years of high school.  Both of us have been part of various pro-life efforts in our parishes and dioceses throughout our lives.  We’ve never doubted that a human life is sacred and worth protecting “from the moment of conception to natural death.”  It just makes sense.

But there’s something about that “from the moment of conception” piece that I don’t think really hit us until we lost this baby.

When we found out that we were pregnant with Alexandria we knew she was a baby human, no doubt.  But I think that as the pregnancy continued, it became more and more obvious that this was a little person who would make her “humanity” known to me especially by lodging her foot in my rib cage or punching the heck out of my stomach.

This time it was different.  I only carried the baby we lost for 7 weeks.  But just because that child hadn’t yet formed 10 fingers and 10 toes, didn’t make him any less human.  From the moment this baby was conceived there was a human being with a soul… a child of God worth loving and protecting.

As the great Dr. Seuss put it, 

“A person’s a person no matter how small.”   

The Catechism of the Catholic Church also articulates this beautifully:

And that is why this hurts.  We lost our child.  This was not a blob of tissue or a “potential” human being.  This was our child, and if we didn’t believe that this was a person then I don’t think we would feel the ache the way that we do.

I’m not grieving that we lost what maybe could have eventually turned into a baby.  That anyone would dare to say that’s the reason why mothers who have experienced miscarriage are mourning is , quite frankly, insulting.

In a way, I’m grateful for this ache.  It hurts because we lost a child, a person with a soul.  But that also means that I have the great hope of meeting him someday, which brings me joy and peace.

Pray for us, Little Saint.  We look forward to meeting you someday!

be at peace
walk on water
be not afraid

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January 15, 2016

This is Not the Cross I Wanted

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On December 15th I had a miscarriage.  Over the past month I have gone through a roller coaster of emotions, and I am finding ways of healing a day at a time.  I believe that writing is going to be extremely helpful in the healing process.  I also want to be sensitive to those who may find reading this difficult.  I simply ask for your prayers and know that I am praying for all families who have lost children.  

This is not how the New Year was supposed to begin.

I was supposed to hear my baby’s heartbeat for the first time at the beginning of this month.  I was supposed to be taking a picture of my 11 month old in her “I’m a Big Sister!” onesie and posting it online to announce Baby #2’s arrival in August. I’m supposed to be dealing with morning sickness, mood swings, and strange cravings. 
But I’m not.
When we found out that we were pregnant with our second child, we were a little surprised (but not really), a little overwhelmed (2 under 2!), but so so happy.  We bought our first house and moved in a week after we got the news.  Everything was coming together.  Were finances about to get a little interesting?  Oh yes.  But our family was growing, and our new house was going to be filled with one more person to love. 
On December 15th it felt like all of this joy and excitement was ripped from us without any warning.
While my husband and I sat in the ER waiting for the doctors and nurses to come talk to us about what was happening, we started praying the rosary.  

First Sorrowful Mystery… The Agony in the Garden.  

And that’s where we were. 
Looking back I see how we were having our own “Let this cup pass from me” moment.   I remember praying: This is an opportunity to show off, Lord.  You can save our baby, you can stop the bleeding and keep our Little One safe from harm.  We trust you and we have faith.  Please God save our child.  
But as things got progressively worse, I just went numb.  And in the midst of going through the miscarriage I kept thinking “I don’t want this cross.  This hurts too much.”

The day after our ER visit we went to the Adoration Chapel.  I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to say.  Where Christ’s words were much more profound: My God, why have you forsaken me?(Mt 27:46)  all I managed to get out in the moment was “You’re a Jerk.” And we left.  

Sure, I know that we’re called to “take up [our] cross and follow Him” (Mt 16:24), but this is not the cross I wanted.  

I was angry.  I was hurt.  None of this made any sense.  Why wouldn’t God let this cross pass from us?  This could have been a miraculous story of healing and trusting the Lord.  

A few days later, we drove from Kansas to Memphis to visit family for Christmas.  I got really sick along the way (we later found out I had bronchitis and an ear infection), so I was dealing with that on top of the physical and emotional discomfort from the miscarriage.  At one point the pain became overwhelming, but it was the first time I felt like I could approach the Lord in prayer without anger or hate:
Lord I didn’t want this cross.  It is not something I would have chosen for myself.  But I desire to be close to You. If carrying this cross allows me to be more deeply united to you, I ask that you help me to embrace it… to carry it so close to my heart that it becomes intimately united with Yours.  Amen  

I wouldn’t say the pain went away instantaneously, but praying those words in the backseat of the car led to a moment of peace and surrender.  It was just a moment, but it changed everything that has happened since.  
There are still moments when I am angry.  I am still hurt.  There are times at Mass when I just start crying because I still can’t make sense of why this happened.  I didn’t want this cross, and I know that there will be moments where it will seem impossible to carry it.  

But I am certain that this is a miraculous story of healing and trusting the Lord.  

I know that God’s hand has been with us, guiding us, long before our child was conceived.  We have a “Little Saint” in heaven standing before the throne of God interceding for us, and that brings joy to my heart.  
There are difficult moments ahead, especially as our baby’s due date draws nearer.

As many people have told me over the past month, the Blessed Mother knows what it is like to lose an innocent child.  In those moments when I’m so angry at God that I can’t talk to Him, that’s when going to her will be even more important.  There’s still a lot of hurt, but there’s also a lot of healing taking place.  

I really didn’t want this cross.  It was my biggest fear.  At the same time, I draw so much hope and comfort from the fact that this cross, if I choose to embrace it, will bring me into a deeper union with the heart of our Lord.  
This is not the cross I wanted, but I know that He will help me carry it.  
Little Saint, pray for us.  

be at peace
walk on water
be not afraid

d*
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