What It's Really Like to Mourn a Child

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There have been so many thoughts on my heart and mind lately, but finding the time to write here during the Christmas season has been difficult. But today I need to write, time or no time. I have a Christmas party coming up, my house is in shambles, but the words must come. It be rambles, but those of you who have grieved understand.

Everyone's experience is different. But I know SO many mothers will relate to this post, in part, if not in whole.

Empty arms (and womb) during the Christmas season is much harder than I think most people who have never miscarried can even fathom. 

I don't know what it's like to lose a spouse, a parent, or a grandparent. All grief is different, and I don't know how to relate by experience to that kind of pain. But I do know what it's like to lose a baby. And a first born baby at that.

Grief is a funny thing. It's almost something that must be learned as you go. It something that is always there, but triggers the strangest responses. Most of those responses are unpredictable and even uncomprehendable.

It's been strange, being fine one moment and sobbing the next. 

I can't understand why some days I just want to stand in the baby center at Target, basking in the cuteness and thinking happy thoughts for the future. And then there are other days when I can't even look at a baby or a baby outfit.

One day I can sing my heart out and it comforts me. The next, I can't whisper a word without crying. Comfort comes in different forms on different days, even different hours.

It's odd how life becomes a strange combination of being truly happy for other people's joys, yet discovering that their birth, baby announcement, or even family photos are such a painful reminder. You see yet another baby announcement on social media and feel this awful pang because, no matter how happy you are for them, it's also another reminder that you didn't get to keep your baby. You don't want people with babies to keep away from you and you don't want people to be paranoid of hurting you, yet anything baby related does hurt. This very post has a diaper ad in it and, for goodness sake, it hurts!

The grief of losing a child is a different kind of grief because, for a woman, it's also physical. Your body changes chemically, physically, emotionally. Everything changes to prepare for a baby who never comes. Your thinking is different. Your instincts are different. The desire to nurture that many women instinctively have becomes a hundred times stronger, only there is no baby to nurse, bathe, cuddle. 

Arms ache without warning because they're supposed to be holding something that isn't there. You want to rock, to move, to clasp a baby that is real in your mind and heart but not tangibly present. You see another mother with her baby and simply ache all over. 

It doesn't matter how long or how short one is pregnant. When you become a mother, you stay one forever. Grace is always with me. I still put a hand on my stomach because it feels like she is there. Even though we didn't lost her after birth, it still feels like someone is missing in our house, at our table, and beside us in church.

One thing I've observed is how rushed our culture is about death and loss. After a few short weeks, it is as if one is expected to move on--to resume life as it was. Only, few seem to realize that you can never go back. Life will never be the way it was, you will never be the way you were, and you are not supposed to.

In time's past, black was worn for at least a year (if not longer.) While I know that forcing mourning upon someone is not the best idea, I do think folks had the right idea of some of the customs. By your attire, folks always knew you were mourning. They couldn't forget. It was a constant reminder that you had lost someone very precious, were grieving, and respect needed to be shown. You weren't expected to "get over" it. Time was given and extra sympathy and respect was paid.

I think of the Jewish people, who, in the Bible, would lay aside everything to cry and mourn for an entire month. There were other signs too, such as ripping their clothing, but what struck me is how passionate Eastern culture was about grief. There was a deep, emotional response that we Americans have a habit of shrinking from. 

To someone who has ever mourned in any way, you understand why those traditions could actually be nice. 

As a mother of a baby in heaven, it's my instinct to want to preserve my baby's memory. I don't want people to forget or cease to talk about her or act as if I am no longer grieving just because, well, life does go on. That's one of the hardest points of grief--the sun does keep on rising and setting. You can't stay in bed the rest of your life (although I've been sorely tempted.) You have to keep going. Yet, when you do--when you're smiling, brave, and continue to be as involved socially as possible--it feels like the memory of your loss is forgotten. It might actually be nice to constantly wear black so, even when I am smiling, folks understand the pain behind it. 

I guess I just want to say that I understand this season hurts for many people. It's a season of unceasing joy in the midst of your pain. It's even a season of talking about babies--Baby Jesus. 

Yet, behind all the twinkling lights and gifts and the joy of celebrating Jesus coming into the world, a LOT of mothers were crying, brokenhearted, during the first season of His birth. Countless mothers lost their babies to Herod's cruelty. There was in Ramah a voice heard, Rachel weeping for her babies because they were dead. If I think losing my baby was senseless and even cruel, imagine how those mothers felt. We're not told if anything good came out of that awful, awful event. 

Mary did get to keep her baby and I'm sure it was a joyous event for her. Yet her baby was born to die. I've often thought that my baby died to be born, born in heaven. But Jesus was born to die--and the Bible tells us that Mary had to watch. If I think my baby dying was excruciating pain, I'm not sure what it must have been like to watch your son die nailed to a cross. 

Christmas is a hard time, because it feels like your loss in swallowed up in celebration. But the very first Christmas held a terrible amount of suffering too. Those of us who have lot a baby during the holidays can know that we are not alone.

I've learned a lot. I'm still learning. This kind of grief is different and walking through it is a daily learning process. But here is what I've gleaned so far and may it help other grieving mothers too:

• Give yourself time. Too many people rush healing. I've seen it. And it results in hidden depression, breakdowns, and even bitterness because being strong didn't really help anything. It just kept grieving people going to do what other people wanted them to do, not necessarily doing what was best. So don't. You don't have to be strong (although God does definitely give grace and will be strong for you if you let Him.) 

• You don't have to say yes to every social or ministry obligation. Really. Keeping insanely busy does not promote healing, just forgetfulness. Serving is good to a point (it's therapeutic!) but not if it's replacing healing. Saying no isn't easy (trust me--I tend to be a people pleaser and feel guilty if I'm not doing what everybody wants me to be doing.) But it's good to step back from things that may hinder healing or add frustration/stress during a time that needs to be a little quieter, a little less busy.

• Don't stay in bed all day. At the same time, serving others (to a healthy point) is very beneficial. Serving alongside my husband at the Chattanooga Rescue Mission has been very healing. Christmas shopping and endeavoring to do little things for those the Lord places on my heart has also been good for me. 

• Recognize you will never be the same. I'm okay with never being the same again. Losing a baby when you don't have another child at home is so hard because you're a mother with completely empty arms. I'm not going to be the person I was before. We're not supposed to go back. 

• Find something/somebody to nurture. I got a puppy. It's different for everyone. Maybe you'll find comfort in serving in a nursery or volunteering at a nursing home. 

If you have any tips for healing and plain old surviving grief, please share them in the comments. You never know how it may help someone. 

And, if you're grieving this season, I'm sorry. Really. Message me. Ask for prayer. Or find someone who will pray with you and support you. Don't try to be strong alone. And by that, I mean, yes, we have God and the Bible. But we also need people. We're relational and we were never meant to survive grief alone.

"He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." Isaiah 40:31

"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee." --Isaiah 43:2

As always, thanks for stopping by.