Life After Miscarriage and What to Say to the Hurting

I took an impromptu hiatus from blogging the past month. I've been soul-searching and sifting and life prioritizing. I've been trying to figure out if a blog can/should have a place in this busy season of my life with two little ones at home; and if so, what it should be about and how much of my time I should be devoting to it. I'd love to hear your feedback. Ultimately I have to prayerfully decide what the purpose of this blog will be, but it would be helpful to hear your thoughts on it. What do you get out of what I write? Is it worth continuing? What would you want to see more of/less of? You have all been such wonderful readers. I would love any feedback you'd like to give. I'm not fully sure what it will look like, but I figure for now I will at least put up a couple posts that I had already written over the past few weeks. 

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A glimpse into little life moments and thoughts as I carry on life after a miscarriage:

Thoughts of the baby come to my mind while playing UNO with my four year-old son. Immediately I feel the twinge of sadness, and right then, without knowing how much I need it, my boy lays down his cards and comes over to me saying, "Mommy, I want to give you a hug." Tears come in my sweet little boy's arms and I tell him how much he comforted me right when I needed it.

At our grandparents 85th birthday party we were talking about how there are exactly 50 in the family right now but it just keeps growing as so many are having babies each year. My heart sinks a little as I realize my sweet baby was supposed to be next to make it 51 in February, but no longer will.

I keep trying to do everything I usually do for life to run smoothly and happily, but cannot seem to light a spark of motivation. I don't feel myself. I am trying, but I feel so weighed down by an underlying sadness that is tinting life right now and making even simple tasks more difficult.

Walking through a store, I see the baby section. I feel numb, but also aware there's nothing numb about it at all. I'm just too tired to let myself tap into all the sadness inside. The question hangs in the back of my mind: Will I ever need this section of a store again? Do I ever even want to risk losing again?

A dear aunt asks me how I'm really doing and I can't help but cry again. She then tells me of the two babies she lost that I never knew about. It's life giving to hear someone else has been here and gives me permission to still be crying about it. 

When I take photos of my two living kids, it looks like someone is always missing to me now. 

I look back at the pictures from the short time I was pregnant with our sweet baby and both amazement and longing washes over me. "There the baby was with us!" Yet never again.

I'm making supper at the cottage on our vacation with my husband's family and it hits me that it was this weekend I was supposed to be going into my second trimester and would have reached the "safe zone" to blast the news far and wide that I was expecting. I still can't believe I found out just how right they are about those delicate first few months.

Sometimes before I fall asleep I lay on my back with my hand on my empty belly and remember how just a few weeks ago it seemed every day to be growing larger and rounder (your belly grows crazy fast when it's your third). I wonder if it ever will again ... and if I even want it to.

Seeing our friends' pregnancy and birth announcements are no longer only joyful. I'm SO happy for each one of them but they are also reminders of my own loss now too. And I hate that. I miss being able to give a completely joy-filled congratulations. And yet perhaps my joy is deeper for them now. I am more thankful to God with them than I could have been before because I know the life and health of our babies is not guaranteed. My congratulations may hurt a little to give now, but I mean them more than ever.

I'm playing with a puzzle with my son and he says he is thinking about the baby again. "Mommy, I'm sad. I really wanted to give it kisses and snuggle our baby. Why did it have to die?" Oh, my dear boy, I wish I knew the answer to that.

I can't seem to stop getting hit with moments of grief out of nowhere. I fear sometimes even my extremely caring and supportive husband will soon grow tired of hearing that I'm thinking about the baby again. I start to feel like I should maybe start to keep it all to myself more. That's also partly why I haven't been blogging recently. 

Holding my friends' babies is delightfully healing and yet achy all at once. How I longed for this with my baby. I wonder if I'll ever hold one of my own again. But yet I've never treasured these little lives more than I do now, no matter who they belong to. I breath in their warmth, feeling the tickle of their soft hair and thank God for life.

Somehow, though for a long time I didn't think it could, it seems time has helped and I seem to be coming out of the thick cloud of grief. I feel a bit more like myself again. I do still tear up and feel the loss often, but it's with a deep joy and a heart at peace now. I have a beautiful silver bracelet I wear that my dearest girlfriend bought for me on what we didn't know would end up being my very last day with my baby. It's made from a Victorian Rose silver spoon and I wear it to remind me of my little rosebud that never got to bloom. I can be found from time to time staring at it with happiness in my heart now, remembering my little one, knowing she's in the arms of my Jesus and I will meet her someday.

I wanted to share these snippets with you to help someone who hasn't been through a miscarriage understand a little of what it feels like, and to encourage those who have or are going through a miscarriage that someone else feels a bit of what you do. However, I don't dare pretend that everyone who goes through a miscarriage feels the same. We are all unique and will grieve and process accordingly. 

In many ways I have felt about as spoiled as I could be going through this. And I want to thank you, dear reader, for that. I have felt many things since the night I lost my baby, but I have not once felt alone in this. I am humbled, encouraged, and strengthened by the outpouring of love from so many during this time. I have received so many messages - each one so precious to me - from those who say they don't know what to say except that they care to those who have or are walking this road too. You have all been so sweet and encouraging as I open up and let strangers as well as friends into this painful loss in my family's life. 

For years before this happened to me I wondered how to best support and love someone through a miscarriage. I wondered what I would or should say or do if a friend were to go through it. I would read articles and tips for being sensitive to them. Then a friend of mine did go through it just about a week before I did. That week before I joined her, I floundered, not knowing what to say or not to say. I loved her and just wanted her to feel I was there for her, but I didn't know the best way to do that (and thankfully she was very gracious with me as I learned). 

Now having gone through both sides of it, I've realized that the most encouraging thing you can do for someone who is going through a miscarriage (and any form of grief really) is to 1) acknowledge that you know it happened and 2) that you care and are so sorry. You don't have to know what to say beyond that. Sometimes when we push ourselves to say something beyond that when we don't know what it feels like to go through it, we end up unintentionally saying things that can hurt that person a little. Mourn with those who mourn - it really is that simple. All the good purposes God has for suffering in our lives will be revealed to them naturally later. For now, just be there to listen, pray and support. I am so grateful to so many who have done just that for me.

Images from unsplash.com

Jackson's 4th Birthday Letter

My sweet Jackson,

It’s your 4th birthday! Somehow you've up and turned 4 on us. Already it's hard to believe you're the same person as the little baby we see in your baby pictures. I can barely remember you being so helpless and small (but thank you for being the sweetest baby a mother could ask for - you were an absolute delight and went easy on me!)

My son, you have grown leaps and bounds this year. Physically, you shed your baby face, ditched diapers, and lost any last remnants of sweet baby rolls. You’ve shot up tall and most people think you are older than you really are. But the biggest growth this year has been inside yourself. This year we’ve watched you go from a crying toddler in the church nursery who clung to mom and dad, refusing to go to the front of the church for kid’s connection, to this confident little man who strolls up to the front and shoots the breeze with the pastor in front of the whole congregation (which actually terrifies me every time, wondering what embarrassing tidbit you might feel like sharing). You started Sunday School and AWANA this year and you have flourished. You’ve made friends and learned so much - from planes, trains, and automobiles, to the power of honesty, trust, and the fact that God is always with us.

I love discovering your personality and the unique person God has made you to be. 

You are careful. You are so young, but I can completely trust that once I’ve explained why  something is dangerous that you will not try to do it and you will watch out that your sister stays safe as well. I’ve been able to give you much more independence due to this. I never knew a four year old could be so trustworthy!

You are such an encourager. You are so generous with your praise and quick to say, “Wow! You look so beautiful, mommy!” “Addie, you did it all by yourself! Great job!” “You’re the best daddy in the whole wide world!” 

You have the most amazing memory. You know every book we read to you by heart, and you’ve been doing this since you could talk! This made remembering your memory verses for AWANA a breeze for you. I think you’d memorized your entire book by the second month.

You started helping out around the house this year - emptying the dishwasher, putting the garbage bags in and taking the recycling out. We pay you for emptying the dishwasher (10 whole cents!) and a whole new world has opened up to you as you are learning to save your money, give your money, and spend your money. You pretty much always choose to buy the same thing - a box of Smarties. 

You are a classic boy. To your daddy’s delight, you love motorcycles, cars and any big trucks. Now that you make a bit of money, you are determined to save up enough to buy a real motorcycle. Let’s just say, I’m thankful we pay you a pitifully low amount (and I may keep it that way as long as that’s what you desire to buy with your money).

You are sensitive. You cry quite easily, sometimes you don’t even know why. Watching you brings me back to my childhood sometimes - I remember feeling the same way at times. You are so alike me in some ways. 

You can be quite shy. You tend to not like games in big groups or loud crowds. You just get quiet, sit on the side and watch, happy to be a spectator instead of entering in. You’ve been like this since you were a baby. I remember when you were about a year old your daddy tried to take you to a big fair for kids with bouncy castles and games for little ones and you had absolutely no interest. Now in AWANA during games time sometimes the leaders try to prod you, but you stand firm that you don’t want to. We’ve had a few people tell me that you’re too shy, but I don’t mind that you are shy. I am almost 30 years old and I’m still the same way. It’s just how you’re made, darling. It’s still hard for me as well sometimes, but I’ve learned I need to embrace that I’m made the way I am. You may not be the life of every party, but you sure bring fun and life to this house, and you will have so many other deep and great things to offer this world. Find what you do well, and do it with all your heart. Challenge yourself to grow where you are weak, but it’s okay that all things are not naturally comfortable to you. We will love you for exactly who you are.

We had your birthday party Saturday, although your official birthday is today. At the end of it your dad played the video I’d made for your first birthday documenting your first year of life. I (and your Aunt Chantal and Papa) couldn’t hold back the tears. It seems so long ago now since you were that soft, tiny, helpless, sweet little baby. You’ve come so far since then. And the greatest thing I felt watching it, was how far I’ve come since then too. You made me a mommy, Jackson. You started this amazing, crazy, difficult, wonderful journey that has stretched me and changed me in ways I didn’t know existed. You taught me there is something far more fulfilling than living for myself. You helped me learn to lay down my wants and love another. It’s been a hard thing to do at times, and I certainly do not always do it well, but it’s getting easier each year that goes by. You’ve helped make me into a mom - one that is always learning, adapting, transforming - and for that I am forever grateful to God and to you. You are a delight and I am so very proud of you, my sweet boy. Happy birthday!

Love,

Mommy

Mothering When You Don't Have a Mom

It's Mother's Day.

Four sisters I knew from college lost their mother suddenly a year ago. It still utterly breaks my heart and yet lifts my soul to watch their faith in Jesus through this journey of living with pain as they and I ache, waiting for that better day when they will see her again. One of those sisters is a mom to three kids who are now without their beautiful grandmother who adored them and poured her heart into them. And all the other grandchildren to come will never know her in person - though her legacy, stories and heart will be passed on to them. I can’t help but think ahead to the day the other three sisters may become mommas and be without a mom to call, let alone all the other life experiences they are now facing without her. It wasn’t meant to be this way.

It’s supposed to be like the cute photo of freshly manicured toes on my facebook feed today. A sweet soon-to-be mom getting a pedicure with her own mom a few days before her baby arrives. Mom is there to be mom to the soon-to-be mom and to help for those first crazy days with that new, sweet little baby. That is beautiful and just so right. And yet, to see it as it is supposed to be, when it is far from what I’ve experienced, brings my heart’s void poignantly to the surface. Tears came to my eyes - a mix of joy at the goodness in that scene and yet also deep sorrow for the void in my own mothering experience.

Mothering without a mom is hard. 

There's more than one way to lose your mom. Beyond physical death, there can be loss and brokenness in emotional, mental, or relational ways, the end result of which is the loss of a loving mother figure in your life. I lost my own mom when I was about thirteen years old. It's a long and complicated story that would take more time and space to tell properly than I have here, but suffice it to say that my mom was not at all able to be a mother to me from that time on. 

We were just at that glorious stage where our relationship was taking a delightful turn towards friendship when I lost her. All my teenage years and since have been lived without a mother figure in my life. I left home at sixteen, had a job, and paid rent. I knew the value of a dollar, having to buy essentials like deodorant and toothpaste while I wished I could be like my friends, spending my money on whatever I wanted to. I went to college, met an amazing man and got engaged. Planning my wedding was bittersweet. It was the best thing I ever did to marry my husband; but if I’m honest, the whole process of the wedding was deeply painful. I remember going to my dorm room to cry as I’d see other engaged girls get to go wedding dress shopping with their mom. They didn’t bear life alone and had mom there to show them the way, give advice, and delight with them in their joy. I just felt overwhelmed with all the details and alone. I always had to try to figure life out on my own, which most of the time felt like I didn’t have anything figured out at all. I remember penning this poem during that time:

Fly, caterpillar, fly!
It’s not your time, but it must be
Not because your chrysalis has formed you,
But that it has been broken.
Face the wind with your weak wings
And learn to make it in this world.
I feel my deformities every day
And it aches in every crooked joint.
These scars on my wings
Feel more like gushing wounds in my heart.
And they all soar and are beautiful
While I try to take flight here below
Wondering if I’ll ever see the heights they behold.

Now that I am a mother myself, the aching for my own mom has not lessened, but perhaps increased in some ways. I feel the void of a grandmother figure in my children’s lives. My sweet mother-in-law passed away from a long battle with cancer and went home to be with Jesus when our first was just ten months old. I treasure the photos and videos we have of her with him. I feel her loss regularly - for me and for my kids who don’t understand yet what they’re missing.  

And yet! In Christ, there is always a beautiful side to a painful tale for “in all things God works for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28). There is a depth of riches I have gained through the pain of not having a mother that in the end I wouldn’t trade back if I was given the chance. It was through losing her that I sought God earnestly for the first time, and learned in my heart what I’d known in my head for so many years - my desperate need of a perfect Saviour and a loving Father. 

Even to this day, living without her draws me to depend upon my Lord daily and find Him enough in a way I perhaps wouldn’t if I had her here. And while there is much of my mom I do not know or remember any more, one thing I do know - the greatest thing she wanted was for her children to know Jesus. There is no way I could know Him as deeply as I’ve experienced if it had not been through this road, even though it’s felt too much to bear at times. Also, when you lose someone that pivotal in your life it expands your heart of compassion for others who experience loss - to just be with them in their grief (and what a gift that can be in the midst of empty platitudes). 

My mom wasn’t there when my son or daughter came into this world. I’ve never had her to take a night shift when they woke up crying or give me an afternoon off to catch a nap or just do something for me. She can’t give my husband and I date nights. And I can’t call her when my kids are bickering endlessly and I feel about to lose my mind; wondering if I’m doing this mommying thing right at all. 

But my Father is there. He is with me. In my weakest moments sometimes I’m tempted to say it’s not enough - and even then He’s usually so gracious in sending someone or something to remind me He loves me, He understands, He hurts with me, and He strengthens me with the truth that His grace has been and will every day continue to be sufficient. There is a day coming when every void in my heart will be filled and I will see myself and my own momma healed and whole.

So for any other mommas out there today feeling even more acutely the emptiness in your heart today where your own mom should be, I'm thinking of and praying for you. It's hard, and it's okay to feel that. And for those mommas who are blessed with a loving mom in your life, rejoice, enjoy, and treasure that precious blessing! My hope and prayer is to be that for my kids as many days as I am given.

Hope for the Guilty Mom

I stood in church unable to open my mouth to sing even a word of the songs, knowing that, if I did, the tears I was forcing back with all my might would have gushed forth. Sadly, often times church just doesn’t feel like the safest place to do that, although of all places I believe it should be. Despite my efforts, some tears did stream from my exhausted and puffy eyes during times of prayer or when I hoped no one would notice. 

I am broken over my mothering right now. And this time it’s not even because my kids are in one of those not-uncommon difficult seasons. Little ones are always tiring and challenging, but it’s not so much that. In fact it’s not them at all. It’s me.

I’ve been at this mom thing now for almost four years. And that has been more than long enough to see a myriad of my sin patterns affecting how I parent. 

Of course I wrestle with all the common sins I think every parent faces. I am selfish. You can’t help but feel deeply how much you have to give up for your kids, laying down everything you have for them. It’s just not easy - sometimes it's downright hard. I am impatient. Everything takes longer with little ones and their attention spans can be so short it’s a challenge for anyone to relax and accept how long everything takes. (As in, running to the grocery store to pick up something in the middle of a Canadian winter with two little ones feels way too much like running a marathon than a quick errand; praise the Lord for Spring and no more snow suits!). Selfishness, impatience, and being quick to anger are defining traits in me and they are serious. I sorrow over them, wrestle, and pray for help to grow in those areas. But this sort of thing is often talked about and easy enough to spot in yourself.

But there are more subtle and specific ways my sin expresses itself, and those are deeply concerning and weighing on my heart lately. They are ones which I feel I specifically inherited. Ones which I am tempted to feel I didn’t ask for or deserve. They are the family and parenting patterns I received from growing up the way I did. Or they are things in my personality that my parents didn’t discipline me for or teach me a better way, and I often feel that I still do not know the better way. 

Lately I had been feeling terrible about certain ways I’d react to or treat my kids. I just had this sense that I was not respecting my kids like I would another person outside my family. And I was putting so many hedges around what they could and couldn’t do that it was just too much and exasperating for them. But I couldn’t label exactly what it was I was doing. I just felt guilt, sensed it was wrong, and begged for help. 

Then during a visit with my younger sister, we were reminiscing about our childhood and she was laughing as she shared how bossy I was with her when we were younger. Every day, she, my best friend, and I would walk to and from school. But I wouldn’t let her walk beside us - I forced her walk behind us. I remember another time, buying her something for her birthday a few days early and then using that to manipulate her to get her to be nice to me, or else I threatened I wouldn’t give it to her after all. And there are plenty more stories. Those aren’t just childish “kids will be kids” things to be brushed off. The root of that is profoundly ugly and nasty. As I was hearing those stories it hit me so clearly that I was then and still am now tempted toward being just as controlling and bossy. I finally found the term for it: domineering. It means asserting your will over another in an arrogant way. This is what has been breaking me recently and has me weeping before God over how it leaks into my parenting and hurts my kids. I can still be just as downright mean now to my precious little kids as I was to my little sister when I was younger. And I am some days. That exact same nastiness is still there in my heart and it comes out and hurts those I love. And I need all the power of my King Jesus to cleanse me and transform my heart and mothering to defeat sin in this area so that I may mother my children with the same love He shows me. 

The good news for me - and for you in whatever your sin struggle is - is found in 2 Corinthians 7:10-11:

“For godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. See what this godly sorrow has produced in you: what earnestness, what eagerness to clear yourselves, what indignation, what alarm, what longing, what concern, what readiness to see justice done.” 

It was good for me to have spent Sunday morning crying quietly in church. It is good to feel godly sorrow over my sin, especially when two sweet little souls have been entrusted to me to shepherd and they are looking to me to learn about how God loves them and about how to behave in this world. I think too often when we feel the weight of guilt of how our sin is affecting our life we are quick to tell ourselves or others that it's okay, that there are far worse parents out there, that you don’t have to feel bad. And while it is possible to be too hard on ourselves, and it is always sweet and encouraging and important to know you are not alone in the struggle, to leave it all there is of no help to anyone. Feeling godly sorrow is a gracious call to repentance, and repentance is sweet because it is the only way to truly experience Jesus’ power to actually change us. We tend to associate repentance with guilt, but it is in fact the very casting off of all the guilt we carry upon the One who already paid for it all. It is honestly naming your sin before God, confessing it and allowing yourself to be cleansed of it. And there you find because of Christ it is not counted against you any more. Though you know the weight of the guilt and how truly awful it is, you are told you can lay it down now. The moment you repent is the moment you can stop carrying that guilt. You are still loved just as greatly as you ever were and are assured of help for whatever lies ahead. 

Moms, when we struggle with sin, we don’t just need to tell each other that we can relate or that it’s okay. There is more offered to us and to our kids than merely the normalizing of that. Growth in Christ-likeness is offered. There is hope for change. It doesn’t come merely through trying harder, but through honest repentance and confession through prayer. It seems that so much these days is about trying to be and look as awesome-sauce together as we can, but if we keep up that facade before God it will keep us from the very thing we long for and need the most - transformation. The very best way we can support each other as moms and friends is to carry each other’s sins to prayer, reminding each other of the sweet promises repentance offers.

I genuinely covet your prayers for my mothering as I seek after this, and I am doing the same for you as I write this.

"Therefore, since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God." 2 Corinthians 7:1