Fears after Child Loss

From the moment of hearing that our precious James Isaac no longer had a heartbeat, I have had two fears: 

1. that he would be forgotten
2. that he would be remembered

Let me explain the second fear first since I'm sure that seems strange to you. After the loss of a loved one, especially a child, hearing the loved one's name brings a feeling that is super difficult to explain. Those who have experienced it will know what I'm talking about. It's kind of like having butterflies in your stomach when you're nervous before a test or recital or the like, but yet it's MORE. 

My heart flutters, my stomach drops down into my toes, the butterflies fly en masse, my heart stops beating, my face goes red, my face blanches, I feel faint, I feel like running [away]. The feeling is even worse when someone I don't know or who never knew my James Isaac (or Panya Ruth or Anna Rose) says his name (or their names). Or when someone I'm not too terribly fond of says his (their) name.

It is difficult to hear the name of my beloved son and those of his sisters spoken out loud. In my grieving, I have found it super difficult to say their names myself. I went a long time not even being able to write their names. I still hesitate and have to remind myself to breathe when I say their names. 

Why? You may ask and it is a valid question--especially if you haven't experienced such loss. Because their names bring the memories to the forefront--again--flooding back to the surface like a tsunami, ready to drown me in sorrow once again. The pain of my losses is ALWAYS just below the surface as it is; it's always ready to explode at the slightest provocation, especially when someone speaks their name. Most of the time, I can smile and laugh and LIVE and function in as normal a manner as possible--living in the full JOY of the Lord. But it only takes one tiny thing, saying his name, to open the floodgates.

But I NEED to hear his name--their names. I NEED to know that they are remembered. I mean, come on. I carried James Isaac to term. I was at 38 weeks when we discovered his heart was no longer beating. And while Panya Ruth and Anna Rose were both gone by my 11th week, my heart had already fallen in love with them the same way it had for the one I carried full term. My babies LIVED. Just because the state of North Carolina never gave me a birth certificate doesn't mean that they didn't live. My heart, my body, and my very soul know that each one was just as alive and whole as the one son I have here with me, Samuel. (Samuel is my rainbow baby just recently turned 16!)

So when I received the following note just a few weeks ago, the emotions that ran through me are next to impossible to describe:

My heart.

Ben's mom, Leslie, and I worked together at the same school and we were both pregnant at the same time. I was about two months further along than she was, but we were close enough that we developed a quick, easy, and strong relationship in our shared joy of pregnancy. We are close in age and have many similar interests and personality traits. It was a JOY to be pregnant together. (This picture is of us at Miami Beach when we took our Seniors on their Senior trip. That's Ben in her very pregnant belly.)

We often talked about the play dates our boys would have and how they would grow up together as the closest of friends, just like their moms. It is a treasured time in my life.

But then James Isaac was stillborn, born still, born silent.

Leslie was there to hold my hand, to comfort, to pray with me, and to just BE with me. She was a true FRIEND in my hour of need and I will NEVER forget that she felt as if she had lost her child, too. It meant so much to me that she loved my Precious so very much. I was able to visit and hold and love on Ben soon after he was born and Leslie came to see us two years later when my Samuel was born.

But over the years, we both moved on to other jobs and we simply have not been able to hang out and do things together. We have managed to stay connected via Facebook, which has been wonderful!! We haven't actually seen each other in 16 years.

And then Ben's note arrived in the mail. 

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Watson,

            For as far back as I can remember, my Mom has told me about the sweet teacher friend she had when she worked at TCCS. I grew up hearing about how you and she were carrying babies at the same time and that your boy and I were supposed to be playmates and close friends. Every time something big or realy [sic] special happened in my life, my Mom and I would take a little time to remember him and your family.

A few weeks before his 18^th birthday you wrote a blog about all the things you and he wouldn’t be doing. My Mom read that blog to me, and I knew right away something I wanted to do. I want you to know that you are special to me even though we don’t realy [sic] know each other. And even though James Isaac and I didn’t get to physically grow up together I still knew him. I have carried him with me my whole life.

And if it would be okay with you, I would like to write his name inside my Mortar Board along with my name so that we can across that stage together on June 9^th. I would love to see you there if that wouldn’t be too difficult. If you can’t I will understand. I just want you to know that he’s always been with me.

Love,

Benjamin Heath Benson”

Distance doesn't matter in the slightest when a friend is real and true. Time doesn't matter in the slightest when a friend is real and true. Leslie is both. And to learn that she remembered my James Isaac to such a degree that she told her son Ben all about him and about our dreams for our boys made my heart do all kinds of crazy wonderful things. My heart was truly full to bursting. I messaged Leslie and told her that I would be at Ben's graduation--as would my husband James and my Samuel.

There are no words for the JOYFUL SORROW I have experienced over the past several weeks and especially as we watched Ben cross the stage last night at his high school graduation. All I can do is tell my precious friend, Leslie, and her wonderful son, Ben--THANK YOU. Thank you. Thank you.

I love you dearly and I always will.

 

And I can't help including a picture of Leslie and me with our students at their Senior Formal.

This is for the loved ones of the Grieving

(I do not mean to imply that the loved ones are not grieving as well.  I am simply using it as a term to help with the content of this blog post.  For the purposes of this post, I mean “the Grieving” as in the one(s) who suffered the actual physical loss.  I need distinction between them and the families.)

 From day one after losing my Precious James Isaac, I have had to deal with—put up with—hurtful comments from well-meaning loved ones, friends, and family.  I was told that the cord was wrapped around James Isaac’s neck because I had lifted my hands above my head [too often].  Instead of light switches in our house, we had strings hanging from the ceiling so every time I turned on a light, I had to lift my arm above my head. 

I was told things like “God just needed another angel up in heaven.”

I was told that I just need to “get over it and move on.”

I had one scripture after another quoted to me—as if I had not already been studying and reading scripture like a hungry mother wolf getting her nourishment. 

I cannot even begin to tell you all the hurtful things said to me over the years simply because there are too many and because I honestly have tried—very hard—to forget them.  Otherwise it would be too difficult to spend time with these same people day to day because some of these well-meaning well-wishers were/are close friends and family.  I love them too much to hurt them in return.  They did not mean to hurt me.  They simply wanted to DO or SAY something to make things better and they thought that what they were doing or saying was helping. 

Sadly, there were wrong.

So this one is for you, Beloved Friends and Family members. 

*Whatever you do, do not make it about you.  If you are hurt because the Griever did not tell you she was pregnant to begin with, that is understandable, but that was not your decision to make.  Maybe if you let your loved one tell you the whole story—if she is able to share it, you will learn the whys and wherefores and then you will find that you are ashamed of yourself for being offended in the first place.  Yes, you are grieving, too because you love your Griever so very much, but in this case, it is not about you; it is about her. 

*Let her share as much as she is able in her own time and in her own way.  I promise you that if you give her space and let her know that you are willing to listen—or not, she will open up to you.  It might not be right away, but she will and she will more than appreciate your validation of her heart when you let her share when she is ready.

*There will be days when she will not get out of bed.  Or if she does, she does not make it any further than the couch.  She will not shower.  She will not eat.  She certainly will not get dressed.  She simply cannot face the day.  Do not make her feel bad because she is unable to face the world.  Go to her and snuggle with her.  Hold her hand.  There isn’t any need to talk unless she wants to.  Let her lead you.

*Go sit with her and hold her, hold her hand, cry with her, laugh with her, BE with her.  Hugs are best.

*Words are unnecessary.  You may feel with every fiber of your being the desperate need to share some words of wisdom.  You know in your heart of hearts that the words you have to speak to her are exactly what she needs to hear.  Guess what, Loved One?  The words you so desperately want to say are more than likely NOT the words she needs, wants, or is even ready to hear.  Bite your tongue.  Write them down.  Tell them to someone else.  But do not tell her.  There is a big chance that what you think will be words of comfort will end up being hurtful words that could put a wedge in your relationship when all you were trying to do was make it better.  Your words more than likely will NOT make it better—they will NOT make her feel better.  They will NOT make the pain go away. 

*Telling her, “Call me if you need ANYTHING” or asking “What can I do for you?” are both inadequate in that she has NO idea what she needs.  She knows she needs something, but she has no idea what she needs.  So do not bother offering or asking, just DO.

Do her dishes.  Clean her bathroom.  Do her laundry.  Cook her a meal.  Send her a card just to let her know you are thinking about her.  Buy her something pretty.  Find out, if you do not already know, what she likes and get it for her—a book, knitting thread, a pair of earrings, her favorite drink, her favorite candy, and on and on it goes.  Take her out to lunch.  Take her to a movie you know she would like to see.  If she has other children, take them for a couple of hours one afternoon. 

It really is the little things that matter in the life of your Griever.  It does not take much to help her see and feel your love.  That is what you want more than anything, isn’t it? 

Love her.  Just simply love her.  That will make more of a difference in her life than anything else you could ever do or say.  You will be the one she knows she can depend on, lean on, when she has her bad days, as she most certainly will, even years later.  It has been fifteen and a half years since we first lost our Beloved James Isaac, exactly fifteen since we lost Panya Ruth, and right at ten years since we lost Anna Rose.  Yet I continue to have days when I wonder why life is worth living, and I desperately need my support system to gather around me and hold me up. 

Remember when God told Moses to hold up his staff over the children of Israel as they fought the Amalekites?  (Exodus 17:8-16, NLT)  Whenever Moses’ hands fell, the Israelites started to lose.  When he would raise his hands again, they would begin winning.  When Moses could no longer hold up his arms on his own, Aaron and Hur held up his arms for him:  “As long as Moses held up the staff in his hand, the Israelites had the advantage. But whenever he dropped his hand, the Amalekites gained the advantage. ¹² Moses’ arms soon became so tired he could no longer hold them up. So Aaron and Hur found a stone for him to sit on. Then they stood on each side of Moses, holding up his hands. So his hands held steady until sunset. ¹³ As a result, Joshua overwhelmed the army of Amalek in battle.” Even the strongest among us will eventually need help.  You, Beloved, get to be that one to come to the rescue.

There is nothing you can do or say—there is nothing you could have done or said—that will (would) change the outcome of what happened with your Precious Griever.  You could not have stopped it.  You in your own power could not protect her no matter what you may think to the contrary.  So do not try to fix it now with words or actions that will only make it worse on your Precious.  Just be there.  Love her.  Give her your unwavering support and unconditional love.

And that will make all the difference in the world….

Trapped

Trapped.

You wanted to help me --

Instead, you trapped me.

You wanted to offer words of comfort -

Instead, you backed me into a corner.

You wanted me to know that you care -

Instead, you made me afraid of you.

Fight or flight.

That’s what we do when we’re trapped,

But I could do neither.

I don’t want to hurt you in my pain,

So I continue to listen...

I continue to look away...

All the while hoping for a way of escape...

Mentally crying out, “Help!  Please help me!  Oh God, HELP ME!”

There is no miraculous rescue -

No one comes to physically free me from your entrapment -

As slowly my soul begins to cry

No tears in my eyes

No tears on my cheeks -

But the cries so intense -

The pain is now more severe for, you see,

You wounded me - reopened the unhealed wound -

when you caught me in your trap.

You only wanted to help me.

Instead you trapped me.

Instead of letting go, I’ve buried my pain

Even deeper than before -

And I wonder. . .will I ever be released from

that trap?

Trapped.

                                                            - Polly Anna Watson

                                                                        March 2, 2000