Living in Darkness after Child Loss

It Will Be Well

You know, it is not easy to get to a point where I can say “It is well with my soul” after all I have been through. There have been times when it was not well with my soul. My soul was screaming out in pain, as if it had been stabbed repeatedly with great violence. I wondered if I would ever be able to say again that it was well with my soul.

How does one find the ability to be well, deep in her soul, after suffering a stillbirth and then two miscarriages? The loss of each baby took a part of my soul. My heart was ripped out with each loss. My wounded soul was slashed open after just healing from the last loss. The scars that each loss has left on my soul make it very tender, sensitive, and easily cracked open again.

I am no longer whole because three parts of me were torn away—buried. One in the cold, dark, damp earth. Cleaved from my womb only to be taken straight into a darkness that mirrored my soul. Two others were not even given a chance at experiencing life since they were destroyed even as my very inner being cried out for their light to be able to shine.

Darkness overcame my soul and for a very long time, I wondered if I would ever see or experience light again.

I lived in a deep, pitch-black cave where I was unable even to move because I could not even see my hand in front of my face. When I did try to stir around in my cave, I would fall, stumble, and bruise my body from head to toe. It was cold. Damp. There were noises that made the hair on the back of my neck and my arms stand up on end. I could feel the evil surrounding me as I wept deep, soul-wrenching sobs from morning ‘til night, night ‘til morning.

The tears never stopped flowing. They created a stream in my cave that ran no-where, as far as I could tell. No matter how hard or long I looked for the end or the beginning, it continued on into perpetuity.

Then came the day when the tiniest pin-prick of light suddenly appeared off in the distance. After being in the darkness for so long, at first I did not believe it was real. I knew I had finally begun hallucinating in the darkness. I had been without light for so long, I was imagining that it was calling to me.

Ever so carefully, I began stumbling my way towards it. I continued to fall, bruise myself, and weep deep in my very being, but I steadily made my way towards that tiny light.

That beautiful light began to grow larger the closer I got to it, but it still seemed so very far way. For a long time, I gave up attempting to get to it. I simply sat in the same spot, weeping and wondering why the light never got any closer no matter how long I traveled towards it.

One not so very special day, I heard something.

            “Polly. PollyAnna. Come out. I am here.”

            Now I was hearing things as well as hallucinating? My terror grew with each call of my name.

            Instead of going towards the light—towards the voice, I ran, as well as I could, deeper into the cave to hide. I was afraid.

I was afraid of the light.

I was afraid of the tender voice calling my name.

No matter how deep I went into my cave, I could still hear the voice, “Polly. PollyAnna. It’s ok. I’m here. I will wait as long as necessary. I will never leave you.”

            Slowly, with shaky, tiny, stumbling, tentative steps, I began the journey once again towards the light.

            And the voice.

            The tender-loving voice never stopped calling my name, speaking words of encouragement.

            The day came, finally, when the light began to grow and I could see not just my hand in front of my face, but the walls of my cave.

            Hope began to stir deep inside.

Every time I stopped to catch my breath, I moved on as quickly as possible.

I was no longer afraid of the light.

            Or the voice.

            I desperately wanted to reach the light and see the man who was calling my name. I knew that all would be well once I walked into the light. I became desperate and never stopped even to catch my breath.

I began to run, slipping, sliding, falling—again and again, but this time, instead of giving up or running back into the cave, I kept moving forward towards the light.

            The sound of the man’s voice grew louder with passing step. But not louder as in He was shouting; just louder in that I could hear Him more clearly. I knew He would fill the hole that ruptured open each time I had lost a baby.

I needed to get to Him.

Finally.

There He was.

He was sitting on a large rock at the entrance to the cave. As I came into view, He stood and held out His arms so I could walk into His welcoming embrace. He held me for a long time, crooning soft, gentle, loving words into my ears as He held me close to His beating heart.

            When the tears slowed, He pulled away, took me by the hand, and led me out, fully into the light, away from the cave. He stopped. We turned and watched as a giant stone was rolled in front of the cave, sealing it for all eternity.

            That was the moment when I realized that my soul was mended. Yes, there would still be tears to come, but with Him by side, holding my hand, it was finally well with my soul.

Polly Anna Watson, Wednesday, January 22, 2020; revised: Friday, January 24, 2020

“It is Well” by Horatio Spafford and the new version by Kristine DeMarco

We will #NeverForget

As we enter my favorite time of year--Fall/Winter, my heart is torn, as it always is. I love this time of year. I love the colors of fall and then all the colors of Christmas and winter. It's so beautiful. God truly knows how to paint a canvas and this is the time of year that I, personally, believe that He shows off best. It's difficult for me to drive because I'm admiring His canvas so much! Pictures don't do justice to what He creates, but I sure do try to capture it when I can!

But fall is difficult for me because all my struggles, all my sorrows have happened in the fall of the year. In November, actually. Well, not ALL, but a large number of them, enough to make this time of year super difficult: 

• I learned that I had a cyst growing on my left ovary and ultimately had to have surgery during my 20th week of pregnancy with J. Isaac (who was born still just 18 weeks later) to remove my left ovary and fallopian tube just before Christmas
• I miscarried Panya Ruth on November 10, 1999
• I miscarried Anna Rose on November 22, 2005
• I had my diverticulitis surgery in late November of 2009--where I had to have an ostomy [bag]
• I had my uterine ablation in November of 2010
• I threatened my husband in October 2012

And a few other things I won't mention here. 

One thing that helps people like me get through times like this is the fact that October is Pregnancy

Loss and Infancy Loss Awareness Month. It is difficult for me to talk about my losses for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest is because talking about losing a child makes people uncomfortable. They simply don't know what to say to someone who has lost a child. And quite often if they do say something, they say something hurtful. And friendships are broken. So people end up just not talking about child loss at all. And the grieving mother--or father--suffers alone. In silence. For years. 

It is this silence that tends to drive some women (and men) to action. Some do something about their losses by creating organizations to help others who have lost babies. When we first lost our James Isaac and then Panya Ruth back in 1999, we didn't have the internet like we do now. It was just coming into being and getting on the internet was slow and laborious. And staying on the internet was next to impossible. Plus, there just weren't many organizations for people who had lost a baby. So we definitely suffered in silence. There was no Facebook group to join to discuss our hurts and we couldn't find a local support group. And back then, I had never heard of October being Pregnancy Infant Loss Awareness Month.

It has been exciting to see the organizations available now. There's one that will show up to take pictures for you. I had a friend come to the hospital specifically to take pictures for me when we lost our sweet James Isaac, but she didn't know if that was ok, so she never asked. It's a regret for each of us. There is an organization that sends a sweet care package to the hospital for moms who have lost a baby. There are online chat groups and support groups. There are groups who walk to raise awareness. There are groups who hold candlelight vigils. I've found places that sell t-shirts now and other wonderful remembrance paraphernalia. Someone has even started making dolls that are the same weight as your baby if that's something you'd be interested in. And the list goes on.

There are even more books now about child loss than ever before--good ones. When we first lost James Isaac, the pickings for good child loss books were really slim. There are a few good Bible studies, even. More and more women are sharing their stories. And even a few men, which is needed just as much. I'm working on telling my story, too. In doing so, I can tell you that it is not easy to share, but it does help in the healing process, in the healing journey.

We all grieve differently. We all travel the grief journey differently and take as long as we each need. October is a time set aside specifically to slow down or stop if we wish and Remember. Many of us have had some people act as if our babies weren't real or alive just because they didn't live outside our bodies, but we know the truth: they Lived. They deserve to be honored, to be remembered in whatever special way you desire, whether it be every single day of the month or just one day out of the month. October 15 is set aside as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day if you prefer just one day. It's your choice. No judgment. 

• Tell your story if you want. You're welcome to share it here. I'd love to hear it. If not to me, share it with someone you trust. Write it down for yourself if not for anyone else. 
• Look at your Memory Box that you got from the hospital. 
• This is Shoebox season for Samaritan's Purse; donate a box in memory of your baby. 
• Join a GriefShare group if you need to. 
• Find a group online and just "listen" to their conversations to see if they have similar stories. 
• Find a pen pal (I have 2). 
• Start your own organization. 
• Plant a tree in memory.
• Make a scrapbook--if you don't have pictures, use poems, images and/or quotes that are meaningful to you. 
• Write a letter to your Precious.
• Get a tattoo. If that's not your style, you could always get a temporary one. :)
• Make a list of all the hurtful things people have said to you. Journal why their words hurt so much. Get your hurt off your heart and out of your system, on paper--or on the computer.
• Write a letter/note of forgiveness to someone who said or did something to hurt you, whether you mean it or not. You don't have to send it right now if you'd rather not. Just write it. Or go ahead and send it. You never know....
• If you know or hear of someone who suffers the loss of a child, do something for that couple that you wish had been done for you.
• Cry. Allow yourself a good cry. It really and truly is ok to FEEL whatever you feel.
• Have a celebration in honor of your Precious. Whatever that celebration looks like for you is what you should have.
• Create a Playlist.
• Get alone and spend some special time just Remembering. 
• Laugh. Sometimes a good laugh is just the right thing. 

Remember.

#NeverForget

Purple Lipstick

There is so much I want to say about the "story" below. But the more I think about it, the more I feel that I need to let the story sit for itself and let it be what it is for you. 

I watched myself in the mirror as I put on favorite purple lipstick. It was bold, but on this night, it was exactly what I needed. I was going to fight and this was my fighting lipstick. I had my armor on. I was ready.

“Let’s do this.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked without getting up.

Taking a deep breath, she stood beside him, keeping the advantage. You can do this. She closed her eyes and jumped in with both feet. “I’m done. I’m done being your slave and your part-time lover. I am better than that. I deserve to be treated better than that. I am valuable. Your lust for me is dirty and I refuse to allow you to continue to make me feel less than.” She raised her chin a little higher as he opened his mouth to say something. “No, I’m not finished. “You have locked your heart to love. I could have loved you. But I deserve to be loved by someone who loves himself. You need to love yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need you, anyway.”

“I forgive you. I wish you a good life. Bye.” The purple tattoo of her kiss sizzled on his skin. She forced herself to walk rather than run as she turned away.

She heard him shout, “Yeah?! You forgive me?! Ha! Well, it’s your loss, baby! I don’t need you! I don’t anyone! What do I need you for?!”

The door slammed before he could say anything else.

Desperate for Encouragement

I am going to use this post to be vulnerable and share with you that I am desperate for encouragement. 

My anxiety is through the roof. 

Since God sealed my cave almost 2 years ago (see previous entries), I have found a whole new cave that I have RUN into. The darkness has surrounded me again and I am not so sure that I want to come out ever again. I know my Jesus is at the entrance to my cave calling my name in love as He watches over and protects me. I just cannot bring myself to listen and respond. 

At this moment in time, with my anxiety level so high, it FEELS that there is more comfort to be found in the darkness than in my Savior's Light.

It's just TOO hard to go on CHOOSING JOY every day, every hour of every day, every second of every day. 

I am reading scripture; I am in the Word. I am speaking the Word. I am listening to and singing worship songs. I am reading and doing Bible Studies. But I am struggling.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month and I am 1 in 4.