She Brings Joy

Posted Over at "The Mighty" This Week

Wednesday, June 08, 2016
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Unpopular Options: Being a Pacifist on Memorial Day

I became a pacifist the day my daughter died.

This isn't a political post, and it's not meant to disparage anyone whose family may be currently serving, or who has lost a loved one in armed conflict. We have both current and past military members, in addition to war dead -- who are still mourned every day -- in our own family.

This also isn't an anti-war screed. My feelings about my country's history of conflict is deeply nuanced, but even I comprehend the need for armed intervention in some situations. Contrary to popular belief, pacifism includes a wide range of belief about warfare. You can object to war in most cases, yet still believe a nation has a natural right to protect itself.

But I digress.

This is about loss, the after affects of grieving your child, and how that experience can change your worldview in a split second.

I became a pacifist the day my daughter died. I was never a war hawk before this event, but the fall-out from her death left me with stronger feelings about casualties of war.

Today I've watched a number of videos honoring the sacrifices of our armed service members.... I think about all of the far-off places our young men and women have died, and it makes me weak. Seeing their faces, I can imagine too well the pain their death caused their mothers. They are all devastatingly gorgeous, of course. I'm sure they were good children, who were necessary to the inner workings of their family life and community. I'm sure their households are less joyful because of their absence. I'm also sure their mothers don't recall their boys just as the valiant young men they became, but as little boys jumping in puddles, the infant they held in the hospital, and the baby they felt moving in their body during pregnancy. I'm sure they don't just see their resilient, proud daughters, they see girls in christening dresses, and curly-headed toddlers handing them bouquets of dandelions and clomping around in their high heels.

I would never want to be responsible for another mother feeling the emptiness I felt after my Beatrix died. The emptiness I imagine these mothers felt when they learned of their child's death so far away, and so alone. Anecdotal stories tell us that soldiers most often call out for their mothers when dying. Tragically, mother and child are always intimately linked in a way no other pairing will ever be, in both birth and death.

If there is one thing I've learned about child loss, it's the universal nature of it. Meeting another loss mom is like finding an old friend. We each know what the other is thinking -- what she's really thinking -- no matter what the demographic. I know there's an electricity which runs along the skin of her arms when she thinks of holding her dead child. I know people have said awful things to her, inadvertently implying she were responsible for her child's death. I know she still feels phantom kicks, a tactile memory of a time when she carried her precious baby in her womb.

There is a language spoken between mothers who have lost children, and an expectation of sacredness which crosses all political, religious, social, and ethnic boundaries. One part of this language speaks to the fierce protectiveness we have over one another's children. In turn, it assumes that we would never willingly cause another woman to fee the terrible grief we experience.

In that spirit, I could never raise my hand against another human being, because all human beings have mothers. I don't know their story, and I understand my "enemy's" mother may be encouraging him/her to harm me. I must assume, however, that each and every mother would choose to keep their child alive and well with them, and I must behave accordingly. That it is a rare mother who sends her child to war, to kill strangers. And in that assumption I know one thing: I do not want to be a killer of other women's children.

I see the film reels of soldiers landing on Omaha Beach, and while our nation communally grieves the soldiers who died, I also have a deeper empathy for the countless parents who would never hold their sweet boys again. I see the dead and don't just think hero. I think about the time between the death and notification. The days in which a mother felt her son alive and safe, when he was already gone. I think about a knock on the door, and a woman with weak knees sinking to the ground. And because of this universal baby-loss language... I can hear my own voice in her keening.

I can not be responsible for this.

Expressing any type of pacifist leanings on a holiday to honor war heroes, dead or alive, is seen as "unpatriotic". We choose to express our feelings at the risk of seeming callous and dishonoring those who died. But in order to clarify to our children why we do not want to send them into war, we must say something. "When?", is the question. "Not today", always the answer.....So today stretches into all the today's of the future, until we realize there's never a "good" time to express this sentiment.

Sadly, until more mothers -- on all sides of each conflict -- speak openly about their unwillingness to send their sons into warfare, and their unwillingness to assume the loss of their child as collateral damage, there will continue to be an endless number of fallen children to be memorialized.

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Monday, May 30, 2016
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Parenting After Child Loss: The Day I Gave Up On Motherhood

Acceptance

Wednesday, May 25, 2016
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Angel Baby: Does My Angel Baby Watch Over Me?

Brutal Honesty

Tuesday, March 15, 2016
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Mediums: Does The Child I Lost Speak Through Them?

Acceptance

Last week I wrote a post about the afterlife. Today I'm continuing the conversation, and I wanted to focus on psychics. This is part of a series, so will not be exhaustive regarding Christianity and loss.

Again -- heavy topic. Not for everyone. If you aren't Christian, this is going to be a bunch of crazy talk to you. If you aren't ready, this may seem cruel to you. Choose wisely.

It may seem innocent to allow ourselves to believe our children are communicating with us through others who claim to have "gifts" which allow them to communicate with "the other side".

Mediums who make this type of claim have become commonplace. They have their own television shows, write bestsellers, etc. We think of them as a fun diversion. We don't often consciously connect them to the occult, however, they definitely fall into that realm. The Bible clearly speaks about the occult in both the OT and NT-- and they are always spoken of negatively.

Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritists, for you will be defiled by them." Leviticus 19:31

That's a bold statement. You will be "defiled". It doesn’t really fit in with our modern attitudes either – who thinks of their fellow humans as “defiled”? Do we even use that word anymore? It's so negative...

This theme continues into the New Testament:

"Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God." Galatians 5: 19-21

While this seems cliché: when we dip our toes into the stream of mysticism (which communicating with the dead certainly is) the chances of being swept away are much greater than if we had not wandered near the water at all.

We are talking about a presumed relationship with the children we lost, after all. How could we not get swept away when we believe we are communicating with them?

There is nothing we hunger more deeply for than a connection to our children, but any effort at connection which runs counter to God's promises will always fall short of the connection we receive through the redemptive love of Christ.

We make the decision to pursue after-death theories contrary to His promise because we are attempting to turn the promise into something we have control over. We want to turn our children's absence into something we can manage. We have a difficult time accepting "no" from anyone -- especially a God who has "taken" our child from us.

But does this type of communication make them any less gone?

And how is God's promise honored when we refuse to acknowledge the reality of death?

Death is part of the Christian redemption story. Our entire belief system rests on the truth of the resurrection. The resurrection is meaningless without death. Without it, our religion crumbles and becomes myth. Without death there is no resurrection of the body.

In addition, we will also pass away. Like I detailed in my last post, anything short of heaven means eventual, permanent separation from our children. If we insist our children are still here in the temporal world, we are directly denying the promise of a God who said to the thief on the cross "today you will be with me in paradise". That God promises eternity.... But He promises eternity away from this world.

We also don’t know where/from whom a medium is receiving information from. Because of the power of the internet it would be relatively easy for them to get enough private information about you to make your session seem fruitful…. And that’s the best case scenario – at worst, many teachings indicate that the messages mediums receive are not coming from our lost loved ones, but from supernatural beings who don’t have our best interests at heart.

Last, I can't decline to mention the financial issues involved. The misinformation shared by psychics can be overwhelming to a loss parent. They give us “secret” messages from our babies and help us make the connection we so desperately desire to make with our children. The well of knowledge they share with us could be bottomless -- after all, psychics make a living telling us what we want to hear. The more often we come to them the more lucrative their practice. When they tell us our baby is near and is speaking to us, it is easy to believe this is true, and they hold out the information we seek like a carrot on a stick. We will continue to use our resources to make more visits – resources God has given us to provide for our families and perform acts of charity. Resources we could use to be honoring our babies.

(Psychics also often promote other Counter-Christian practices, which they could encourage us to participate in. The more we open ourselves up to their manipulations the more they will take advantage of our sorrow.... And the farther they will lead us away from trusting in God's plan.)

We are all tempted to look away from the cross. This life seems so long, and the grief is just so deep.

Just hold on momma. What He's got planned for us is so much better than anything we could imagine ourselves.

Next {and last} portion of this small series will be "All About Angels", about the nature of angels. I'd love to hear what you have to say about this, or any other subject related to grief, child loss, and Christianity.

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Tuesday, March 01, 2016
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What Christian Child Loss Moms Need to Remember

Baby Loss

{Disclaimer— what I am writing comes after a lot of soul-searching and going through the worst part of the bereavement process.

It's been five years since my daughter died. I have not always felt this way, and in the early stages of my bereavement I was very antagonistic to information like this. Please note that I am not attempting to guilt or push anyone into a premature reconciliation with God when they don’t feel open to this yet. See HERE and HERE for some early (poorly written) posts regarding the anger and mistrust I felt in my initial grieving period. Do not read this if you aren't ready for a conversation about deep theology. Don't read this if you are in a sensitive stage where every comment stings. You may not want to read if you're having a bad day, depending on where you are in your grief and how you practice your faith -- some may find this initially harsh but ultimately very comforting. Some may not.

This is a brutal honesty post. Last warning. }

I've been trying to work out some thoughts about the nature of death for the believer. This is what I've come to understand in the five years since my Beatrix left.

There is a big difference between Christians and others when it comes to the disposition of a soul after death.

While there are different Christian teachings regarding some of what happens immediately after someone dies (purgatory, resting state, etc.), we all believe that our faithful dead eventually end up in Heaven.

Because of this, finding comfort in some of the common themes shared by baby loss writers and artists can be difficult for devout loss moms. Our belief system doesn’t allow us to imagine our child as a butterfly landing on our shoulder, a feather on our doorstep, or a favorite song played at the moment we needed it most. Some Christian faith practices allow for a concept commonly referred to as “God-winks”, the claim being that God is sending these small messages to you. However, that concept is suspect and debatable – and even if your faith practice accepts this concept, the claim is still that God is sending the messages, not our babies.

We also can’t imagine stars opening holes in the heavens so our loved ones shine down on us, we have no belief that our babies become angels (this is actually a belief unheard of by virtually every world religion – angels are separate beings from human in almost all faith practices, Christian and non-Christian alike), and babies aren’t coming back in future pregnancies.

Once our babies are gone they are gone.

So what does Christianity have to offer the grieving mom?

In the immediacy of our initial grief it seems as if we would be left bereft of comfort. Christianity and God seem like heartless realities to those who don't understand them. Often, we are so blinded by our emotions that even welose sight of the big picture – the picture which gives us a {perfect} antidote to our sadness.

Sometimes we forget that true comfort only comes at the foot of the cross.

The cross promises us tomorrow – eternity – unlike the here and now centered beliefs elucidated above.

The cross promises:

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." {Rev. 21:4}

I read a quote long ago by Pope John Paul II which even non-Catholics could identify with:

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”

Would we give up the forever of Easter, for temporal comfort here?

This is a harsh truth, and it doesn't promise to get any easier over our time on this earth. We may rationalize this love of Christ, but the human part of us just wants our babies.

I know I want my baby back.

But I want her back. I want her back forever. I want her back the way I was promised her -- perfect and alive.

"For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ; who will transform the body of our humble state into conformity with the body of His glory, by the exertion of the power that He has even to subject all things to Himself." {Phillipians 3:20}

"So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." {1 Corinthians 42-44}

While no one must believe this {truth} who chooses not to, for those who do believe it holds more promise for the one thing which every single one of us loss moms want -- time.

While I could believe my daughter to be reincarnated in another pregnancy, doing so binds her in a finite life-cycle. It means she will die again, and this could be during the course of my lifespan, because we aren't promised a limit on suffering.

Reincarnation {her being born in a subsequent pregnancy} means I could lose her all over again.

In this dynamic we could both also be reincarnated into other families, or as a fox, or a fish, or a supernatural spirit, never to see one another again.

It also means I am not promised eternity with God, and in turn, with her.

If she becomes part of the natural world -- a butterfly or a symbol we see in rocks and trees -- she can be destroyed by wind and rains. Something as simple as a bird landing could disrupt whatever form she was in. If she were a star she would eventually burn out; her light would be permanently extinguished, and eventually her absence would be detectable to this world.

Being born into Heaven, even though I must wait to see her, holds the most promise. The promise of Heaven only seems cruel because we must wait to reap the rewards for our faithfulness. We want immediate gratification, but the promise offers eternal gratification.
In 2 Samuel 12: 23, after King David’s son died he stopped his weeping saying, “I will go to him, but he will not return to me”. This is a rough story, but it brings to point the reality of what our God promises. He promises those who have faith in Him an eternity in Heaven. Long after the world stops turning we will be with Him. I do not want my daughter to come to me in this world, because that means the promise is a lie. My daughter in this world means eternity does not exist. It means the Bible promises, the love of Christ, is just another fairy tale.

Because we can’t have it both ways.

God promises us heaven after death, not an amorphous existence hanging around the earth. If this promise is a lie, so is everything else He says.

Our loved ones will not return to us in this world. We will go to them…. and more importantly, to Him. That promise is better than anything this temporal world could ever offer me.

In my next post I will be talking about “Psychics and signs in baby loss”. I hope you join me in that discussion too!

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Friday, February 12, 2016
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Heaven Is For Real

Faith

Thursday, January 14, 2016
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Back To The Beginning Again

Baby Loss

I recently decided to begin submitting Beatrix's story to writing venues which accept unsolicited offers. In order to prepare my submissions, I decided to write out our story anew- and surprisingly, I have had a difficult time writing this post. Even after five years there are low times, when the sadness leaks out and touches everything around me.

When my Beatrix died, I shared her story with every organization that I could. I share her now, as an introduction for you and a reminder for me. A reminder of how even with the low times that followed there was beauty in the storm.

I would love to know that anyone reading will see the human being my baby was, instead of just still images of a dead child or a political argument about abortion exceptions. There are so many important things I would like to share about our story. The journey we went through to have our baby is just as important as what happened after she was born. I sometimes forget about this- the life that she lived before she lived her life.

I knew I was pregnant almost immediately. I only took a test to confirm it. I saw my doctor who pronounced me a mom-to-be, and sent me home with a gift bag full of goodies for new moms. I was ecstatic. This was a long awaited for baby- for six years I had prayed, begged, and hoped. Here she was.

When it was time for my second appointment I brought my 16 year old step-daughter. I was hoping she would get to see her new baby sibling on an ultrasound screen. I knew I would be getting an ultrasound because I was spotting slightly. The doctor had mentioned casually that we would be taking a look to make sure everything was ok.

This was exciting because I had already had an ultrasound at 6 weeks. I was looking forward to having photos to show my baby of his/her very first weeks in my womb. Generally, there aren't that many images done this early in pregnancy. I didn't know then that these photos would be so very special to me, but for a different reason.

In the quiet ultrasound room as we waited for the tech to come in, my daughter and I talked about the baby. What a baby would be like in our house. All of our children were older- 18, 17, 16, & 6. My husband and I have a “yours, mine, and ours” household. Everyone got along well- a baby would be such a welcome addition to our family!

From the day I realized I was pregnant I knew that this baby would be a girl. I did not have a biological daughter, and my step-daughter was old enough now that she would be like a little mother for this baby (she thought the baby was a girl too). We had already chosen a name - it was she and I who wanted to call her Beatrix.

The ultrasound started with my daughter having a perfect view of the screen. I knew immediately something was wrong. My step-daughter was unaware of the friction, this being her first time seeing a pregnancy ultrasound. But I understood what it meant when the tech is too quiet and she almost seemed to be trying to sit between my daughter and the screen -- which was also turned completely away from me. I asked if the baby's heart was beating- it was, and I didn't worry too much after that. I was healthy and strong. My husband was healthy and strong. The only negative pregnancy issue I could imagine was miscarriage, and miscarried babies didn't have beating hearts.

After our ultrasound we returned to the waiting room, and after a short time the doctor called me into her office (alone). She explained that I was most likely going to miscarry very soon. The baby's skin was ballooned around her little body, the space between upper and lower layers of skin seemingly filled with fluid -- all of his/her visible organs were also swollen with fluid. His/her heart was beating very rapidly but very weakly. It was only a matter of time. This was a very sick baby -- and this was only at 9 weeks. The doctor thought I had been infected with some type of virus, Rubella maybe. She took numerous vials of blood and told me she would call with the results. She gave me instructions regarding what to do when I began to miscarry. I met my daughter in the waiting room and we walked out together.

I didn't miscarry. And this was the beginning of an almost endless number of ultrasounds and Drs. appointments. There was no virus, or any other measurable issue which explained my baby's problems.

At 12 weeks we went in for our much all fold translucency test. The swelling was completely gone, but there was a large amount of fluid in the baby's nuchal fold. The ultrasound technician also thought something may be wrong with the baby's legs, but the doctor didn't agree. The tentative diagnosis was a genetic disorder, most likely Down syndrome.

After that appointment my husband and I sat in the car and contemplated life with a child with Down syndrome. We agreed that no matter what, we would carry this baby for as long as she would stay. No matter what.

At 16 weeks we went for an early fetal anatomy scan. The thickened nuchal fold had turned into a cystic hygroma (I have since learned that cystic hygroma is not an actual medical term, but a common name for a cystic lymphangioma -- a pocket of fluid underneath a person's skin. Usually the result of trauma).

It was also joined by a large omphalocele (abdominal wall defect located at the base of the umbilical cord) containing the baby's liver and intestines. With both problems together and my age (35 at the time), the chances for a genetic defect was almost 90%- and the genetic defect would most likely not be Down syndrome. This was the first time we heard the term "incompatible with life".

We had an appointment for an amnio that day- our doctor had made it clear that even if we weren't going to terminate, it would help the baby in terms of treatment after birth if we knew exactly what was wrong with him/her. After the amnio we spoke to a genetic counselor. It was horrible. She referred to my baby -- the baby we had just watched moving on an ultrasound screen -- as "the products of conception". Not once did she refer to our baby as a human being. The baby was diagnosed Trisomy 13 based on the results of the ultrasound. We were told our child would almost likely be miscarried, and if we did manage to carry to term he/she would go straight from the hospital to an institution.

When we got the rapid results of the amnio three days later, there were no genetic defects.

I also learned I was going to have my baby girl -- my sweet Beatrix.

I began to have hope.

Beatrix kept growing -- astounding the doctors who had insisted she would die before she was ever born. Every appointment was an emotional trial for us. The doctors allowed us no joy -- no hope in watching the magic of our daughter moving in the womb. Even though her prognosis was so grim we could have been supported in our choice. We would have appreciated being allowed to enjoy her while she was living.

At 20 weeks we were transferred to a specialist. He would be seeing to my care until I delivered, if I delivered.

He was fantastic! Unfortunately for us, he also detected new fetal anomalies. In addition to her omphalocele and cystic hygroma, he detected dolicocephaly (an abnormally shaped head), and a foot deformity. The new deformities were likely a result of the position of her body, not her syndrome (as yet unknown), which was why they hadn't been seen before. He told me our local hospital would not be equipped to care for Beatrix should she make it to term. He suggested Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital (part of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital- the #1 hospital for birth defects in NY State) in NYC.

He and the doctors there would co-manage my care as the hospital was over an hour away from my home. The hospital would do an evaluation at about 26 weeks (ultrasound and MRI), but other than that appointment, my specialist would be seeing me almost to the end. At 34 weeks my care would be transferred totally to the hospital.

At that 26 week ultrasound our world turned upside down. The list of things "wrong" with our baby grew significantly. Almost every part of her lower body was malformed. In addition to all of the things the other doctors had found, the MRI showed a sacral agenesis (a spinal deformity which causes paralysis), kyphoscoliosis, bilateral clubfeet, and lungs which had herniated into her abdomen. She also had virtually no umbilical cord, which meant absolutely no vaginal delivery. She could get stuck in the birth canal and I would hemorrhage. I knew before they gave us the diagnosis what it was. I had read about this awful thing when I researched her defects -- Limb Body Wall Complex. My worst fears were confirmed and we were sent home to plan a funeral.

I continued with care. We asked them to try. We knew it was lethal, but try. We provided them with medical journal articles featuring anecdotal stories of survivors. One doctor laughed, patted my knee, and said "you are a tenacious one, aren't you." He was the same physician who brought medical students into my ultrasound exam room without asking permission, and who told me to stop talking during his presentation to them.

But, even though some of them were disdainful of our decision, a few of the physicians at Morgan Stanley were willing to try.

Beatrix's case of LBWC was most evident in the lower portion of her body. Her brain, heart and circulatory system were perfectly normal. Her arms moved, and we could see her perfect face in the ultrasounds. We saw her smile in one 3D ultrasound. The lethality of LBWC is most often due to the size of the omphalocele. It leaves no room for lung development, and baby can't breathe at birth. Because my daughter's anomalies were so low, and we had seen evidence of her practice breathing, we had hopes of her being capable of breathing at birth.

We wanted them to save our baby. We could not give up hope she would be the exception to the rule.

We found a perinatologist who was willing to work with us. She told us, "I like to see what the baby has to say when they are born." This was exactly what we were looking for. Someone who would not give us false expectations -- but who would it give up on our daughter because of her diagnosis.

We prepared ourselves for all of the attendant issues involved with a prolonged hospital NICU stay, and concurrently we prepared ourselves for the death of our unborn child.

At 34 weeks, on the evening of December 12, 2010, I went into labor. Beatrix was born via classical c-section at 2:03 a.m. on December 13, 2010. She was not breathing when she was born. She was resuscitated and given assistance. She still could not breathe. After 20 minutes the doctors came to tell us she was not going to make it. I was still being stitched up so my husband went to be with her. She wrapped her tiny hand around one of his fingers. He brought her to me and she died peacefully in my arms at around 3:50 a.m. She never cried. She never opened her eyes. She just lay sweet and still in my arms before she continued on to her journey home.

The doctors had prepared me for a monster. I could not visualize her deformities in my mind during the pregnancy. When I finally got to see her all I saw was a perfect little baby. My baby Bea. She had the most beautiful little rosebud lips and the longest eyelashes. Her tiny hands and feet were perfectly formed. She had long slender legs and a tiny hiney like my other babies had. I opened the swaddling blankets to look at her body. I wanted to see how awful it really was. I was gratified to see it was almost the same as any other baby. Her body was not monstrous and deformed. It looked like a baby's body with two differences. Obviously, she had an omphalocele and her legs were positioned slightly to the left of her spine, instead of straight up and down. But even with those outward issues -- she looked like my normal baby girl.

I thought I would be so frightened. How could anyone be frightened of such a sweet little baby girl?

I thought I wouldn't be able to let her go. But I was the one to ask them to come and get her when the time was right.

I thought that this would break me in two, and I wouldn't be the same person -- it has, and I'm not.

There are not many Limb Body Wall Complex babies born. Most of them are aborted.

This is a terrible thing to me --

Studies show that women who terminate their pregnancies with a poor prognosis do not do as well as women who continue their pregnancies.
I know that if I had to do it all again, knowing what I know now, I would. There is no question in my mind of the benefit of continuing our pregnancy. Giving my daughter every chance for life and a peaceful death was the one gift I could give to her. Giving myself the tools to heal and hold onto her memory was the one gift I could give to myself.

The time I had with our daughter was vital in terms of parenting.

I have loved Beatrix since the day I was born, it seems. I was made for loving my beautiful baby girl. My arms were made to hold her until she breathed her last. My lips to cover her face with kisses. I wonder if she knew I was the one who had carried her all that time, safe in her quiet place? I would like to think she did -- that when I kissed her and whispered in her ear so many times, "I love you", she recognized my voice and felt loved.

There is nothing I could ever regret in choosing to carry her. In fact, I thank God I didn't miscarry like they said I would. I cannot contemplate not knowing her here in this world any more than I can contemplate not knowing any of my other children.

I am so grateful I was able to hold her -- even if only for a short time.

There are so many things I treasure from the early morning when she was born. I treasure the way the world seemed to disappear -- there was no one but the three of us. I treasure the feeling of absolute peace which permeated everything around us. I treasure my memory of the morning. I can't tell you what the nurses looked like, and the physical pain of the surgery has faded away -- but I remember exactly what my daughter smelled like and how dense the weight of her in my arms was. I remember the looks which passed between my husband and I, each of us saying goodbye in our own ways.

How deep and quiet was the love I felt for this tiny little baby.

I was so frightened before she came. Now I realized it wasn't her who I had been afraid of, but love. I was afraid to love her. To love her and have to give her up. I know now in allowing her to grow and live -- even if it was only inside of my womb, she gave me such a gift. This gift will hold me over when I'm feeling sad or missing her. All the love I was afraid of feeling has overflowed in me and touches everything I do.

I entitled this story "She Brings Joy" for a reason. As I said in the beginning, my step-daughter and I had chosen the name Beatrix for her. What I did not mention was that we had actually chosen this name for a future baby girl before Beatrix was even conceived. It was #1 on our "list of names we would call a new baby if we ever had one". Beatrix (the name) has been almost like a prayer at times, and like a taunt at others. Beatrix literally means (in Latin) "she brings joy". It would seem an odd choice to anyone who didn't understand how much I love this sweet baby girl. People could ask how this situation brought me joy? During my pregnancy even I wondered, as most bereaved people do, what I had done to deserve this. How could I ever find joy when I was sometimes so sad?

How would I find joy when my baby was dying?

But I did. Those tiny moments with her, parenting her the way she needed to be patented, were a time of complete joy. It must have been part of God’s plan for me to find this type of joy in the midst of my sorrow.

I could never explain to anyone who hasn't gone through the same situation how simple it is to find joy in what Beatrix brought to me. Her middle name, Elizabeth, means "my oath to God". How easily I have kept this oath, that I find joy in Beatrix's life. Every last second, every movement, every heartbeat; the way my heart leapt with happy anticipation the first time I held her.

How could I not find joy in loving my little baby girl?

Other people may see me and think of sorrow. I can end this with an affirmation: Of all of the varied emotions I feel at having carried Beatrix to term knowing she had a lethal anomaly, the greatest has been the joy I feel at having carried her for as long as I did. The joy I felt when holding her tiny hand in mine. Looking at her small, sweet face for the first time.

She brought me so much joy.

Every day when I recall the way she felt when I held her, I will remember that joy.

With every passing year, I will sink further into the joy.

And in the end, when I am finishing my time here on this earth I will leave with joy, knowing I am going home where she is waiting for me.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015
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Always Choose Love: Sandy Hook Year Three: Missing Lauren

Anniversary

Monday, December 14, 2015
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An Open Letter to a Grouchy Holiday Shopper

Acceptance

This post is going to be a little off topic, but it's part of my grief experience, and it's important, so it's here.

Bear with me.

Dear holiday shopper,

I am one of the {probably numerous} retail store employees you came into contact with this week. I have been employed by my company for almost a decade and am very good at my job. So when you came into my store with your request I was more than capable of fulfilling it.

However, my efforts did not produce the desired results and you became annoyed. Your annoyance manifested in your insistence that I perform a task which was against my company policy. After my apology and acquiescence (because the customer is always right, even when going against company policy) to your request, you berated me for causing such a fuss. You addressed my "incompetence" by expressing your desire to be "helped by someone who can do their job", if I couldn't.

There were profanities involved.

So, here's a note. From me, your retail store worker.

It will not contain profanities.

I am a human being. It's shocking, but really -- I am a person with the same type of biological stuff inside which you have. Similarly to most people, including you -- I assume, I feel cold and heat, rough and soft, and an entire range of emotions based on my personal life experience.

When I came into contact with you, the emotion which was manifesting itself was primarily sadness. This weekend will be my dead daughter's fifth birthday. When you and I crossed paths, it was my last shift before taking the weekend off to mourn her loss. It's difficult to help Christmas shoppers whose greatest problem is whether they find the right merchandise, when my mind is centered on those precious last moments, a few days off around the anniversary of her birth and death is helpful. I held my daughter in my arms as she silently slipped out of this world, and ever since then this season of lights and merry song has been a dark one for me.

That being said; when helping you, I was {still} doing the very best I could for you. I amended the problem multiple times without a hint of my inner heartache, smiling and trying to make sure you left my store satisfied with your purchase. This was an impossibility, and when you left I must admit I felt relief.

I don't know what troubles you have had to make you so surly. It may have been an event which happened recently or long ago.

Maybe you lost a child too.

I do know treating people the way you treated me was wrong.

In all of my grief over my lost daughter, my loss would never have been an acceptable reason to treat anyone the way you treated me. I have never felt the need to question someone's intelligence or to curse at someone because they can't deliver the appropriate response to my query.

People who behave like you seem to confuse "service worker" with "servant". Not that anyone should treat a servant the way you treated me, but there is a marked difference in those job descriptions which implies that one person is being paid to personally cater to the whims of another, while one person is being paid to sell something.

I am no one's servant, and neither is any other service worker you may come into contact with this holiday season. We are paid to courteously sell you goods, period. We are not here to take your abuse.

We all need to remember that each of us has struggled. Each of us is only human. We don't know what someone is dealing with when we are walking out into the world, and deciding their inability to perform according to our unreasonable desires is a mark of ignorance is wrong.

They may have had a bad day.

Their electric bill may have come in, and it's just more than they can afford to pay.

Maybe they just fought with their significant other and they are worried about the stability of their relationship.

Maybe they don't have money to purchase the toys which their child asked Santa for.

Or maybe they are going home to a home that is uncharacteristically dreary this time of year because there is one sweet girl-child missing from it.

We all have an obligation to be kind to one another. We are all travelers on this planet together, and in the grand scheme of things -- are Christmas purchases really important? Are they worth tossing aside someone else's humanity for?

Before ending this I would like to address a common misconception about service workers which will most likely be brought up if anyone ever reads this:

I am fully aware that I am not a soldier in the military fighting for freedom. I am also aware I am not an emergency room nurse, a firefighter, or a policeman. Nor am I a veteran or a schoolteacher.

I am not claiming to have a strenuous job, or even that I can't deal with a customer being feisty. This isn't about asking for more money than I already earn {although my retail position is most definitely not a low-skill job, and I am proud to say I could run a business with what I have learned}.

Kindness shouldn’t be doled out to people based upon our perception of their “station” in life.

We just need to treat one another with decency. Especially this time of year.

People are hurting.

We have the ability to make one another's lives better, be it with a smile or a thank you.

Hopefully, holiday shopper, my smile makes your day better. I am so glad to use my skills to help you to find the perfect item for someone special and my knowledge of my product means you will be getting the best information available. I work hard to offer you a positive experience even in the most rushed of seasons. Thankfully you choose to shop in my retail establishment, as my job puts food on my table and a roof over my head. I will continue to offer service unparalleled in hopes that your visits to my store are remembered as a positive experience.

My only reason for sharing this message:

It would be great if your visits were also pleasant for me. I am mourning my lost daughter. Your kindness is like a life saver being tossed out on an open sea. You have the ability to make it a sink or swim day.

Please help me to swim.

Sincerely,

A human being who happens to also be a retail employee

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