A Beautiful Mourning

My first miscarriage was shocking. The child I already had wasn't a year old yet and when I learned I was pregnant again so soon, I was disappointed. Other people said as much and I felt offended, ashamed and discouraged. When I lost that baby, I felt heartbroken and guilty. Had the baby felt rejection? Was it my fault? My husband's? I had no idea losing a baby in the first trimester could hurt so much. Though the circumstance had been stressful, the loss was a painful blow.

When I got pregnant again, I was careful. I did the right things and avoided the wrong things. I breathed a sigh of relief when I passed into my 2nd trimester. My beloved sister-in-law, Rose was also pregnant, an added joy. We'd talk about morning sickness and the future baby cousins.

Just before Christmas, I was sitting in church when I felt something was wrong. Soon, it was clear I needed to go to the hospital. That was my 2nd sonogram where my baby had no heartbeat. I was devastated. Christmas morning, I delivered a tiny baby boy in my bathroom. It was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life.

Because it was Christmas, I felt I had to push it out of my mind. My 3 year old had gifts to open. Family was coming over. Family. I remembered Rose. She would still have her baby. A rush of anger swept over me, then fear. As I prayed protection over her baby, I felt a frightening surge of grief and instinctively, stuffed it. Christmas was already a sad time. My 19 year old brother committed suicide on a Christmas morning, only a few years earlier. I believed, if I felt the full weight of this grief, it would crush me to death. My little girl needed me. I put on lipstick & makeup on my red, swollen eyes and prepared for company.

Everyone came, except Rose. My well-meaning family tried to keep me distracted. My husband played with our little girl and nephews. It was busy & noisy. I wanted to scream & run to my room and hide under the covers and yell, "Why, God?? How could you? I thought you loved me!"

I was sad about Rose. I learned she hadn't come out of love for me, not wanting to cause me more pain. She'd always been one of the kindest, most compassionate people I'd ever met. I felt she was the one person who would really understand my pain because she was pregnant. I knew she loved my lost baby. I knew she loved me. Part of me didn't want to lay eyes on her. Another part of me longed to.

When I started going back to church a while later, I nervously looked for Rose. I'd rehearsed my, "Hello, how are you?", greeting, then gave up, thinking she hadn't come. In the middle of the service, I went to the bathroom and when I came out, there she was. She had stayed in the nursery. After a few seconds, my usually non-confrontational sister-in-law did one of the bravest things I've ever seen a person do. With tears in her eyes, she grabbed me in a fierce, heartfelt hug. It broke us both.

That vulnerable, yet courageous act of bold love created an unforgettable moment of divine connection. As my flat, lifeless belly pressed against her full, growing womb, I experienced emptiness & fullness side by side. Mourning, with hope. What a priceless, selfless gift. Surely, she'd taken a risk, not knowing what my reaction would be. That didn't matter to her, though. She humbly offered herself, anyway, with eager affirming arms. She made it safe for my heart to break and receive, simultaneously. Both realities merged. The pain & the promise. Both counted. My bitter loss & her sweet expectancy touched, and brought unexpected release. Rose's embrace physically acquainted her with my suffering, sharing in my burden and blessing me with tangible grace.

"...Weeping endures for the night, but joy comes in the morning", Ps. 30:5.

Hope is always bigger. It will outlast any heartache because one day, believers will be in a place where there will be no more night, Rev. 22:5. The Lord, Himself, will wipe away our last tear and we will live in His glorious, radiant light, forever. In God's kingdom, death always leads to life. Suffering never has the last say. Hope is our constant reminder of that unchangeable truth.

"And now, brothers & sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died, so that you will not grieve like people who have no hope", 1Thess. 4:13.

When my precious Goddaughter was born (a touching honor) I was overwhelmed with emotion, and wept. The joy of having a new, healthy baby in the family, softened the sting of my loss. I grieved and rejoiced in the same hour. There would be many days like that. In time, there would be much less. I know my other children exist. I know I will see them one day. In this abundant life, we will know pain & joy, beginnings & endings. Hope will always make a difference. It removes the darkness from despair, allowing us to envision the beauty that comes with a new morning; a future life.

May the Holy Spirit comfort us, so we may comfort others. May we allow hope & heartache to hold hands, forming a life giving partnership of faith. May we be generous with our tears and nurturing with our words, offering burden-lifting embraces to soothe heavy hearts. In Jesus' name. Amen.

Veronica Jimenez, Sound Mind Awareness ©2020, all rights reserved.