One month...

My daughter was born one month ago today. The last few days have not been easy. Saturday was one month since our lives changed and we began to learn about grief. I relived those awful moments in the doctor's office of waiting and reheard those words, "no heartbeat" over and over in my head. Yesterday, I mentally relived the induction, the hours of waiting. Last night, I slept restlessly knowing the moment would come when it was one month since our daughter was born. Today, I drove by my daughter's grave in the church cemetery. Today, I am sad.

Even in my sadness, I realize how much I've grown over the last month. I would still go back and change, well, everything if I had the chance, but I have grown.

I have learned a lot about pastoral care. I know now that there really aren't "right" things to say to someone who is grieving, but there are definitely "wrong" things to say. I know that a hug (even though the books might tell you hugs are crossing boundaries) can communicate far beyond words strength and love to someone who is grieving. I know that personal tragedy can make pastors more empathetic and compassionate. I have always known that the cloud of witnesses on the other side is waiting to welcome us when our bodies give out, but I now know on a personal level just how comforting it is to be able to look forward to that reunion, to seeing someone you love so deeply as the whole, perfect person they could have been or were in life.

I have learned, too, that this experience is making me a better parent. I think I would have been a wonderful mother to my daughter, but I think I will be an even better parent to any other children we may have. I will be more patient when my child is colicky because I know just how lucky I am to have a healthy, breathing baby. I will be more intentional in protecting my time with my child because every moment will feel like a privilege. I will love more, laugh harder, and enjoy every minute. I will also be an overprotective worrier the entire time, and I will probably embarrass the heck out of my kids because of it. But, who cares? No parent is perfect, and I think losing my daughter earns me the right to be a bit of an anxious parent!

I have also learned that grief, in the words of a former English teacher and friend, sucks! There really are few words in the English language that define grief in quite so accurate a way. Grief on good days is like a broken bone, the dull ache that just refuses to go away. On bad days, grief is like labor pains without the happy end of a baby, sharp waves of pain that don't allow you to focus on anything but what you feel. I realize that this analogy misses many people, but there really is no better way to describe bad days when you're grieving. Like labor pains that give birth to a stillborn baby, grief feel like a slap in the face, like the brokenness of the world is mocking you. It just sucks!

So, today is a sad day, but I have reasons to be grateful. I am grateful that I can get through these "one month" days now rather than in a couple days. Thanksgiving may bring with it struggles of its own, but at least the "one month" days are not the day of Thanksgiving (or for that matter, Christmas next month!). I am grateful that I have a husband who reminds me that maybe one month is not so much a marker of what we've lost but something to celebrate. We have survived. We have learned to find hope in the midst of our sadness. We are not feeling the heartbreak of our loss the way we were one month ago. I am grateful that I am "grieving well." This loss has been devastating, but somehow I have managed to put my life back together. Each day I find new ways to keep going, new things to look forward to, new hope. For example, I found these verses from Isaiah 54 just yesterday. While they don't speak to my exact situation, they still feel a bit like a promise.

"Sing, O barren one who did not bear;

burst into song and shout, 

you who have not been in labor! 

For the children of the desolate woman 

will be more than the children of her that is married, 

says the Lord. 

Enlarge the site of your tent, 

and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; 

do not hold back; 

lengthen your cords and strengthen your stakes. 

For you will spread out to the right and to the left, 

and your descendants will possess the nations 

and will settle the desolate towns."

We named our daughter Faith as a reminder that God is faithful, that this is not the end of our story, but the beginning, that God gives good gifts, that we will one day be parents to a healthy child. Today, even in my sadness, I claim these words from Isaiah 54, as a promise that one day my silent house will be overflowing with the noise of children and my time will be filled with the pleasures of parenthood rather than a blog about my journey. (Sorry, but I will trade this blog in quite easily if it means I'm spending time being a mom!!)