Beautiful leaves billow in the breeze and fall to the ground. Extra blankets have been added to the bed. And now, the battle is on.
In 27 years of marriage, I can honestly say that Mr. Gorgeous and I have had very few fights. Okay, we’ve disagreed about things, but we don’t fight very often. We share the same values and believe the same way, so when we struggle about something, those values and beliefs bring us together rather than pull us apart. There is one thing, however, about which we fight.
This fight is frustrating because it’s done in silence.
This silent battle is carried on in the midst of the night, in the darkness — in the cold. The winner is determined by the one who starts the season in the most determined fashion. For the winter of 2013-2014, I plan to be the winner. I started last year’s season off badly and never recovered.
This battle is for the blankets.
Yes, I know, it’s silly. But when you throw in the 10 pound, four legs and a tail that sleeps between us, controlling the blankets — and who has them is very important. You see, we turn the heat down at night. It’s energy efficient, it saves money, and it helps us to sleep better. The challenge with this fact is that we have two windows in our bedroom and the room is poorly insulated. As a result, there are some mornings when I fear that meat hanging in the room would NOT be in danger of spoiling.
The key, I’ve discovered, to winning the battle of the blankets is to hold on to the blankets all night long. John holds onto the sheet — this allows me to tug, pull, and “steal” the blankets to keep me warm. There are definitely times when I feel guilty, but then I stick my nose out from under the covers, shiver, and think….”oh well.” Actually, if Yoda didn’t hog 1/2 of the bed (he takes his half from the middle, by the way), we would both be able to have blankets and stay warm. But, as long as he’s laying on the bed, I’m going to keep holding on to those blankets and keep winning the battle; I don’t like waking up cold!
This picture of Jesus holding the baby has given me peace and has reminded me that Jessie is safe.
Three boys, who I wouldn’t trade for anything, call me mom. I am so grateful to have them, to love them, to have held them in my arms, and to hold them in my heart. Even with my boys, my heart breaks a bit every time I think about the one I never got know.
Tomorrow, October 15, is the day set aside to remember children who were lost due to pregnancy loss or death in early childhood. So today — and everyday — I remember Jessie. And even though we lost our Jessie on March 24, 2000, it is only recently that I have begun to truly grieve this loss.
I lost one child — some women have lost many. In some ways it felt wrong to grieve one small loss when dear people grieve loss after loss after loss. Some families experience numerous losses and never enjoy the privilege of parenting their children, but still they are parents.
In our family, my brother, a cousin, and a niece have all had children who were born and lived mere hours. When I measured their grief against the grief that we experienced from pregnancy loss, I felt guilty for even mentioning our baby. Yet, I felt the loss — deeply, inside, in my broken heart, and in my nightmares where I would hear the baby cry, but as I went to comfort her I could never find her. The grief I experienced at her loss was hidden away — I never told anyone about the nightmares. Only Mr. Gorgeous knows how hard it is for me to face March 24th.
After we lost the baby, John sent an email to our family members to tell them; he also shared the news with our church family when I wasn’t around. Responses to the news varied. Some people thought that having three children was enough and we really didn’t need another one. A few expressed their concern that if I was unable to carry her to term, she must have had a physical abnormality, so losing her was for the best. Very few responded with what I felt was a compassionate heart. Our boys cried with us over the loss of their sister. Nathan said we couldn’t always call her “the baby” and asked if we could call her Jessie. That became her name.
A dear friend sent me a letter that I read numerous times. She said simply, “I hurt with you and for you; and I love you.” I ached to hear that kind of a message. No, we didn’t have a funeral, but we lost a child. There wasn’t a casket or a tombstone, but there were broken hearts. To be honest, everyone seemed to ignore our loss, and as a result, I tried to do the same.
There is something about loss — something about grief — though that refuses to be ignored. Every time I held an infant I would struggle to keep from crying. Nightmares filled my sleep. And finally, two years ago, about the time that Jessie would have been on the volleyball team I coach, I realized it was time to grieve — for real this time.
I began a Bible study about losing a child. I read a book called SCANDALOUS GRACE that encouraged me to grasp God’s grace with both hands and use it overcome this emptiness that filled me every time I thought of Jessie. Finally, through prayer and tears and a willingness to begin talking about her, I have begun to be healed of the incapacitating grief that I’d locked away.
And then God used my beautiful niece to give me permission to speak freely about Jessie. Pam became involved with Unspoken Grief, an outreach on Facebook. She and they have helped me to move forward while reaching back to help others who grieve as I do. Last year, I participated in a photo project called, “Capture Your Grief.” It is sponsored by CarlyMarie on Facebook and encourages parents who’ve lost a child to take and post a picture each day during the month of October. Each day has a special theme for the photo. I did not submit a picture for each day of the month; I did participate on the days that had the most meaning to me. Through that project I remembered, mourned, grieved, celebrated, laughed, and let go.
I still grieve, but I’m moving on. Doing so has not been easy and to be honest, I was only able to do so when I gave myself permission. That meant ignoring people who didn’t or don’t understand that the loss of an infant is as devastating as the loss of anyone else that we love. Thankfully, by speaking up and sharing my loss, I’ve found others around me who’ve experienced their own losses. We encourage, strengthen, and bless each other. I am thankful for them and their willingness to share their heart with me.
So on this day, in memory of Jessie, I want to say a few things that I would have said to her:
Jessie, I love you. Your brothers would have made you crazy, just like Uncle Frank made your mommy crazy. I know, however, that they would have protected you. I am certain that boys who liked you would have looked at your brothers (especially Nate) and only the very worthy would have had the courage to date you. I always dreamed about you having dark curly hair, but red hair like your dad would have been beautiful. You would have laughed — a lot, like the rest of the family. I think you might have been a singer — maybe a piano player like Phillip and Ben. Or perhaps you would have inherited your great grandmother’s artistic ability. Whatever your interests or talents, I know that you would have been amazing. I wish I had known you. Jesus has taken care of you and I know you are safe — for that I am thankful.
Finally my friends, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you know of someone who has experienced pregnancy or infant loss? Would you reach out — would you let them grieve? Will you celebrate their child/children with them? Would you please speak their child’s name? It’s important… Jessie.
Laughing - Loving - Praying 