7.15.2019

Remembering my pain - to connect with theirs.


The day after I passed Baby L from my arms into those of her grandmother, a precious friend (and fellow foster mom) asked me, "How are you feeling about L leaving?"
A seemingly simple question, I thought, but when I started writing my response I was overwhelmed with sorrow. I had already walked through all of the "lasts" with Baby L since we had the privilege of knowing it was our last day with her, and I had already connected the sadness of saying goodbye to her with the death of our son Matthew. What I had not done, however, was figure out the "why."
Why were the two so inextricably linked?
Stillbirth and foster care.
The "loss" piece was obvious, but something was missing.

I knew I would feel deep emotion when Baby L left us, but I confess, I was completely surprised (dare I say blindsided?) by how much it mirrored the pain of losing Matthew. How could my heart ache so strongly for a baby I had known scarcely thirty days? How was I able to weep so sincerely when I knew she would be leaving us? Why did it hurt so much?

The old Michelle would have run from the pain. Distracted herself. Drowned her sorrows in 72 ounces of ice-cold Coke and giant bags of Goldfish crackers.
But this time? I refused to run. I sat right down in the middle of it and let myself feel.
It was hard, but it was good.
The emotion. The tears. The memories. The questions. The fears. The unknown. I invited it all in.
That is where the Lord met me. Right there in my mourning. And He answered the "why."

I need to remember. 
I need to remember the overwhelming sorrow that comes with losing a child.
I need to remember the darkness that accompanies grief. 
I need to remember the confusion, the fear, the "what ifs" and the "if only's."
I need to remember that even though people surround you, it feels like no one else "gets it."
I need to remember the feeling of helplessness and lack of control.
I need to remember so I can empathize with every birth mom who weeps because her child is in the arms of another. Including my own.

Without remembering my pain, I cannot connect with theirs.

Thank You, Lord, for revealing this truth! And thank You for not allowing Your children to be swallowed by sorrow, for You are a God who saves those who are crushed in spirit, and heals the brokenhearted. You let weeping last through the night, but You bring back JOY in the morning!

Interestingly … when I returned to the group home to unite Baby L with her grandmother, the social worker who witnessed the exchange shook my hand, held onto it tightly, stared at me for a long moment, and then he declared, “We will be calling you SOON. How many beds do you have open?”
I smiled and thought, “Is this how it will be, Lord? Grieving the loss of one baby while learning to love another? If so, YES!”
Serving in sorrow.
The best way to heal.

Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. Psalms 126:5-6 

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