I Will Not Leave You Comfortless
Kelly from New York, writes:
Alison, you have shared with the circle that you lost five children in the process of carrying your five living children to term. How did you manage the emotional toll this took? How did you engage your husband in this strange grieving process to which some men cannot relate? What did you learn from this experience? I am approaching perimenopause and I have still not been able to carry a child to term. I may have to confront the possibility that I will not be able to bear a child. I have turned to the Circle of Sisters for comfort and some practical guidance at this time when my emotions are getting away from me."
Jeannie says:
Alison will be the "expert" on this subject, but Kathy asked me to add a few personal comments. Nearly every woman I know has been affected by the devastation of miscarriage; myself included. It was a particularly difficult experience because in addition to losing my baby, I nearly lost my life. It took me fully six months to recover physically. Emotional rehabilitation took even longer.
What struck me as bizarre was the level of apathy with which my loss was met. I remember tearfully relating my story, only to feel like I was being patted on the head and neatly dismissed. "You'll be able to have other children" or "Well, it was probably for the best" were two of the most frequent sentiments expressed. Even if this were true, it felt like a huge slap on my already "stinging" cheeks. It made me feel as if there were something wrong with me for grieving.
I'm sure those of you who have been traumatized by the disappointment of miscarriage have had similar experiences. Luckily, I was blessed with a very sensitive husband who helped me sort through the sadness and "what did I do wrong" phase. He validated my loss, held me and told me that my body and emotions would normalize. Eventually, they did.
As the years have passed, I've had occasion to speak with many sisters who have dealt with miscarriage. The subject is more openly discussed and thankfully, better understood…at least intellectually. It does help to know that there are hundreds of sisters out there, wading through the same trial with dignity and courage.
To all of you who have survived one or multiple miscarriages, we at the Circle hope you will share in our conversation. Perhaps airing such a tender a delicate subject will be a source of comfort to those who may be suffering alone or in silence.
Kathy says:
We are indebted to Alison for her willingness to answer this emotionally charged question for our circle. Jeannie and I, representing the "old wives" telling our tales, can add the perspective of the healing that comes with the passage of time. We have forgotten neither the hot tears that wracked us in the first moments of loss and pain, nor those who loved us and comforted us. Yup. I confess I also recall some of the comments that burned a bit. But through the years I have worn the shoe on the other foot enough times to truly appreciate the awkwardness of running into those beloved sisters and friends who have just lost another baby. Do I dare say anything? What if I make the poor bereft mom cry again? What if she didn't want to advertise this pregnancy in the first place and it only irritates her to realize that this very private and personal event has somehow, without her permission, become a matter of public record? What if she is an "intimacy seeker" and longs to pour out her soul and connect with a nurturing group of sisters who love her and empathize with her sense of loss, and everyone seems to avert their eyes and hustle to their cars? What if she is an "intimacy avoider" and wants to become invisible for a few months until it has all blown over, and her fondest hope is that nobody will bring up the subject? Worse still, what if she is somewhere in between, but I was the one person upon whom she thought she could depend to say the right words to her and stand by her when she needed a buddy; and I let her down?
I remember taking a loaf of home-made bread, hot from my oven, to a friend I especially admired when she had lost her baby. She believed this was a promised child, and she had furnished and decorated a beautiful nursery including a lavish closet-full of baby gear. I think I was almost as devastated as she was when I heard the news. I hope she felt my intentions and appreciated the implied message of the standard "staff of life" loaf of bread, baked with freshly home-ground wheat and wild honey, made with love through a blur of tears.
I still don't know the right words, and I still wish for all my sisters the staff of new life that feels to me like the most precious and undeserved blessing of my own mortality. It is our Father in Heaven and He alone who can make wheat and honey, and grant mortal life to His children in His own due time. I think the only answers come through the first principle of the gospel: faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and the forth, an ordinance, the Gift of the Holy Ghost. I hope we can exercise our faith together and seek the spirit as we try to learn better ways of comforting each other when there is cause to mourn. Thanks in advance for thinking through this question with the circle.
Alison says:
There are a number of trials I would prefer to be "expert" in. Perhaps the trial of maintaining humility in the face of extreme beauty and talents? The trial of reaching out to others while dealing with supreme popularity? The trial of dealing with excessive wealth? The trial of having no trials at all? But we are not always allowed to choose our trials. And one of mine has been the trial of tentative pregnancies.
Though there is some revealed doctrine about stillbirth and more still on infant death, there is very little on miscarriage. It would be comforting to have more real, doctrinal answers. Though there is increasing scientific research on infertility, there is still precious little about miscarriage. The attitude in the medical sciences—and, unfortunately, among many of our peers as well—seems to be, "Well, at least you can get pregnant. Just try again." So those of us who repeatedly experience the loss of pregnancy are often left much to ourselves to sort out such a devastating experience.
As the reader said, I have five children but have been pregnant ten times. So I'm batting a pitiful 0.5. I may sound flippant, but it's actually something I have become accustomed to. It's just part of our lives.
When we consider having more children, we must consider how many more pregnancies and losses I can endure before deciding I have the physical and emotional resources to follow through. Each month includes hormone treatments and restrictions to follow "just in case" I am pregnant, often only to discover that I'm not. When I finally get pregnant (which has become much harder as I have aged) I refrain from much excitement or planning and I hopefully anticipate the inevitable, horrid nausea that always accompanies a pregnancy that's going to "stick." And in spite of the fact that my latest miscarriage was at 12 weeks, I am never very confident in my body's ability to get through the whole process. That is just the reality of my pregnancies. I wish that it weren't so, but it is.
I do not take for granted the fact that I actually have been blessed to carry some of the pregnancies to term. I know there are thousands of couples who would (and do) go through much more than I have in order to have a child. Neither do I underestimate the blessing of a caring and understanding husband. He does not experience or react to the miscarriages in the same way that I do, but he is loving and patient and supportive and willing to do anything he can to help make the pain (physical and emotional) easier to bear.
After having to tell family and friends that I was no longer pregnant after the first loss, I determined that I would not announce my next pregnancy until it was embarrassingly obvious. But after the second miscarriage came and went, and there was no one to really tell because no one knew I was pregnant anyway, I realized that I longed for this baby to be acknowledged. I didn't want its life and death to be nothing more than a private passing of tissue—because I knew it was more than that.
So, my new philosophy—which I readily acknowledge may certainly not be right for anyone else—became that the very second I knew I was pregnant I would tell all my friends. Then I would revel in the joy of being pregnant for as long as it lasted!
If I miscarried, I had a built-in support group. If I didn't…well then it just seemed to everyone around me that I had the longest pregnancies on the planet! Although this approach may seem odd, it gave me myriad opportunities to use my sadness to bless others. Everyone knew that I miscarried a lot and everyone knew that I didn't mind discussing it. So when someone had a troubled pregnancy issue, they were often referred to me, and the "counseling" turned out to be therapeutic for me as well.
Yes, people often said goofy, inappropriate, thoughtless things to me. But with few exceptions these people had noble intentions that just weren't backed up by much knowledge. And when you are public about private matters (as I was) you can't expect everyone to figure out the perfect comment. You've got to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I don't want to make it appear as though this hasn't been a struggle for me. It has, both physically and spiritually. But I think through the years I've made peace with the situation. Perhaps the best way to describe how I dealt with these issues is to share with you what I wrote in my journal.
August 1996
The attorney handed me to my new parents in the Skaggs parking lot when I was two days old. One year after this less-than-romantic beginning, I was sealed to them, and to my older brother and sister, in the Salt Lake Temple. That day my life began with my real family.
Throughout my life, I was to hear and learn of many others who had infertility problems. As a bishop and bishop's wife (multiple times), my parents often counseled with other couples facing these challenges. Because of this exposure, I never assumed that I could have children (although my natural parents, obviously, had no problems conceiving!) So when my husband, Sam, and I became pregnant easily with our first child, I was excited, but dubious. When our little girl was born a bit early, but quite healthy, we were overjoyed.
When I became pregnant for the second time I had just been called to be the Relief Society President in our ward. In that position I dealt with the women in the ward on a much more personal level than I had before. Despite my upbringing, I was surprised to learn how many of them had problems conceiving and carrying children. Many of them were struggling, along with their husbands, to raise a family.
When this second pregnancy ended in miscarriage, I was upset, but took it quite matter-of-factly. "It's only fair that I have my share of problems," I thought. I reasoned that I could now be more empathetic, more helpful and understanding to others in a similar situation. "Other people have much worse problems than we do."
After waiting two months (as the doctor recommended) I became pregnant again. We were thrilled. But when this pregnancy, too, ended in a miscarriage similar to the first, I was broken-hearted. So many thoughts flooded my mind. "How could this happen? I had done just what the doctor said. No one else I know has had two in a row. I spend all my spare time doing church work. I try to do what is right. Why doesn't the Lord care?"
Logically I knew that my problems were insignificant in comparison to so many others. I knew, particularly from the example of my faithful parents, that children are not given to us based on our righteousness or leadership callings. But in my heart I was angry and hurt. I was mad at myself for doing whatever it was I was sure I did to cause the miscarriage. I was mad at my body for not being able to perform a normal bodily function. I was angry at pregnant women for having those stupid big bellies in my presence and for having the nerve to complain about how trying pregnancy can be. I was angry at all the unmarried teenagers who were pregnant and didn't want to be. I was angry at every stupid couple who "accidentally" got pregnant and were feeling inconvenienced or worse. I was angry at God for not performing a miracle on my behalf.
A few weeks later, isolating myself in a bedroom, I listened grudgingly to General Conference. One speaker, Carlos Amado, spoke of a woman who had three miscarriages and, instead of feeling sorry for herself, went to help another woman in similar circumstances. "Gag!" I said right out loud. The last thing I wanted to hear was about some holier-than-thou, goody-two-shoes, "Molly Mormon" who couldn't even summon up enough real emotion to be upset over a miscarriage! "I'm tired of giving! I'm tired of helping and being selfless and smiling through all the trials. I just want a baby! What's so bad about that?"
Toward the end of conference, Elder Neal A. Maxwell spoke. His words struck my heart like lightening and toppled me right off my self-righteous pedestal. "Murmuring can also be noisy enough that is drowns out the various spiritual signals to us, signals which tell us in some cases to quit soaking ourselves indulgently in the hot tubs of self-pity! Murmuring over the weight of our crosses not only takes energy otherwise needed to carry them but might cause another to put down his cross altogether."
It occurred to me only then that the actual experiences we must face on this earth don't matter a bit in the long run. What matters is how we handle whatever situations come our way. What matters is how we choose to act in any given circumstance. We will be judged on our behavior, and I knew that my bitter behavior was anything but exemplary.
We were blessed the next year with another healthy daughter and three years later, a third.
Last night, when our long-awaited summer vacation ended with me in the hospital and a kind emergency room doctor telling us that we would, once again, lose the baby I was carrying, I was devastated. We have been so excited to bring a new little spirit into our home.
But I have tried to focus on the lesson I learned seven years ago. There are many things I can do to create a wonderful home and environment. But there are many elements that are out of my control. When those elements have a negative impact on my life I am left, basically, with two choices. (1) Make the best of a bad situation, or (2) Make the worst of a bad situation.
I'm not suggesting that feeling sad or upset or concerned are not appropriate and acceptable responses in certain situations. I know I've done my share of each of those--even in the last few hours. But years ago I saw myself clearly and accurately described as "soaking...in the hot tubs of self-pity," and it wasn't doing anyone any good…least of all me.
Quality of life as well as quality of character requires us to make the choice to be happy. It's a choice available to every last one of us, regardless of our circumstances. But it's not always the easiest choice to make.
Of course, I'll be even happier when I can give you some good news on the topic of family expansion!! But in the meantime we don't plan to miss any of the goodness of life...and I find plenty of that to go around.
As an addendum, in July of 1997 we had our fourth darling daughter. I miscarried two more times (making a total of five) once in January 1999 and again in September 1999. In June 2000 we had our first son. We have much to be grateful for.
Kathy says:
Postscript: Alison has a serious challenge with "trial number one" also. But she has been given the gift that is obvious to all but the recipient: modesty.
In posting and responding to the comments to this article, we feel that we must be very careful. There are many who, due to personal experiences, will want to proclaim doctrine in the matter of when spirits enter bodies and what will happen to those babies/spirits that are lost prematurely. Let's be very careful to make sure we don't mistake anecdotes as doctrine—no matter how moving they are. Thanks for your maturity in the gospel, and for your willingness to help bear your sisters' burdens.
Marjean writes:
Thank you for bringing up this very important topic. I lost a baby 23 years ago at 12 weeks pregnancy. I grieved very deeply for a year, and can really relate to the feelings Alison expressed. My grief was compounded by infertility. It had taken me several years to conceive in the first place and so I was devastated.
The spiritual grief is the hardest to bear. I still get tears many years later when I think of how much I had loved that dear baby. I did go on to have two more children. I also spent many, many years trying to conceive again. I ended up with three beautiful children that I am grateful for. I confess, I still long for more. I will just have to wait for the eternities. I have also wallowed in the hot tub of self-pity. I wish I could have had more faith and strength to help me through at the time. I did not have much support from my husband or family. I was deeply depressed and they could not understand what was happening to me.
One of the best helps to me was to read (years later) a book called Gone Too Soon, written by a member of the church. It was a great comfort, even so many years later. Another recommendation was to create or have something as a memorial to the child. Planting a tree perhaps. I had to have my engagement and wedding rings reset, so I choose a setting much like my original, but it had three tiny diamonds on one side and one tiny diamond on the other side. They represent my three children and the one I lost. It gives me great comfort every time I look at it. Time does heal and help, as does the comfort of the gospel. And yet, there always remains just a touch of that sadness and longing. It really helps to know that others have felt what you have experienced. Thanks again.
Jeannie says:
Dear Marjean:
Thank you so much for sharing those tender feelings. I just know that we are going to have a landslide of mail resonating your exact sentiments.
The idea of making a memorial is such a good one, Marjean. It is such a comfort to have something tangible to comfort us in the face of the intangible things we must deal with during loss. When my daughter died, we planted a small tree at the head of the grave. Although we no longer live in Ann Arbor, I'm told that the tree is still being tended and decorated for holidays by those who knew and loved this little girl.
Thanks again.
Lori writes:
Alison,
I am particularly grateful for your remarks. Though I have never had a miscarriage, much of what you said relates to a very devastating trial I went through about four years ago. My oldest daughter, age 19 at the time, who had always been the model child, hung around with the best sort of friends, earned excellent grades, dated the right guys (and lots of them), obedient, always considerate of us as parents, etc., suddenly did a total about-face. She confessed to sleeping with a guy (non-member and 12 years older), and she totally rejected church, religion, God, all the values we'd raised her with. She also rejected all the friends she'd had for years, one her best friend since preschool.
I experienced much of the anger you talked about, including anger at God. I was Young Women president at the time, my husband in the bishopric, and I had always thought that though these callings were somewhat of a sacrifice for my family, that God would bless us for serving him…and I found myself asking, "Where are the blessings?" I went through depression, all the emotions of the death of a loved one. I have regained my faith, finally come out of the depression, and have much to be thankful for. But some questions have continued to remain unanswered. Some of the things you said really hit home with me, and I think helped to answer some of the questions I still have had unresolved. Thanks so much.
Susan D. writes:
Reading an article like this and knowing that I'm not alone do help me feel better. I have three wonderful children. I have endometriosis and it was hard for me to get pregnant. After six years of trying ,at last I got pregnant. After having two children I tried to have another child but had two miscarriages in a row. It was devastating and hard for me to go through alone because I didn't have anyone to support me and comfort me except my own family.
I received many negative remarks regarding the miscarriages. I have overcome the emotional situation by reading the scriptures and praying a lot for help and comfort. Heavenly Father has guided me to read the scriptures and I found that there were many people who have gone through trials; even the prophets. That was how I was comforted and I have shared my testimony and related my experiences. I've met several sisters who have gone through similar experiences. What a comfort it was for me. After a while, I finally was able to bring home another child who is now 16 months old. I admire those who have gone through much more than I have, because I don't have that strength to endure the emotional pains without any support. But I am forever grateful for this wonderful blessings I have. I have become stronger through all the trials I have had and felt peace and happiness.
Thank you for sharing your experiences with all of us who are out there suffering. I hope they will be comforted.
Jeannie says:
Dear Susan:
I guess the adage "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" applies in a very significant way, to this situation. You certainly have turned a 'negative' into a 'positive' by coming to Christ and Heavenly Father
For comfort. May He continue to bless you and, especially, your hard-won family.
Nancy D. writes:
Alison mentioned that there is some revealed doctrine on stillbirth. I lost my only daughter 23 years ago at nine plus months gestation. She died two days before she was born. I have read in many places about what various prophets and general authorities have said about stillbirth, but have always been told that the church has no official stand on the subject. My heart tells me that this daughter, who was born under the covenant, is mine, and has been from conception, and that she will be mine forever, providing I live worthily to raise her. I honestly believe that she was called to teach the gospel to her ancestors, especially those of her father, as she is the only one who can reach them.
Though the pain of the loss lessens as the years go by, it never completely goes away. The hope of seeing her again and being able to raise her have kept me going all these years. My husband was not supportive, saying I grieved too much, and that I should let others who had lost children be, as it's best to "just live and let live." I was able to raise two wonderful sons, one of whom has served an honorable mission, the other now serving one. I am now single, having been divorced for about nine years. Could Alison please share what information she has about revealed knowledge about stillbirth? I'm sure it would help me. Thank you very much.
Alison says:
Thanks for your letter, Nancy.
One of the most comprehensive sources for such information is the LDS book that was already mentioned by another reader, Gone Too Soon: The Life and Loss of Infants and Unborn Children,by Sherri Devashrayee Wittwer. It contains most of the prophetic references I have ever come across and gave me new insight as well.
The Handbook of Instructions contains two separate entries regarding stillborn children:
- Temple ordinances are not performed for stillborn children, but no loss of eternal blessings or family unity is implied. The family may record the name of a stillborn child on the family group record followed by the word stillborn in parentheses.
- Grieving parents whose child dies before birth should be given emotional and spiritual support. Temple ordinances are not performed for stillborn children. However, this does not deny the possibility that a stillborn child may be part of the family in the eternities. Parents are encouraged to trust the Lord to resolve such cases in the way He knows is best. The family may record the name of a stillborn child on the family group record followed by the word stillborn in parentheses. Memorial or graveside services may be held as determined by the parents.
It is a fact that a child has life before birth. However, there is no direct revelation on when the spirit enters the body.
While both entries give hope to the idea that these children may be part of our eternal families, they do not give definitive information in the matter. And the fact that recording stillborn children is left as an option, and that ordinances are not done (not even sealings), is somewhat discouraging. No mention whatever is made of miscarriage (although the delineation is subject to interpretation).
Over the years, personally, I have become content to feel that God can sort this all out in a way that will be perfectly fair and that will make me perfectly happy. If these little ones I lost had spirits that were meant to be in our family, then they will be. If they did not, then it was just part of the process of creating bodies that could hold on long enough to get the spirits in them. And perhaps even more important was the fact that we wanted to create bodies for his spirit children, that we were willing to do our best to "multiply and replenish the earth," even with the physical limitations before us.
Ellen of Crawfoot, writes:
My father was killed in a plane crash when I was ten. I had a dream of him the night before we received any word of his death. Though the next day brought the numbing news, I was comforted. They were unable to recover his body, but I was assured his spirit lived on. My mother delivered a stillborn son with an umbilical knot wrapped around his neck the following month. I never saw him. My mother "saw" Dad standing in the corner of the delivery room holding him and though she was told her baby was dead, she was at peace.
Many years later, my firstborn almost died. The placenta had torn away prematurely. Amniotic 'waters' were green. He was in distress. He had two umbilical knots wrapped twice around his neck. The intensive care team was there to do what they could for him. I expected to hear the worst. My baby's cry cracked the silence and the whole delivery room cheered! After all the cleaning and patching when our son was brought to us, time stood still in the privacy of our little room. I still have a picture of father and son snuggling and I think of my own father and my little brother. I felt a warm confirmation that God's love makes time stand still for all our joys eventually. That is called Eternity. One of the sweetest expressions of love I have ever heard is "Eternity is you!"
Clayton writes::
I read with some interest your thoughts on the loss of children by miscarriage, and found that I had to agree wholeheartedly with what was said as far as it went. However, and forgive me if I overstep my bounds, children get lost other ways too.
Although miscarriage or early death of a child is very traumatic, very little has also been said about the loss of a child following their reaching the age of accountability. We lost a 15 year old son to suicide. I think that this loss was, at least for us, far more traumatic than the others we experienced in miscarriage. Not much has been said about this subject to help grieving parents, siblings, friends, etc.
Sometimes I wish I had comforting words for those who have lost a child to death when the child has not been faithful, or for those who lose a child to accident or worse.
Maybe this is all fodder for another discussion.
So sorry to burden you with my sorrows, but miscarriage is only the "tip of the iceberg" when it comes to losing children.
Alison says:
Clayton, I appreciate your thoughtful message. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts. Please read the excellent article by Sean Brotherson titled When a Child Dies by Suicide for some helpful insights.
Before I get started, I want to qualify my response. Your comments were sensitively and carefully written and were in no way offensive. You bring up many very important points that I hope will be addressed in the future to benefit others. Your comments, in the context of the issue of miscarriage, bring up a point that I feel needs to be addressed. My comments in no way reflect an implication that you proposed any of the negatives.
The question asked of the Circle dealt specifically with miscarriage and that is why we addressed that particular issue rather than any other issues of child loss. That is in no way an official comment on what type of loss is the most painful or difficult. Stillbirth and death of a child (faithful or not) are both terribly important topics that do deserve discussions of their own.
Miscarriage, I believe, deserves a focused article for a number of reasons. First, so very many women have experienced this type of loss that it is nearly universal among those attempting to have families-particularly "large" families. Second, miscarriage is given almost no doctrinal information, little medical research, and surprisingly minimal peer support.
In contrast, stillbirth is addressed at least minimally in church policy, and death of children (both before baptism and after) is addressed at length doctrinally and usually garners a great deal of medical and emotional support. Even the issue of the "child who strays" is the subject of numerous prophetic essays and comments.
A number of years ago my sister was carrying twin girls. After many complications and an emergency ceasarian section at 27 weeks gestation, one girl was stillborn and the other was born with such severe disabilities that she died at the age of seven months. Although I have never had such an experience myself, I have always personally felt that her loss was greater than mine. She never presented it that way but, given the choice, I would have chosen my own trial over hers.
In spite of my feelings on that issue, I am still traumatized each time I lose a baby. And, as I alluded to in the article, one of the most difficult things about miscarriage is that it is regularly and generally minimized by those who feel it's just "not as bad" as most other child losses. But is that really a significant issue? Does it deny me the right to grieve my own loss because someone else is worse off? Does God expect us to rejoice when we lose a loved one to cancer, because it would have been worse had they been brutally murdered? It would not be helpful to a sister (or brother) grieving a miscarriage to point out that "it could be worse" anymore than telling someone who has been diagnosed with lupus that they should be glad they don't have AIDS.
Miscarriage is by no means the only form of loss, nor is it likely to be the most devastating. But it is a real loss that deserves discussion and acknowledgment. And those suffering because of it deserve our love and support without comparison or emotional one-upmanship.
Julia G. writes:
Loss of a child in whatever form is a grievous thing—it doesn't matter the age. As I read about the one sister who lost her child to suicide my heart went out to her because I knew how she felt. I, myself have lost two to miscarriages. One, 22 years ago and one one and a half years ago.
I am very fortunate to have one living daughter who just turned 20. But the two I lost are also very alive to me. I definitely grieved. I wanted to understand what I had done wrong that I could not have these two little precious beings to hold in my arms and smell that wonderful baby smell; watch them take their first steps; go to school; just grow up. Why couldn't I see them grow up to be a wonderful young man and woman? (My first was a boy, my second was a girl.) But each time it was made clear to me. Their spirit would come to me and say that it was not necessary that they be born and live. They just needed to be conceived—to gain their bodies and that was all. And that they would always be near me. And that was of much comfort to me.
I might not understand all the reasons but I knew that they both had what they needed and I was able to provide that to them. And even though there is always an underlying pain and longing because I will say what if they were here today to see and do this or that, I can just take a very deep breath and open up my mind and there they are—Jeremiah and Joy. (I had to name them because they are real children to me that died.) No, I can't push Joy on a swing or ask Jeremiah how he is doing in college these days but I know that they are not lost to me forever and that is a good thing. And it makes me appreciate my daughter, Aurora, more. A very special gift—a child that actually was able to be born—at great expense to me, but worth all of it. And when I do see her, I see all three of my children and know that things are as they are meant to be. A part of me will always grieve the loss of Jeremiah and Joy. But being able to feel their spirits near me is a great comfort and I am thankful for that.
Grace in northern Virginia, writes
As one who has experienced two miscarriages, I feel a deep camaraderie with you today, and have some thoughts to share which I hope may be of some value. I, too, have heard the less-than-perfectly-sensitive remarks, and I have been blessed to hear the opposite. I agree, it is difficult to know how to respond when others experience such heartache. I have decided that one approach which seems to open doors and convey my concern and love is this:
"I sense that life lately has held some difficult challenges for you. I want you to know that I care and am willing to listen, if and when you would like to talk about it."
It seems to me that there are several aspects of the miscarriage experience which have different weight at different times. There's the worry that something is wrong with my body, and the concern that this "something" is permanent. There's the companion concern that I should be doing something to fix my body, but it's so hard to know just what to do. There's a sense of inadequacy, perhaps even of unworthiness, which rears its ugly head at these times. There's a distinct sense of failure, that I somehow failed this little spirit, failed my husband, failed my family. But perhaps the most exquisite pain comes from the loss of the relationship I was hoping to have.
For myself, and I suspect for many others, from the moment that I knew I was pregnant I began a journey of expectation. What impact would this child have on our lives? What lessons would I learn as mother? What joys—and what sorrows—would we share? I never thought about the achievement expectations ("my child will go to Harvard" or "I am bearing a future church leader") but I longed for the love, the friendship, the beautiful relationship which I hoped I would have with this child and with all of my children and their father. Having those expectations so cruelly cast aside, whether through miscarriage or death at other times, can be the most excruciating experience we can have.
So now, when the time does come that I have the opportunity to listen to one who is grieving over a miscarriage, I try very hard to simply focus on what the loss means to this precious sister. I don't try to comfort with anything more than an "I care" and "I have felt your pain." I don't remind her that she can try again (as if another pregnancy can somehow erase or take this one's place!), I don't try to focus her on her remaining responsibilities, and I don't try to explain any "whys." I just try to walk down her road with her, for a little ways, and try to make it safe for her to process her own feelings. We all need someone with whom it is safe to feel weak, whom we can trust to honor and respect our deepest feelings and our most vulnerable selves.
May the tender blessings of our Heavenly Father and all the beauties which this day holds be yours.
Jeannie says:
Dear Grace:
I think you have crystallized the entire experience (complete with direction booklet of "how to commiserate"), in just about the best five paragraphs I've ever read on the subject.
Thank you so much for your inspirational thoughts and very practical suggestions.