Why did you, Lord? Why did you answer my prayer and then take her away?!
Why did you see to it that my arms were empty?
Why did my sweet new love have to be painfully pulled to my heart’s limit, one end pinned in place far away so I get no relief from the wrench?
Why does time not help?
Where did she go? Five years and I’m still looking for her.
You took her, and she left an empty womb, an empty room, an empty year, an empty 5 years.
Anxious parents searching for their missing child. Endlessly counting heads, 2 not 3.
How could we let this happen? We can’t let it happen to the others.
We aren’t crazy; we are desperate – she is gone.
How could this happen? I trusted you to keep us safe! I trusted you to bless us!
This feels unsafe and unblessed. I guess I didn’t read the fine print “blessed are those who mourn”.
I am blessed on the mount. I’m the Jesus kind of blessed.
That is what I asked for, but it’s more than I bargained for. This isn’t what I thought.
Oh the weight and glory of the kingdom of heaven! – oh the weight and glory of my small sliver of it!
She’s it. She’s the golden and silver and diamond thread in my life’s tapestry. Brilliant and stunning! Only could be woven by sorrow. Only could be woven by your hand, Lord.
A beauty that could only come from You… and ashes.
Welcome Addie Mae Jones! She was born on September 21, 2023. We are so in love! She is the sweetest little girl. She looks so much like her big brother but has her own precious spirit. She is a good gift from God. Our family feels complete now, and we are overcome with gratitude and love for her.
Addie’s was the easiest pregnancy of my three kids, but it was still very very hard. The first trimester I was bogged down by fatigue, nausea, and grief. The second trimester I felt good physically but had so much fear to overcome. During the third trimester, I had COVID, tons of appointments, unplanned ultrasounds, a hospital stay, prodromal labor, impatience, vulnerability, self-doubt, fear, excitement, and hope. I had consistent and painful contractions that convinced me that I was in labor for days prior to my scheduled induction date. The same thing happened at the end of my pregnancy with Chet. But despite packing and unpacking my toothbrush several times, I made it to the induction date.
Daniel and I drove up to the hospital just as the sun was rising. It was beautiful, and we were so happy to have made it to that day! I felt so ready and excited. We checked in and were led to a very nice and spacious room. The nurses who greeted us were welcoming and warm. I felt grateful that the doctor who had been monitoring Addie the past several weeks was on call that day. She arrived and since I was already dilated 3cm, I was able to start pitocin right away. We brought a speaker and put on Jack Johnson to create a chill atmosphere. Daniel is the best partner. He was there the whole time talking with me, getting anything I needed, and supporting me. I never felt alone.
The contractions increased throughout the morning, so by lunchtime I was contemplating an epidural. In the moment, I felt hesitant about getting the epidural, but since it was what I had planned, I proceeded. The anesthesiologist was swift and assertive. The epidural was uncomfortable, but the relief was quick. Soon after he left, my blood pressure dropped. I started feeling so strange. I suddenly became super sleepy and out of it. The nurse quickly administered epinephrine, and my blood pressure came up only briefly before plummeting again. She gave me more epinephrine, and my blood pressure finally stabilized. That was such a bizarre experience. My body had never felt like that before. My epidural felt really strong – I could not feel my legs at all and couldn’t move at all. My legs were so so heavy, and I got creeped out to look at them or feel them with my hands. I had epidurals with both Ginny and Chet, but neither of those were as “effective” as this one. At one point I asked my nurse if we could turn it down or off. She discouraged that because then I’d be able to feel the pain. I know feeling labor pain would’ve been worse, but I sure didn’t like the epidural this time around.
I felt a bit discouraged that I had only dilated 1cm (4cm total) the entire morning. My doctor came and broke my water at 1:20pm. I was hopeful that things would move pretty quickly from there on out. Since I couldn’t walk around or move my lower half at all, the nurses helped place and rotate a peanut ball between my legs to encourage Addie to move down. Thankfully Addie’s heart rate was great the entire time. My cervix dilated a little more than 1cm an hour for the next several hours. At 5pm my nurse asked if I felt any pressure. I told her I had but couldn’t tell if it was real or in my head. She checked me and I was fully dilated! I was surprised and so excited! She had me do a couple of practice pushes to make sure we were ready. She could tell right away that we were ready and Addie was on her way! She called the doctor.
Soon the room was full of women buzzing around getting things ready. It felt comforting to have my doctor’s familiar face right there monitoring me and Addie and encouraging me. Daniel was by my side as always cheering me on. I was just so relieved to be in this moment. I didn’t feel any pain and felt so thrilled to get to push Addie into the world! I pushed during about 4 contractions over 15 minutes, and she arrived! It was 5:24pm, 11 hours after arriving at the hospital. They placed her on me, and I held my breath until I heard her cry. Her cry was music to my ears! Feeling her body warm and wiggling filled my heart immediately. I looked over at Daniel and we both were smiling and sobbing. The room was full of so much love and so much joy and so much excitement! It was such a contrast to the solemn atmosphere of my first birth. I got to hold her on my chest for the first hour. It was such a special time nursing and admiring her. She weighed 8lb 14 oz and was 21 in long. She was and is perfect! Thank you, God! She has been the most awesome baby and such a joy to take care of. She’s the best addition to our family, and Chet loves her so much! I can’t believe we are now a family of five! Thank you to all those who prayed for us and loved on us during the pregnancy, her birth, and afterward!
Even though Addie won’t have her big sister here to teach her and play with her, I want her to always know Ginny as part of our family, as someone who loves us and who we will see in heaven one day. For Addie’s baby shower, I wanted something there to honor and remember Ginny, so I wrote a poem as if it were a note from Ginny to Addie. We framed the poem and displayed it at the shower…
Big Sister to Little Sister We won’t grow up together but please see Knowing you’re there makes me happy as can be Big brother is with you and will take good care Mama and Dada have so much love to share I’m cheering you on and watching you grow I love you little sister more than you know Heaven and earth won’t separate us forever One day you’ll see we will all be together
I’m 29 weeks along with Addie’s pregnancy. She’s giving me tons of reassurance with constant wiggles and lots of growth. At my growth ultrasound earlier this week, she measured 3lbs 6oz. That’s 1oz bigger than Ginny was when she was born at 35 weeks! We’ve got a lot of hope, but we are also still very much aware of how quickly everything can change. Ideally that awareness makes us appreciate and treasure this special time and doesn’t make us try to protect our hearts in any way. Sometimes trying to protect your heart is the automatic response: don’t think too hard on what you have to lose, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think that really works when it comes to love; your heart will break no matter how hard you try to protect it. So I try to embrace all I can! Lean in to the love!
I haven’t been the best at that lately. We’ve had a really busy summer which has been fun but distracting. Addie’s “nursery” so far still looks like our guest room but just with a closet full of baby girl clothes and a disassembled crib leaning against the wall. At this point in Chet’s pregnancy, his room was completely ready in his blue and gray beach theme. We have a vision for the nursery – boho rainbows and sunshine with lots of warm creams, golds, and varying shades of salmon pink. Rainbows are a sweet symbol for babies born after loss so it feels special. We have the plan, but are we ready to execute it? Every time I think of putting together the crib and hanging decor, I get excited but also slightly hesitant. I haven’t taken the time to process my emotions about this. I didn’t think this would be a hangup this time around, since we aren’t literally taking down Ginny’s decor to replace it with a new baby’s nursery. Am I afraid of having to take down another nursery that has never been used? Probably, but like I said, I want to lean in. I want to parent Addie as much as I possibly can while I can, even if that means we have to face an unused nursery later. And I obviously want to be ready for her likely arrival home. Yes, the nursery is the next priority.
We are all set when it comes to clothes. We’ve been blessed by wonderful friends who have given us so many cute outfits their girls have outgrown. This is more helpful than these friends even know, because I still have a hard time bringing myself to browse the baby girl sections at stores. We didn’t have to do that with Chet, and now I realize this is another area where I need to take the time to process what I’m feeling. I have lots of memories of picking out adorable clothes for Ginny with my mom and mother-in-law. I found so many sweet floral onesies on sale at Target and Old Navy. I remember washing them with such care in loads of their own, then laying them out on a big clean blanket on the bed so I could carefully hang each one. I kept them as clean and pristine as possible for our precious girl. Little did I know then that they would stay pristine. A week after Ginny’s stillbirth, I angrily pulled those same onesies off the hangers and threw them into piles to give to friends or donate. I remember my mom, sister, and mother in law quietly asking if they could keep a few they purchased as keepsakes. I agreed and kept one or two myself. But mostly it just hurt to think of these clothes waiting in boxes for a sister who may or may not ever appear. We got rid of almost everything. So I was grateful to receive clothes that have already been worn and loved; there are even a few that I recognize that we had for Ginny. As seems fitting for a 3rd child, I was not nearly as gentle with Addie’s clothes. I washed them with our other clothes and sorted them on the floor while Chet rummaged through them. It does feel good to see a closet full of pink and white outfits with matching bloomers and bows. Ginny will actually get that little sister whom I didn’t dare hope for. Thank you, Lord.
Daniel, Chet, and I are all really happy to be having a girl. Every time we asked Chet if he wanted a baby brother or sister, he would respond, “Baby SEEEEESTER!” No one could or would ever replace Ginny, but Daniel and I both had already pictured ourselves raising a daughter. I saw myself as a girl mom and a boy mom, but the world could only see me as a boy mom. Having another girl will change that. I am so looking forward to craft, shop, and chat with Addie as she grows up (Not that Chet won’t do those things; but considering how much he already loves cars, I think he’ll have other interests haha). So when I got the phone call from the nurse with the results from the genetic testing, I immediately started crying tears of joy when she said “female”. I couldn’t wait to relay the news to Daniel. I considered showing up to his office with a balloon saying “It’s a GIRL”. But ultimately I couldn’t wait that long and knew he couldn’t either. I called him up, and he had the same reaction I did! Having another girl feels like God is handing us such a kind and generous gift.
As I gaze at Addie’s ultrasound pictures, I find myself daydreaming about holding her, feeding her, and watching Chet and Daniel love on her. My heart is so full already. Now we need to spend the next 10ish weeks preparing the nursery, preparing Chet, and remembering Ginny as we embrace all we can of this pregnancy in hopes of bringing little sister home.
I know too much. Even though the 20 week anatomy ultrasound went really well in Ginny’s pregnancy, I was scared for what we might learn this time around. There is so much that can go wrong. In fact, when things go right, it feels like a miracle. I know so many people whose anatomy scans were their “before and after” moment. That’s the moment that divides the “before” – when things were all good and the “after” – when they are faced with hardship. I hoped and prayed that this scan would not be our 2nd “before and after” moment (our 1st was when we found out Ginny had died).
I didn’t want to be scared or to have those thoughts. I wanted what we had with Ginny’s anatomy scan; I wanted to just enjoy seeing my little girl wiggle and see her sweet features for the first time. But I have to face the reality that that isn’t my story anymore. All the positive thinking in the world can’t make me unlearn what I now know, and it can’t magically erase trauma. I’ve lost my naivety. And that’s okay. It’s hard, but it’s okay.
I rescheduled the ultrasound from Wednesday afternoon to Monday morning. I wouldn’t be able to wait and wanted to get it over with as early in the week as possible. I was eager to see Addie again. I hadn’t had an ultrasound since week 9. I was excited to get pictures and watch Daniel see her move on screen. But mostly I wanted relief in knowing she was developing and growing. Daniel’s parents had been in the room with both Ginny and Chet’s anatomy scans. We wanted to make it 3 out of 3, so they planned their visit here to coincide with the appointment. Daniel’s dad stayed home with Chet while his mom came along to the ultrasound. Unfortunately when we arrived, we were informed she may not be able to come in. The sonographer wanted minimal distractions. This was a high risk ultrasound with very precise measurements and sometimes tricky angles. There were many pictures and measurements required in a limited time. We were reminded that this was not a scan for fun pictures. What was already anticipated to be a really tense appointment felt even more so.
Ultrasounds can be triggering since it was in an ultrasound that we were given the news that Ginny died. I knew I needed to let the sonographer know from the very beginning that we had a stillbirth so she may have more understanding if things get hard. It is extremely challenging to meet someone new, already be so anxious, be in the same cold, triggering environment you were in when you got the worst news, and speak out loud, “I should tell you that we had a stillborn daughter at 35 weeks.” All that while trying not to break down in tears and being in a very physically vulnerable position on an ultrasound bed with pants off and stomach bare. She told me she already knew of my stillbirth from my chart and then said some sympathetic words.
She proceeded to start taking measurements. Little by little we saw more and more of Addie’s body – her spine, her abdomen, her legs and arms, her head. We saw her little movements. It was a blessing to see her. But with each angle we saw, I was trying to analyze if everything looked healthy. I was trying to read the screen as well as the body language of the sonographer. I’m unqualified, but she knows what she’s seeing. She just can’t say – good or bad. She kept going back to the heart. In Chet’s anatomy scan I remember so clearly seeing 4 chambers of his heart. I remember feeling relieved because it looked so normal. Now with Addie, I was only seeing 3 chambers. The sonographer said she needed Addie to move positions so she could get a better angle. We tried poking her, turning to my side, even getting up and moving around. Addie wouldn’t cooperate. The sonographer gave us the okay to invite Daniel’s mom back as we tried a few more times. No luck. We would likely have to come back for another ultrasound. My mind was going through all the scenarios. Maybe if we are lucky and she lives, she will need heart surgery right away. Maybe she will eventually need a heart transplant. I just want her to live.
As we waited to meet with the Maternal Fetal Medicine (MFM) doctor who would give us the results, Daniel and I spoke about how we really wished this was more fun. We forgot how nerve wracking the whole process was. We lamented how our minds go to the worst outcomes. I’m glad his mom was there for support.
The MFM came in and said everything she saw looked really good, but she didn’t have a good picture of the heart. She asked us to follow her into another ultrasound room so she could take a look herself. I laid back down, and she was able to see what she needed to. Everything looked great! Her heart looked good! I was relieved. I’m so grateful for our MFM; she has listened to my concerns and she took the time to do the ultrasound herself. I’m so glad I didn’t have to come back on another day and wait anxiously not knowing if Addie was healthy.
As relieved as I was that we got a good report, I am not as relieved as I feel I should be. As I mentioned before, Ginny’s anatomy scan also looked great. We are all too aware that things can go wrong in the 2nd half of pregnancy. I am still trusting God with our little girl no matter what. She is His, and His will be done. I really really hope to get to bring her home in September. Everything so far is looking good for that to happen, but I know I won’t feel safe until she’s in my arms. I can’t wait for that day!
By the grace of God, we have a new member of our family! Baby GIRL Jones is due in September 2023! Her name is Addie Mae Jones, and Chet is so excited to have baby “seeester” Addie. We are unbelievably grateful to have 3 amazing kids to love! We are hopeful to bring Addie home in September, but we are still very much aware that we are not in control. I am not the creator or sustainer of life, so we wait “patiently” for whatever this journey has in store for us.
I am 15 weeks along, and so far everything has gone smoothly. But I would 100% be lying if I said that it has been easy. It has been incredibly challenging. I underestimated how difficult it would be to be in the 1st trimester during the heavy months of January and February as we waited for Ginny’s death day and birthday. The grief and cold made my body and mind tired; add pregnancy fatigue and I could barely make it through the day. There were days I felt all I could do is sleep. It took all I had to show up to parent Chet every morning. There was a dense fog of nausea and exhaustion all around me. Daniel is wonderful and let me sleep in and took on more of the parenting load. He helps in all the practical ways while being so emotionally supportive. He loves me, Ginny, Chet, and Addie all so well.
Even though it does help a little to know I am capable of having a living baby and I had surgery to remove my uterine septum, the fear of another loss is ever present. I cannot adequately explain what it feels like to be pregnant after loss. My heart and body feel so vulnerable at all times. My routine is to check for blood at every bathroom break and analyze every twinge or ache of my growing belly. All the prayers I can muster are, “Please let Addie live, but she is yours, not mine. Your will be done.” I am so anxious as I wait for each appointment. Will there be a heartbeat? Will I get bad news? The moment between the doppler wand touching my belly and hearing a heartbeat feels like eternity. All I can do is open my heart and trust God to get me through that moment. Will my heart be shattered again? Thankfully I’ve heard her heartbeat every time. All that I can do the next moment is praise in relief. She’s alive now. That’s the reassurance I needed… for the day. Then I wait a few more weeks for the next appointment to get reassurance for another day.
This pregnancy has already felt long, but I still have a long way to go. I’m through the 1st trimester, and as spring has arrived, the fog has lifted. The fatigue, nausea, and grief aren’t weighing me down nearly as much as they were in the first months. I have more energy to be the mama I want to be for Chet. I’m so thankful for that. Everyday he talks to my belly and introduces Addie to all his toys. He rocks his baby doll and practices helping. What a wonderful big brother!
Just as everyone was during Chet’s pregnancy, please be patient with me as I have all the dozens of complex emotions that go along with pregnancy after loss. I wish I could just feel happy and excited. I know that’s all anyone wants for me, but I’m called to a more complicated motherhood journey. I know I am not alone in that. I so appreciate my fellow loss mamas who are also pregnant. It’s an honor to walk this path together and give each other validation and hope!
Thank you for all your congratulations and prayers! Thank you for celebrating Addie Mae with us!
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” 1 Corinthians 13:7
Happy Birthday, my girl! I love you more than ever, and I miss you more than ever! I think about you all the time. It’s fun to think about what you might be into as you turn 4 years old! Would you like pink and purple and glitter? Would you like animals? Music? Sports? Dolls? I imagine you chasing your brother and making cookies with me. I bet you’d tell Daddy everything. We didn’t know what cake you wanted so Daddy chose chocolate, Chet chose pink candles, and I picked out the sprinkles. I really wanted to design invitations for your birthday party so I did. I’m sad I didn’t send them out and there will be no party with friends. But we will still sing to you and have balloons!
Daffodils have come up which means the long, gloomy couple months of anticipating your death day is almost over this year. On your birthday we will celebrate you, your life on earth and in heaven, and the coming spring! We will be as happy as we can be without you here to hug! I know you will be celebrating in heaven, and I am so excited to join you one day!
God has blessed us with you! I am amazed how He continues to use you to bless us and others. I know that will continue this next year. I hope you know how much we really really really love you! You are our special girl! I’m so proud to be your mama!
“As a pregnant woman about to give birth writhes and cries out in pain, so were we in your presence, Lord. We were with child, we writhed in labor, but we gave birth to wind. We have not brought salvation to the earth, and the people of the world have not come to life. But your dead will live, Lord; their bodies will rise — let those who dwell in the dust wake up and shout for joy — your dew is like the dew of morning; the earth will give birth to her dead.” Isaiah 26:17-19
In the days immediately following Ginny’s death and birth, our lives stopped. That time was full of grief and emptiness and churning hearts and not much else. I couldn’t fathom how the world was continuing to turn and how the explosion that was our lives really only impacted our sole townhome. Everyone else was going to work, seeing friends, fixing dinner. We felt isolated and a little crazy. The only things that connected us to the rest of the world were condolences. And how I treasured every single condolence!
The walk to the mailbox got me outside in the sun and moving my achey postpartum body. I smiled as I counted the pastel colored envelopes. These sympathy cards not only brightened my day, but gave me something to do. Daniel and I slowly opened each one and poured over the encouraging words. These words showed us that we weren’t actually alone, that the impact did affect more than just us, and that Ginny was not nearly forgotten. The words validated that this experience is truly tragic and difficult. We felt all the love, and it helped lift our hearts a little.
As time went on, the cards came less frequently which actually made them even more meaningful. Some friends even sent more than one card in the months following Ginny’s death. How insightful to know that we would continue to need support and reminders as the condolences started subsiding! We were thought of again on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and again on Ginny’s 1st birthday. We needed each one of those cards and care packages, and they were all so much appreciated.
I had never been good at condolences. I don’t think anyone thinks they are good at it; it’s a hard thing that no one teaches you. People don’t like talking about death and are afraid to say the wrong thing. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought of sending a sympathy card but didn’t because I thought “They don’t actually know me that well. It might be weird.”, “Too much time has passed. I missed the window.”, “I don’t even know what I would write.” Now I know I was foolish to think those things. I should’ve 100% sent a card. As I mentioned before, the cards that came later – even weeks or months later- were even more special because it showed that people were still thinking of us and of Ginny. In the same way, cards that came from acquaintances or friends of friends who we’ve never met were so meaningful. It showed that Ginny’s life and death impacted more than our little circle. Those cards blessed us so much. I vowed to always send a card or a gift anytime I hear of a loss. I haven’t been the best at that, but I want to get better and better. It really is important.
As far as what to say, I now have many examples of messages that encouraged and supported us in those early days. I want to share a small sample with you in hopes that it will inspire you reach out to those who may be grieving around you.
Below are a few of the most common, most encouraging, and most thoughtful parts of messages people sent: “I’m so sorry.” “There are no words strong enough or big enough to ease the pain, but you have been on my mind.” “I’m thinking of you and praying for you.” “I don’t know what to say.” “My heart is broken for you.” “I’m here for you if you need to talk or sit in silence.” “I think of Ginny often.” “No one can replace her.” “You are amazing parents.” “Ginny has changed all of us.” “I’m proud of you.” “Ginny’s life was a gift from God.” “Ginny is blessed to have you as her mom.” “It is no fair and we don’t understand, but we cling to the promise of a new day and joy to return.” “Ginny will always be yours, and she will always have a special place in your lives.” “Everyone who loves you, loves her.” “Ginny will always be part of us.” “Jesus grieves with us.” “You are not alone.” “Your memories will stay with you.”
I also so appreciated messages that included memories of my pregnancy, scriptures or poems, brief stories of their loss, and anytime someone spoke of Ginny by name. Everyone is different so these may not be as encouraging to everyone, but they sure were to me.
In addition to cards, we were blessed with flowers, donations to nonprofit organizations in Ginny’s honor, gift cards for food delivery, gift cards to movie theaters, meals, books about grief, handmade blankets and shawls, ornaments, and care packages with treats & self-care items. Any of these would be a wonderful gift to give someone grieving. We also received some very special personalized gifts. One was a stuffed bear made out of one of Ginny’s outfits and weighted to the exact weight she was at birth. We received a Bible with her name on it. We were given handmade baby blankets and hats. Even though we couldn’t wrap Ginny in those blankets, they were still so meaningful. We treasure all these thoughtful gifts.
We were also sent a special care package from the One Wing Foundation. I know there are a few other organizations that do similar care packages such as Hope Mommies and Kindness for Kaysen. I also love Laurel Box for bereavement gifts and custom care packages.
We’ve kept all the condolences we were given, and they are still a comfort to look back on. I hope this has given you some good ideas for supporting someone who is grieving and inspired you to reach out even if a lot of time has passed. It really does mean a lot to a grieving person!
The first thing I said when Chet was born and placed on my chest was “He’s ALIVE!” I now know what it feels like to give birth to life. It feels miraculous! I’ve heard people say that during childbirth the veil between heaven and earth feels paper-thin. I have to agree. That’s true whether you have a live birth or a stillbirth. But somehow during stillbirth, paper-thin still feels far too wide. Because during stillbirth your baby is on the other side.
When I was pregnant with Ginny, I was always rubbing my belly. I loved feeling her move and react to my touch. I was always trying to figure out what position she was in. We would talk to her while rubbing my belly to bond with her. I remember when I showered, I would rub my belly and be blown away with the knowledge that my baby girl was growing in there. The morning after we got the news that Ginny had died, I showered before heading to the hospital. As if by muscle memory, I started rubbing my belly. My hands dropped and the first rush of anger fell over me. My baby girl was not growing in there. I felt foolish for rubbing a belly with no life – only death. How could I possible give birth to death? How could I possibly endure the physical and emotional pain? How could I carry the burden of death?
The doctor who confirmed Ginny had died told me that delivering her body was not an emergency. He said that some people want to deliver right away, some people wait a few days, and some people wait up to 2 weeks for their body to go into labor naturally. I chose to wait one day to give time for family to arrive. That one day was excruciating, and I have no idea how anyone could wait 2 weeks, knowing they carried death. What the doctor didn’t mention and what didn’t occur to me until the next day was that the longer you wait, the more signs of death are present on your child’s body when they are born. During labor my wonderful nurse had to explain this to us. I know it had to be so hard for her to say, and I know it was hard for us to hear. She explained that stillborn babies are born in a variety of conditions depending on how long it has been and the delivery. We should expect her lips to be dark as blood has settled in her head. We should expect her skin to be very fragile, peeling, and easy to tear. As tough as it was to hear, it helped me to hear her describe it. I had no idea what to expect. I asked her to clean Ginny’s body and wrap her in a blanket before handing her to me. It was important to me for Ginny’s body to not be covered in blood when I first saw her. I wanted her to be as pristine as possible; these would be the only visual memories I have of her body.
The moment Ginny was born – the moment I gave birth to death, I felt relief and heart-wrenching silence and peace and sorrow and love. God was very present in that moment. When the nurse placed Ginny in my arms, she did have dark lips and delicate skin. But I didn’t see only death, I saw her life! I saw physical proof of all those wiggles and kicks. Here was the person I had intimately known for the past 8 months. My heart burst with so much love! It burst again as I saw Daniel hold her. We treated her body so so gently; I didn’t want anything to damage her and my memory of her beautiful self. I wanted her to look as true to who she was alive as possible. Sometimes I wonder if we should have spent more time with her body, but I know each hour we spent with her she would look less and less like herself. I’m happy I have the memories I have. I do wish we would’ve gotten pictures of that moment though. The pictures we do have are from a couple hours after we gave her back to the nurse. The pictures don’t quite match my memory of her. I still deeply treasure them.
In His nearness during Ginny’s birth, God reminded me that that I did not have to carry the burden of death. Jesus has already carried that burden for me and for Ginny. And when I held her beautiful body in my arms, I was reminded that I did in fact give birth to life. Although her life was short on earth, she is alive in heaven. She’s just on the other side of that paper-thin veil.
This morning Chet and I were standing among a small group of moms and toddlers whom I hadn’t met before. We were in a park at a playdate that was kindly coordinated by a mom leader in our community to give us something fun to do on a Monday morning. The topic of birthing came up. The moms were swapping stories of epidurals, home births, and whether or not it was actually true that you forget the pain. I could feel my pulse rising. Was I feeling triggered by the topic of birth? No, I don’t think so. I love talking about both Ginny and Chet’s birth stories. I searched my brain for why my body was reacting. I think I was nervous because I had to decide whether I should drop the bomb of stillbirth on this perfectly pleasant morning. I really wanted to. For me, it wasn’t a bomb; it was my motherhood story. I wanted to talk about my beautiful but invisible daughter. When would be the right time? Maybe I should let everyone else share first. I knew that once I spoke, the faces of laughter would transform into faces of compassion and concern. No one else will want to share their birth stories after that. I could feel my heart beating as I was summoning the courage to drop the bomb. But before I was able, someone changed the subject to carseats or preschool or something else for which I have no Ginny story. I felt both relieved and disappointed.
One of the hardest parts of leaving North Carolina for Alabama was leaving our friends who were with us when we lost Ginny. With those friends, there is an unspoken (and sometimes spoken) understanding of how our lives were impacted by Ginny’s life and death, and that is comforting. When our NC friends see me as a mother or Daniel as a father, they see as us the parents of both Ginny and Chet. People here in Alabama only see Chet.
Now with each new person we meet, we need to figure out the best way to share our story with them. I love talking about Ginny. I love sharing memories of her pregnancy and birth. I love sharing about how God was with us through our sorrow. I love including her as part of our family. She is such a huge part of who we are. But it is not always an easy topic to bring up.
One of the first friends we met here has a daughter named Ginny. What a great segue! – “We have a daughter named Ginny too!….” Opportunities don’t normally present themselves that easily. One of the next friends we met was 33 weeks pregnant; that was trickier. Although I don’t believe my story should require a trigger warning, I also want to be sensitive to the heightened hormones and natural fears that pregnancy brings. We held off on telling that friend until after her baby was born. It was hard to wait and sort of felt like lying.
Being a stay at home mom, I often find myself standing among groups of moms at the playground, in Chet’s nature class, or in our stroller group. The other moms may ask me, “Is he your only one?” or “Is he your first?” I usually hesitate, which is awkward because it shouldn’t be a difficult question. I may have literally met this woman just seconds ago. I try to make a quick assessment based on who else is around, how much time we have, the likelihood I will ever see her again, etc. I may answer a quick “yes” with a smile and return the question. In these moments, my heart breaks just a little more and I feel a tinge of guilt. I feel like I denied Ginny and a huge piece of myself for the sake of comfort or time. I try to give myself grace and remind myself that it is okay to answer this way. Other times I respond by saying, “He’s actually our second. We had a stillborn daughter before him. He has a big sister named Ginny in heaven. We talk about Ginny a lot.” I also deliver this reply with smile. I try to show that we are hopeful and comfortable talking about her. That is completely true, but it also helps minimize their discomfort or regret in asking a usually harmless question.
The responses I get vary. Most people say, “Oh I’m so so sorry. How hard! I can’t imagine.” This is perfectly appropriate. Some others don’t say anything and might just nod, which is not ideal but understandable. It’s hard to know how to respond, and I am not offended. I love when I get follow up questions about Ginny or my experience. I also love when people share their own stories of loss or friends’ losses. It helps to talk about this to know we aren’t alone and to dampen the stigma.
It’s amazing how much I can tell about people by their response to my sharing Ginny. I can usually quickly tell if this is someone that I will be able to have a deep connection with or someone who may want to stay more surface-level. There’s a place for both types of friendships. I can usually also quickly tell if someone has experienced hardship or sorrow in their own lives. Most of the time, when someone has experienced grief, they receive the gift of empathy. You can sense the difference between true empathy and more common sympathy. When I sense the empathy, I wonder what sorrow that person has had to bear. Sometimes they share, and sometimes they don’t. When I receive sympathy, they remind me of myself four years ago. I’m happy for them that they haven’t had grief, but I also know it will eventually come to them. Maybe my story and the hope I share will help them when it does.
The more time we spend with our new friends, the closer we get and the more they understand how much Ginny is a part of our lives and hearts. I’m seeing it already. This weekend we had a sweet friend and her little girl over to watch football and play with Chet. We were talking about pregnancy, and she asked me about my pregnancy with Ginny. It meant so much to me to be able to talk freely about my daughter. It made her (and me) feel much less invisible.
Be-Still-and-Know 