Aimee Jones Concerning Suffering, Faith-Based Encouragement

Regret

There are two areas that are still really hard for me to talk about with regards to Ginny’s death and my grief. This shows I still have work to do to process my feelings. Both areas are related to regret. In grief, some of the darkest spirals come in the forms of “what if’s” and “should of’s”. Theres no way of knowing what would have happened if we had done something differently. In reality, we made the decisions that we thought were best based on the information we had at the time. With some of the hard decisions, we made the only decisions we could handle. 

The first of these hard topics is wishing we could’ve saved Ginny before it was too late. This starts at my 34 week prenatal appointment when the midwife said my belly was measuring small. She scheduled us for a growth ultrasound for 4 days later. Why didn’t she send us to get the ultrasound immediately? Why didn’t we insist on that? Knowing what we know now about how that ultrasound clinic works, we definitely could’ve gotten an ultrasound that day. Of course we don’t know if that ultrasound would’ve led to the doctors to induce me, send me for an emergency c-section, or do nothing. But if they did deliver her, Ginny could be here. 

I rack my brain over and over again thinking about the weekend after that 34 week appointment. Did her movement decrease and I didn’t realize? Did I even know what baby movement feels like compared to contractions? I remember thinking she had slowed down on that Friday night, so I did kick counts. She passed the kick count in 5 minutes, so I felt reassured. I remember feeling like maybe she wasn’t moving as much on Sunday morning, but we had to get to our childbirth class and I didn’t have time for a kick count. Daniel and I quickly listened to her heartbeat and went to the class (I felt her move while in the class and felt better). I should’ve taken the time to do the kick counts or just gone straight to labor and delivery if something felt off. But I convinced myself that I was just feeling paranoid because the midwife said I was measuring small. If I truly thought she was in danger, I would’ve gone to the hospital. I really believed that nothing bad would happen. I thought she was meant to live; I thought she would be fine and healthy. How I wish I could go back and rush to labor and delivery and give birth to her before it was too late! But again, there’s no way of knowing what would’ve happened. She may have died during delivery or in the NICU, or she could’ve lived. None of that’s what happened, and there is no way to change the past. I need to make peace with knowing we did what we thought was best with what we knew.  

The second tough area is related to decisions we made about Ginny’s body. While I was in labor with her, we had so many hard decisions to make. We had to decide if we wanted an autopsy, tests on her placenta, MRI, bloodwork. On top of those, we also had to decide what to do with her body. We could have her cremated by the hospital – it was the simplest option, but we wouldn’t get her ashes. We could coordinate for a funeral home to either cremate her or bury her. That would likely be expensive, or we might be able to get an organization or funeral home to help with the costs. Would we have a funeral or memorial service for her? I had to make all these decisions while in painful labor, knowing that birthing and holding my child’s dead body was ahead of me. The thought of coordinating anything was too much for me or Daniel to even fathom at that moment. As much as I would have wanted to give her a memorial, most all of our families were across the country, and it felt like too much to ask them to come. We knew we weren’t going to be in North Carolina forever, so burying her there didn’t seem right. Daniel and I had long before talked about how neither of us cared what happened to our bodies after we died. So we both agreed to have the hospital cremate her. We were both good with that decision. But as months went on and I heard more and more stories of stillbirths, I never heard of anyone who made that same decision. It seems everyone else has their baby’s ashes or a burial spot and headstone. Were we bad parents to make that decision? Would people think we didn’t love her? I’ve had people ask about what we did with her body, and some people seem shocked or sad to know we didn’t bury her. One person even questioned my decision, “Aww you don’t even have her ashes? It would be so good if you had her ashes.” – as if she would be able to change my mind. That was a terrible feeling. It’s too late to change my mind; there’s nothing I can do now! I did my best to justify our choice, “We aren’t our bodies. Ginny is in heaven.” I do believe that. Although I am so grateful we were able to hold Ginny’s body and others got to see the proof of her life, she was not in her body. I did not sense her presence while holding her; she was already gone. Daniel and I made the only decision we had the ability to make at the time, and when I think about it for more than a minute, I don’t regret it. It did help that Daniel’s grandma had a stone placed in their family cemetery for Ginny. I love that so much. Now we do have a physical place to go to honor and remember her, even if her body isn’t there. 

I hate that I have to wrestle with these thoughts. I hate that I have to question my decisions after it is too late. I hate that there’s no way of knowing what was best and I just have to face the facts of my reality. It takes a long time to deal with these things. It hurts. I need to lament the loss and pain. I bring it to God, open-palmed and open-hearted. He can take every bit of regret and replace it with hope. 

If you have things in life you wish you could go back and change, know that you are not alone. It does help to think through it, process it, and even talk about it. As part of that, we have to let go of what we can’t change and know there is hope. Jesus is with us in our regrets, sorrows, grief, and fear. He can lift the burdens and make our hearts light. We don’t have to carry regret.

“My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:20-23

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

“You have kept count of my tossing; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? Then my enemies will turn back in the day when I call. This I know, that God is for me. In God, whose word I praise, in the Lord, whose word I praise, in God I trust I shall not be afraid. What can man do to me?” Psalm 56:8-11

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:8

“Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.”  Proverbs 23:18

Aimee Jones Parenting After Loss

Parenting After Loss – The 2nd Year

In the baby loss community, you’ll often hear the phrase “My heart is fuller than my arms.” This is certainly true for me. Don’t get me wrong – one toddler keeps me very busy, but I’m definitely not as busy as I would be if Ginny were also here. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t take my time though. In fact, I spend way more time grieving Ginny three and half years out than I thought I would. She is still in my thoughts all throughout the day everyday, and I still devote hours a week to mourning her. What I’ve learned is that this is healthy and normal life after loss. 

Grief does not resolve on its own. Time itself does not heal. It takes work and devotion and Jesus to heal – and that does also take time. I think of it as tending a garden. If left ignored, the garden of grief will become overgrown with weeds and pests. Nothing fruitful will grow. For me when I ignore my grief, I feel very heavy with tension in my shoulders. I get irritable and irrational; I may lash out at those I love. I am not able to have as much fun or laugh as I normally would. In some others, neglected grief manifests itself in far worse ways such as addiction or violence. To prevent this, I must spend time “mothering Ginny” by mourning her. I tend to my grief garden by journalling, talking to those who care, praying, looking in her memory box, thinking of heaven, walking, reading passage of lament, listening to music or relevant podcasts, and crying. These activities are like pulling weeds, planting seeds, fertilizing, pruning, and watering. It is hard work but the result is peace, hope, and compassion for others. My heart is light and I can be my best for Chet, Daniel, and my community. 

A loss mama does not stop mothering her child once her child dies. So now I’m left trying to figure out how to balance parenting one living child and one child in heaven. As with all of parenting, it takes prioritization and intentionality. I do what I can to parent both kids at once. I tell Chet about Ginny, and we look through the special photo album from her pregnancy together. We thank God for Sister Ginny in our prayers. I think of her on our walks or in the car. I try to devote more time during Chet’s naps, after he is asleep for the night, and on the weekends with Daniel’s help. It’s hard to prioritize time to mourn over doing chores or errands that need to get done. It feels selfish to take this time. So occasionally I will put it on the back burner and focus on other things. Then slowly I feel the weight growing; I become weary and easily frustrated. Daniel sometimes reminds me that I need to take the time alone to mourn. I remember that this isn’t optional. This is a mandatory part of my life. I’m not sure it will require this much time forever, but it does now. It’s not selfish – it’s mothering my sweet Ginny and it is essential to be the mom I want to be for Chet. This is parenting after loss. 

Aimee Jones Uncategorized

Brain Struggles

Over the past couple months Daniel has been catching up on some of the latest Marvel movies. He mentioned something about Captain Marvel. I literally did not recognize that name. It sounded like a completely new superhero to me. No image popped in my brain. He saw the blank in my face. “You don’t remember Captain Marvel either, do you?” He explained that we went to see the Captain Marvel movie in theaters but he hardly remembered it. Suddenly the image of Bree Larson came of mind. I responded, “Oh yeah I very vaguely remember that.” I couldn’t tell you what it was about at all. We looked it up; it came out March 2019. That was probably the first movie we saw after Ginny died. 

That is not the only memory that is super fuzzy around the time of our loss. I have vivid memories of hearing the news, delivering Ginny’s body, and some moments in the days before and after, but generally the year surrounding Ginny’s death is kind of a blur. From the beginning, it was obvious our brains weren’t working normally.  Short term memory, concentration, and some basic skills and logic were lacking. It felt impossible to focus. Tasks that used to be easy took a ton of effort and were exhausting. I’m so glad I didn’t have to go back to work as an engineer because I’m not sure I could’ve done it. 

I felt for Daniel because he did quickly have to return to work in the lab. He would come home and tell me how he felt he was not at full capacity. It became difficult to follow along as grad students explained their problems. He struggled to give advice that would’ve been second nature before. It took twice the effort to get half as much done. He worked so so hard and quickly grew tired, but he persevered and had a very productive year scientifically. I’m not sure any of his coworkers noticed how much effort it took or if he even remembers all he did, but I admired his determination.  

Since then, I’ve learned that being forgetful and having difficulty focusing are very normal after a traumatic event. I’ve read that our brains automatically change when we experience trauma. These changes make it harder to store memories and to use the portions of our brains in charge of reason and concentration. I don’t know much about this, but I’d like to learn more.

My memory and focus have definitely improved since the early days of grief, but I still don’t think my brain is functioning the way it did before. I’m not sure if it ever will. And I sometimes wonder what other memories I might have forgotten. Have I forgotten any special moments during my pregnancy with Ginny? I want to remember all the time I had with her. I also want to be sure to remember all the love and support we received from family and friends after our loss. I’m happy that I kept all the cards and I journaled so much during those days. I can look back and remember what might have otherwise been forgotten. 

If you’ve experienced memory loss or feel your brain isn’t working at 100% after trauma, please know you are not alone. It is hard not to feel as sharp as you once were, but please give yourself loads of grace. 

Aimee Jones Faith-Based Encouragement, Milestones & Anniversaries

Remembering Ginny’s 1st Birthday – Ash Wednesday

Ginny’s first heavenly birthday fell on Ash Wednesday in 2020. Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent, was not something I had grown up observing. I usually remembered it was Ash Wednesday when I noticed a few people at work with ashes on their forehead. 

Daniel and I took the day off for Ginny’s 1st birthday. We knew we wanted to honor and celebrate her, but the only thing we had planned was to sing “happy birthday” and eat cake. What were we going to do for the rest of the day? How were we going to get through the day? We heard that a church in the Lakewood neighborhood of Durham, NC was having open sanctuary that morning for anyone to drop-in to receive ashes and pray. Why not? 

We pulled up to the unfamiliar building. It was an old and slightly run down classic church with pillars and stained glass. It was clear the building had seen better days and this congregation was just the most recent of a long history of worshipers here. The tension between the beauty of the stained glass and the worn carpet felt just right for this moment. We walked in to some solemn music playing on speakers and powerful art and words projected on a screen. The only other person there was a woman sitting in a back pew by herself. 

Daniel and I made our way toward the front. We sat in a pew in silence. My heart prayed, but I’m not sure I had any words. That entire past year had been marked with death. The brokenness of the world we live in had never been clearer. And God never felt nearer. It felt like He handed us life and death and then sat us in a pew to look straight at it. We were entering the season of Lent – when we take our grief, our brokenness, our sin, our pain, and we hold it, reflect, repent, and hand it all over to Christ on Good Friday. We could then look toward Easter. This season would not be forever.

After a while, Daniel and I went to the front alter. The woman from the back walked up to meet us. She dipped her finger in ashes and marked each of our heads. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We will remember. 

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries

Happy 3rd Birthday, Ginny!

Happy 3rd Birthday to the girl who made us parents! You are so loved!

Thank you for making us better people. You are a huge part of our family, and that will never change. We cannot wait to give you the biggest hugs in heaven!

We celebrate your life today! We wish you could’ve stayed here with us longer, but we are grateful we had the time with you that we did. You are a very special girl! You deserve to be celebrated, and we are honored to celebrate you!

We miss you so so much! Our love for you grows and grows every single day!

Happy Birthday, Ginny!

Love, Mommy and Daddy and Chet

Aimee Jones Uncategorized

3 Years Ago – The Day of No Heartbeat

Psalm 6

O Lord, Deliver My Life

To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments; according to The Sheminith. A Psalm of David.

6 O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger,
nor discipline me in your wrath.
2 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;
heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled.
3 My soul also is greatly troubled.
But you, O Lord—how long?

4 Turn, O Lord, deliver my life;
save me for the sake of your steadfast love.
5 For in death there is no remembrance of you;
in Sheol who will give you praise?

6 I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
7 My eye wastes away because of grief;
it grows weak because of all my foes.

8 Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my plea;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled;
they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment.

Aimee Jones Concerning Suffering, Faith-Based Encouragement

Firstborn From the Dead

My heart breaks when I think that Ginny may have been struggling in my womb as she didn’t get enough nutrients or oxygen to survive. Was she in pain? Was she hungry – did she feel the lack? I was as physically near to her as I could possibly be, yet I was not there for her. I had no idea she was struggling. And when her spirit left, I could not go with her. I didn’t even know she had gone. A mother should see her child through all of life’s milestones and challenges. She should walk her into her first day of school or into the doctor’s office. She should be there to explain what to expect and to offer comfort and reassurance. I could not walk with Ginny through death. I could not explain or reassure her where I had never been. I didn’t even get a chance to try. 

Two things give me comfort when I have these thoughts. 1) I’m reminded of the peace I felt during Ginny’s birth. God was so near; it was palpable. I know if He offered that nearness to me during Ginny’s stillbirth, certainly He also offered it to her in her final days. 2) Scripture shows me that Ginny was not alone in passing into death. Jesus is the firstborn from the dead. He has passed into death, and He has been born back into life. He could walk with Ginny through that milestone in a way in which I never could. He walked her through death and into life in heaven by the power of His love and resurrection. She was never alone. None of us will ever be alone. 

Daniel’s grandmother graciously offered to place a memorial stone for Ginny in front of Great-Grandma Ginny’s gravestone. We have a place to go to remember Ginny alongside family members who have died before her. What a special honor! We got to see the stone for the first time in person during Christmas. It blessed us so much. 

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.” Jeremiah 1:5

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities – all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood cross.” Colossians 1:15-18

“Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, and from Jesus Christ the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of kings on earth.” Revelation 1:4

“You have allowed me to suffer much hardship; but you will restore me to life again and lift me up from the depths of the earth.” Psalm 71:20

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries, Uncategorized

Anticipation

No one is more excited than a child waiting for Christmas morning! I remember being so eager and impatient to open gifts and celebrate the day with family. I also remember that feeling fading as I got older and how sad that was. When I was pregnant with Ginny, I was so looking forward to reliving the magical Christmas excitement through her. That was one of the many things we lost after she died. She will always be missing from our Christmas mornings, but we are thrilled to share Christmas with Chet and see his anticipation. 

Anticipation for Christmas – that’s what advent is all about. We take this time to eagerly expect our savior. And while a child is excited to open gifts, we can be inspired by their sense of anticipation and wonder to reflect our hearts in expecting Jesus, the greatest gift.

Death reminds us of how broken our world is and how much we need Jesus. Jesus came to heal and restore. Because of His life, death, and resurrection we are reunited with God and have the hope of heaven. Because of Jesus, I will get to see Ginny again. This year I am sad that Ginny isn’t with us, but I also choose to celebrate that we are one year closer to seeing her again. 

I believe God gives us small examples or metaphors from our own lives to reveal to us His heart or allow His Word to “hit home” in a way we never understood before. Christmastime is chock-full of these metaphors if you look for them. A child’s excitement reflecting our anticipation of Christ is one example. 

For parents, experiencing the love for your child is a small glimpse of God’s love for us. For loss parents, the  aching for our children gone too soon shows us God’s aching to be near to us. Our desperation to spend even one more minute with our babies gives us a small insight into God’s heart. He is a Father separated from His children, tirelessly seeking after them, drawing near to them, and wanting them to know He loves them. He does that through Christ. And poetically, it is through Christ that we will also be reunited with our children. The aching will be satisfied thanks to Christmas. It is definitely worth anticipating.

“Keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life.” Jude 1:21

Aimee Jones Parenting After Loss, Uncategorized

Release

Sometimes the grief builds up and needs to be released. It feels heavy on my shoulders and on my heart. A good cry or journalling session usually does the trick to lighten the burden. If I go a while without being able to release the pent up grief, it just builds and builds. If it goes too long, I don’t have the energy to go about my normal day. 

One day a few months back, I was feeling this way. I knew I needed to cry, but I had to care for Chet. All morning I was feeding him, reading to him, and playing with him with a heavy heavy heart. I finally made it to nap time. My plan was to bounce him to sleep on a yoga ball while singing a lullaby (the ONLY effective way to get him to sleep at that time) and then go to my room and bawl my eyes out. I was looking forward to it; I needed the release. 

I started bouncing and singing, bouncing and singing. It wasn’t working! I kept bouncing and singing for what felt likes ages. He just kept looking up at me, refusing to sleep! I was getting frustrated. Ugh! Just sleep! I need to cry! I kept trying and trying. I called out to God, “Please help Chet sleep! I need to go cry! Please!” God responded, “Rock him.” I rolled my eyes. That will not work! He doesn’t sleep when I rock him. I’ve tried that a thousand time. It doesn’t work. I kept bouncing and singing, bouncing and singing. Nothing. “Ugh! God, please help Chet sleep! This grief is so heavy. I need to cry to release it. Please!” He responded, “Rock him.” That won’t work! I was getting so frustrated! Bounce! Bounce! Bounce! Nothing. Ahhh! Fine! 

I angrily stood up and walked over to the glider, knowing that rocking him was futile. He never fell asleep when I rocked him. We sat down. I looked Chet straight in the eye and started rocking and singing the lullaby. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and started… laughing. He laughed a huge belly laugh and didn’t stop. I couldn’t help but laugh myself. The two of us rocked and laughed, rocked and laughed, rocked and laughed! Soon I felt my grief releasing and my heaviness falling away. 

Chet didn’t take his nap that day, and I didn’t cry that day. But we both felt refreshed. God saw my burdens and decided He didn’t want me to mourn with tears that day. He wanted me to mourn with laughter! Thank you, God! 

“He will yet fill your mouth with laughter.” Job 8:21

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3:4

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.” Luke 6:21

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries

My Birthday

This is my 3rd birthday since Ginny was born. From the beginning I expected Ginny’s due date and birthday to be hard. I even knew mother’s day and father’s day would be tough, but I wasn’t prepared for how hard my birthday would be. Why is my birthday so difficult in grief?

As with everything, it’s not a straightforward answer; there are a lot of complex feelings involved. But I think it mostly involves three things:

  1. Ginny should be here. I should hear her sweet little voice singing me “Happy Birthday”. She should’ve colored me a birthday card. She should be here being excited and jumping around. We should be celebrating as a whole family. My birthday is another reminder that we have a missing family member. 
  2. My birthday has me thinking about my own birth. Why did I survive? Why did I live and Ginny die? Why do I continue to survive? I lived another whole year while she didn’t get to see the world outside my womb. Why? 
  3. This is the 3rd time I’m celebrating my birthday as this new person. This post-loss Aimee is so profoundly different. My birthday is a day I acknowledge that there is no going back to who I was before.  I’d be lying if I’d say I don’t ever miss the old Aimee with her naivety. But I’m never one to choose ignorance over truth, even if the knowledge is painful. The truth is we live in a world where people we love die. It can happen to me and my family or to you and yours. My heart was torn to shreds, but it healed bigger and stronger. I wouldn’t go back if I had the choice. I’m proud of the new Aimee. Happy Birthday to her. 

Now that I know my birthday is a tough day, as it approached I felt like I was tripping in slow motion, knowing I was going to hit the ground but unable to stop myself. Then God showed up and slid a big fluffy pillow right under me to break my fall. That pillow was in the form of a podcast episode…

A few months ago, I was honored to be interviewed by Ashlee Proffitt for the Joyful Mourning podcast. The Joyful Mourning podcast and other Morning resources have given me so much hope and encouragement over the past couple of years. It’s the number one resource I recommend to other loss moms. I was thrilled to be able to share Ginny’s story on the podcast. I didn’t know when my episode would be released, so I was surprised when it came out on my birthday! What a gift! It blessed my heart to know that people would hear Ginny’s name and our story. It somehow felt like she was a bit nearer to us on my birthday. God’s kindness shows up in the details and His perfect timing.