Can anyone really expect to recover from such tragedy, considering the value of what was lost and the consequences of that loss? Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. There is no going back to the past, which is gone forever, only going ahead to the future, which has yet to be discovered. Whatever that future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it. Sorrow never entirely leaves the souls of those who have suffered a severe loss. If anything, it may keep going deeper (p. 55-56, Sittser, A Grace Disguised).
This post reflects thoughts and experiences I started having over a month ago. Michael tells me I come off pretty harsh so I want to give a disclaimer: this is not directed at anyone in particular. It's just that now that I know I'm sharing Abby's story vulnerably, publicly, and with such candor, I think it's important to share how I really feel on this matter.
Eventually, maybe very soon, my posts are going to catch up to real time. I won't be able to give you a warning about how many dark posts there will be before hope comes back in. And so I think I need to say this. I hope you won't be offended.
somewhere around June 23ish, 2022
At the end of our June 15th appointment with MFM I finally lost control and started to cry as we were finishing up a discussion with a nurse coordinator. She said something generic and kind about my tears and I responded something along the lines of "It's okay. I cry all the time now." Something meant to convey that she shouldn't feel responsible for my tears or feel she had upset me in some way because this is just my life now.
As any responsible health care worker would, she then asked a question meant to screen me for depression so that she could refer me to further help and treatment: "Do you do this a lot?" I told her the truth: uh YES. I mean frankly I don't know what other response there is when you just found out a month ago that your much desired baby is going to die no matter what you do. Okay, I answered her a lot less sarcastically than that.
She then told me about how the hospital offers free counseling and gave me the number to call. I was relieved because I had actually planned to ask about that anyway. I thought I'd call the very next day.
I didn't because after that dinner with T&M I started to feel better. And now I'm four days into a good week. Can you believe that? I am having a good week. What is this? I'm not supposed to have a good day anytime soon by my personal grief calculator timeline. But I am. I'm having a good week.
I might still call. I also might not for awhile. And that doesn't worry me and it shouldn't worry you either.
Anyone that knows me well knows that I am a firm believer in going to counseling.
I believe we are all whole, complete beings. You can't separate your mind from your emotions from your soul from your body etc. like you can separate toppings from a pizza. I think you're more like a cake after it's been baked. Every part of you affects every part of you. When something goes wrong in one part of you, don't be surprised when symptoms show up in another part of you. So take care of every part of you. And that includes counseling.
We all know we should go to yearly check-ups with our doctor and cleanings with our dentist. And hopefully most of the time everything looks good and you hear "see you next year" at the end of the appointment. But every once and awhile you go because there's a problem or you go for that check-up and a previously undiscovered problem is brought to light. Those times, follow-up appointments are made until the problem is resolved or you at least have all the tools you need to manage for yourself at home. It should be the same way with counseling. We should all have someone we trust to go to regularly - then when a problem comes up we can go in for a check-up and make follow-up appointments when necessary.
So, listen, I believe in counseling. I have been in a long-term counseling relationship and done the hard work counseling requires in the past. And a day came when my counselor looked at me and told me I was ready to "leave the nest" so to speak. She said I was welcome to keep coming but that she believed I had what I needed in my toolbox to move forward facing life without that counseling relationship. It wasn't because everything in my life was perfect but because I was handling situations in a healthy way.
I have also been in other short-term counseling relationships - before that one and since that one - that didn't work out. And that's okay too. Not every counselor is right for every person or every situation. One thing I've learned is that counseling is not a magic solution. Counseling is not Jesus. It can not heal all evils and it isn't always good or even always helpful. Don't mistake counseling for Jesus.
I think oftentimes when someone we love is going through something we cannot fix for them and something we cannot imagine going through ourselves, we get scared. We don't know how to help and we don't have words to say. And personally I empathize with the agony of having to watch someone I love deal with the unimaginable.
I've often wished I could go through it for them - anything but have to watch them suffer. In those times it is so easy to give in to fear for their future. What if they go into some deep pit of depression that they don't ever seem to come out of? What if all the goals and the future they were working toward fall apart? What if this changes them and I don't recognize them anymore? Actually...what if this changes us?
One of the most common responses I've seen from well-meaning people who experience having to be a friend or family member to someone who is suffering is to recommend counseling. Now remember, I believe in counseling. But what I don't appreciate is when it feels like someone is recommending counseling to me because they just can't handle what I'm going through. Or because they don't seem to believe I have what it will take to survive this (maybe because they can't imagine they could survive this).
The nurse who recommended the free counseling service to me didn't come off that way. I've worked in public mental health and have quality undergrad training in psychology and counseling. I would have said the same things she did. And maybe at some point soon one or both of us will start a new season of counseling.
In the meantime, I want to challenge the reasons behind the referral you may be tempted to give me when I am honest with you about my emotions in any given moment. I'm not saying you're not allowed to suggest it. I am saying that maybe the heart and the thought behind the suggestion is not always as singular or as uncomplicated as you may want to believe.
Maybe before you make the suggestion, you could ask some questions.
1. Is there a behavior I'm exhibiting that concerns you because it is unhealthy or destructive?
For now, I'm not worried about how often I cry. Crying is such a healthy and healing coping mechanism. And it's also an incredibly natural response to grief, especially in these early days.
But this depth of sorrow is the sign of a healthy soul, not a sick soul. It does not have to be morbid and fatalistic. It is not something to escape but something to embrace. Jesus said, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Sorrow indicates that people who have suffered loss are living authentically in a world of misery, and it expresses the emotional anguish of people who feel pain for themselves or for others. Sorrow is noble and gracious. It enlarges the soul until the soul is capable of mourning and rejoicing simultaneously, of feeling the world's pain and hoping for the world's healing at the same time. However painful, sorrow is good for the soul (p. 56, Sittser).
2. Do you have any evidence that your fears are more than your fears?
For example, you may be worried that I am going through this alone. That's a valid worry....until you listen to me. I am surrounded by an incredibly supportive and lovely church family. I have always been blessed to have deep, intimate friendships that have stood the test of time. And I have never been the sort of person to isolate myself for longer than a week or two or to hide sensitive information from my community.
Or maybe you are afraid that my situation is so rare that I need specialized guidance. That's also a valid concern...until you observe that I am seeing the best of the best specialists in a sizable city and have already joined two support groups and have multiple upcoming appointments with the kinds of people who are truly the only ones that can really understand what I'm going through.
Or maybe you are overwhelmed with all of the minutia - the details that need to be learned and worked out in the midst of an incredibly emotionally challenging situation. I understand. There is a lot and this is hard. Can I gently suggest that you remember who is going through this...primarily?
Thank you for feeling my pain and mourning with me. Thank you also for loving me and wanting the best for me and for wanting to help. Right now, you are helping to carry some of what I am carrying but that doesn't change the fact that I am Abigail's mother and this is primarily happening to us.
I am afraid. I am terrified that Abby will pass - her heart will stop - and I won't know. For some reason it is so important to me to know the moment that she passes. I feel I need this. Even if it does happen like the doctors say it will - in my womb. I need to know the moment she is gone so that I can be with her. I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of not getting to be there for her - in every sense possible - when she dies. And I fully understand that I am not guaranteed this knowledge.
I am not worried about having all the details worked out right now. I know there are plans to make - burial preparations, finances, multiple plans in place for different outcomes (stillbirth/live birth) etc. So if you are overwhelmed with all the minutia, please remember who is going through this. It's me. Marcy.
You know me, come on! Have I ever been the type to neglect a plan that needs to be made!? I'm so type-A it's a handicap sometimes. Listen, I'm going to be fine conquering all these details. I've already done HOURS of research and have a line up of books I'm either reading or getting ready to read. That's just me - it's who I've always been. Working through these details is cathartic for me and helps me. And being in the midst of an intensely emotional and traumatic situation isn't going to change that. This is me. My type-A-ness has been refined in the fire of an emotional life.
I don't know all your fears, I'm just making guesses and trying to alleviate some of those fears so that you can hear what I'm really trying to say:
Don't make decisions out of fear.
My college roommate used to say this to me all the time. I've never stopped needing to hear it. I'm going to ask you to hear it too as you support us through this. We are going to be grieving...maybe for the rest of our lives.
I don't know - I've never lost a child before but I assume I will never forget her even long after she's faded to the back of your minds. I carry her now in my womb but I will always carry her in my heart. She will go to heaven and I will have my entire life to look forward to going to where she is. I will always have something to look forward to! No matter what happens for the rest of my life, I have that joy to anticipate: that I will never be "done" having kids. There will always be Abigail for me to meet and get to know some day. So please don't be afraid of my grief. Don't be afraid of my tears. Don't be afraid of my confessions made in weak moments when I'm at an all-time low.
Sleep on it. Take some time to work through your own emotions about what you just learned about my situation. Process the newest part of our story with your own counselor or friends or support group. Listen to me 24 hours later once I've gotten some sleep, vented all I needed to, done some crying, ate a snack...the way this has been going so far, my emotions change about every 2 hours. So ask me how I'm doing now that some time has passed.
If you want to help...
make Abigail a hat
send us money to help with the medical bills and so that Michael doesn't have to work so hard doing overtime or so that we can pay one of these lovely people who keeps watching Theo for us for free
come play with Theo so we can clean our house the way we like it done (please don't clean our house, it's embarrassing how gross it gets but despite the way it looks, I do have an idea of where everything should go and I'd love to do it myself if I didn't have a toddler attached to me 24/7)
make us a meal and drop it off without expecting to be invited inside
buy me a bath bomb subscription (kidding...kind of...)
text Michael - he won't text back - but he needs the love and right now most people just text me and expect me to relay the message to him
avoid the temptation to come up with something meaningful or profound to say and just send me a heart
accept my confessions on this blog without judgment and wait to see how this story plays out
don't expect me to "get back to normal" or "get over" this experience. I am different than I was last year. I will be different next year. And I will never be the same as I was. Give me grace and space to change, knowing that while I don't have the capacity to pursue most of my relationships right now, that doesn't mean I've stopped loving you
remember to pray for us when we have an appointment
and ask us how Abigail was at her last appointment. Use her name and talk about her like you really believe - as we do - that she is real and human and deserves to be loved and honored.
And if you ever observe that red flags are popping up and I am not coping well for extended periods of time, based on that evidence bring up counseling. But don't suggest it to me because you are afraid, don't know what else to do, or without asking questions and observing the bigger picture of how I'm doing. When you do that, you make my story about you. You make it about trying to fix me with an imperfect solution. And you are in danger of losing sight of my God.
He is the perfect Healer.
He is the Wonderful Counselor.
His perfect love casts out all fear.
His peace is a promise you can take to the bank.
He is the one who conquered death.
He is in control.
He too has lost a child - and in a terribly unjust and tragic way. He too knew in advance.
HE is my need. Counseling is a tool He has used in the past and may use in my future to help accomplish His purposes in my life. But it is not Him. My grief is big, but my God is bigger and He is with me.
"What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will He not also, along with Him, graciously give us all things?...Christ Jesus who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:31-39).
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