When the Cold Winds Blow: Healing from Pregnancy and Infant Loss

When the autumn winds blow fresh and cool, the maple leaves ambling to the ground, a slow but pervasive sadness creeps up. It doesn’t take long for me to know why.

And in the midst of this ache, a little light trickles in.

An idea. A glimmering grace to hold onto. A comfort to ease the pain.

Gathering leaves, big and small, symmetrical or somewhat askew, I hold them to my heart.

With broken crayons, sheets of blank paper and children needing something to do, I demonstrate. Taking a single leaf, I cover it with paper and rub it over and over again with a red crayon.

As if by magic, the leaf appears. First the stem, the veins and the outline of the leaf’s three points.

My kids are in awe and my heart is at rest. 

To turn death into a learning experience, a thing to grow from, gives me renewed focus and grace...

To look to the One who comforts me and love on the ones I have here.

I have this little blue scrapbook. A book of remembrance. Of a time of waiting for a sweet little baby. A son. His prognosis was grave. I was his life support. When he was born, he would die. Back then, bilateral renal agenesis (BRA) had no treatment and still has no cure. I received the news the beginning of autumn.

December came and he was wrapped up warm and comfortable in my womb while I waited for his birth day. The day I’d have to say goodbye.

Another month before his due date, I spent half that windswept day on a playground with my two-year-old Bright Girl. Pushing her in the swing. Watching her joy as she raced around, her sneakers crunching on the fallen leaves. Not knowing it would be the day before my son’s birth day.

Giving birth to a child born without the capacity to live was incomprehensible. How can you prepare for it?

All I could do was breathe and pray.  

When trying to savor each moment, time slows down. It would be one of the longest days of my life. And, I held my little boy, my Luke, for as long as I could before he passed from here to heaven.

I left the hospital, with empty womb and empty arms.

Trying to find some sort of normalcy, when my strength returned, I took my toddler to the playground. As I pushed her in the swing, a shadow seemed to block the sun. It wasn’t a shadow others could see, but it was felt. And only by me.

I don’t remember how long the shadow lasted, but it came and went like the ebb and flow of the tides.

And it's been like that each and every autumn, when the cold winds begin to blow. For twelve years now. The shadow of grief comes. Sometimes for a day, sometimes a bit longer.

At this point, I don't know if I can call grief a friend, but I now see a pattern for when it settles in.

And, I don't mind it anymore.

Loving and losing someone hurts. The pain means they mattered. And, the latent grief that comes is a reminder to us to think of the ones we miss in heaven. The ones we're waiting to see again.

And when the shadow of grief seems to linger, just remember...

You will bloom again.

Like the sunflowers who turn to face the sun, may we turn to face our Savior and wait for His healing, comfort and grace.

A wise king once said,

“To every thing there is a season…a time to be born and a time to die...a time to weep and a time to laugh…” (Ecclesiastes 3:3-8)

And Jesus said, 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4).”

Death has not won the victory, Christ has. His love is eternal. Death couldn't stop Him. He lives on

 and by grace, our loved ones who are gone, live on.

Faith gives us hope.

Hope helps us bloom. To be open to joy.

Love is the source of that hope—the love of Christ, our gentle Savior who leads us on the path He has laid out for us. 

For some of us, it is the path of grieving in hope. The hope that brings whispers of a joy to come. On falling leaves and in fingers making impressions for little hearts to learn.

Holding onto God's Faithfulness: Surviving Pregnancy and Infant Loss

Fall 2003 and me pregnant with Luke

I've been thinking back in time for the #october2013blogchallenge to when I have been aware of the Lord's faithfulness to me.
 
October in Florida is when the chill autumn air carries with it the the sense of expectancy before the rush of the holidays.  And, when the wind picks up and the leaves fall down, I start to remember.  It's the same thing I think about every year and always in October. 

It is fitting that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month (PILAM).

That's when the crushing news came for me. 

In October of 2003, I was 27 weeks pregnant, and I went to get an ultrasound to determine if my little one was a boy or a girl. What I wasn't expecting was to find was that something was terribly wrong with my child.

 

The doctor said that he had no kidneys. That he had something called Potter's Syndrome, which at that time, there was no treatment. No cure.

After going to more doctors and doing more tests, it was confirmed.  My baby, when he was born, would die.

I realized at that moment that this was all the time I had with him.

I learned to cherish every little movement, hiccup, stretch. I learned who he was by how he felt in my womb. He lived. He mattered.

Luke Joseph Griese was born on December 5, 2003, and he was so light, only 3 lbs. 12 oz., yet my love for him was beyond measure.

He went to be with Jesus eight hours later.

The biggest thing that little Luke taught me was that every life matters because we are all here for a reason. Some of us are here to love and some of us are here to be the recipients of love.

Then there is the love that God has for us. He sent His Son to die for us so that we could live forever with Him. There is no greater love than that.

And now, Luke lives and basks in the eternal love of God in heaven, and I await the day we will be reunited and can share that love again.


Because God is faithful to His promises, He will make all things new, make all the sad things come untrue (Revelation 21). 


So, I will hold onto that truth and look forward to that Day.  Not only to see my son again, but to see the Son, Christ, the Risen One, who carried me in my darkest hours and brought me to the light of day.

If you have lost a child in pregnancy or shortly after birth, my heart aches for you. 
I pray that you will know the faithfulness of God in Christ on your grief journey. 
Never will He leave you, never will He forsake you (Hebrew 13:5). 

For His Word says:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
 I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me." (Psalm 23:4)

Holding onto Hope,

Chanda