Baby Loss Blues

Battle of the babies today, dang.

We went to church today. Every week, I tense up. Surely someone is bound to stop us and want to talk about our feelings or encourage us in some way or another. We need it, but we hate it. But we need it. You know when you're eating vegetables that just don't excite you when you'd rather be eating a nice greasy piece of pizza? Well, it's kind of like that. You do it anyway. And for the sake of our sanity, we must talk with people and not be hermit crabs. But it's kind of hard in church.

I had a really hard time connecting today... or everyday since December 5th. It's not that I feel God isn't listening, but I guess I feel like I'm trying to distance myself. I try not to think about what the words mean in the worship songs or I'll surely be a mess. As it is, my eyes pretty much well up in tears at most songs that even remotely talk about babies, children, boys (thanks country music!), trusting God, blessings, etc. It's not that I don't feel God isn't there for me. It's just been a really rough month and a half. But he knows that. In a way, I feel betrayed.

I don't blame God for the misfortune we've had. I don't blame anyone. But I guess the irrational side of me still does and will always question why this happened to us. I guess I believe in miracles considering the whole art of pregnancy and birth is astounding-- having seen it firsthand and experienced the hopes, pain, and love it brings. I don't know why there wasn't a miracle to save baby Andrew in our case. I don't know how it's possible for (excuse my humor) those darn Duggars to have 19 babies and I couldn't even manage to carry one baby successfully to birth. Or why Octomom has that many children. Or why people who are abusive or neglectful are given that privilege when they are so undeserving. God knows, but my connection to him has been hard lately. I would be lying if I said prayer is easy. I usually offer up thanksgiving for what I have and the promises we've been given. I guess when Andrew was stripped away from us, I've had such an intense pain inside that I've sort of lost hope in promises. I know that hope will return and it has in many ways, but it doesn't bring back our baby. I haven't lost my faith, just in the meantime, my heart is clouded.

I still have wonderful blessings. I still have shelter, food, my husband, a supportive family, income, great friends... but I guess it's been really hard to see the silver lining. I have had a hard time connecting in prayer, worship, and during the messages. I usually spend this time talking myself out of crying. Little pep talks. That's been a goal of ours-- to manage dry eyes through an entire worship service. Didn't happen today, but I managed to hold it together enough as to not encourage hugs from strangers. It didn't help that there were some beautiful baby acoustics throughout the air today in service. I know I don't have to tell myself or anyone else... but I would love to have those sounds been from baby Andrew's mouth. I never did hear any sounds from him. We never communicated aside from when he was alive inside my belly.

There's something I need to address that has challenged me lately-- this whole philosophy that everything happens for a reason. We've all heard it and we've probably all muttered it at some point in our lives. Well, I don't believe that. If you say that losing my child at full term is meaningful and "although I can't see it now, it happened for a reason", I won't listen to you. I think that's a load of crap. I've read on other blogs about women who say that the reason they lost their baby was so it will help them care for others who experience baby loss. No. If we're speaking logically, there should have never been a first baby loss in the beginning of time or God knows when. If no one ever lost a baby, there would be no reason to have others to care for one another. So this idea of being able to care for others is garbage. We don't need this many women to be the caretakers for other baby loss mothers. Or as I questioned in my last post... are we still mothers after their death? When a woman/man are widowed, are they then still "married"?

There's no good reason this could have happened. Sorry. I do, however, know that if and when I ever am privileged to have a child of my own, I'll be the best damn mom ever. I couldn't possibly take for granted the gift considering I know what it feels like to lose that gift. I just know the small things won't be such a big deal and I may be a little paranoid in assuring our children have the best life has to offer and all the safety that comes along with it. ;) So if the "reason" my son was born dead is so that I could help other mothers enduring grief or so I wouldn't take for granted the gift of motherhood, I guess you can buy that. I still don't... but some people might.

But in reality, I am that woman who you'll either feel sorry for and run from, or if you happen to experience baby loss, you'll run toward for comfort. Because of all people, I will absolutely understand the pain you're enduring. Sounds like more of a curse than a gift.