Rachel's Story: On remembering the day she realized something was terribly wrong

From one mom of a Madelyn to another -- please know how sad I am for your loss and share in your grief. I absolutely will give my Madelyn an extra hug. Thanks for sharing with us your Madelyn Elise. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby girl.  Rachel

Although our stories are quite different, our grief is similar, and there is one thing in common that took my breath away.

First, my deepest condolences on your losses. I can't imagine going through multiple losses and having the sharp edged knife of grief more than once. We do share our Faith in a living God, omnipotent, powerful, always sovereign, and yet compassionate to catch our every tear.

I had a flawless pregnancy. Minor yet all day nausea and that was it. Besides my mood swings, everything was perfect.  

My loss was at 37 weeks. The only thing they could find was a partial placental abruption.  I had NO SYMPTOMS. None. 

It was Dec 26, 2010, my husband and I sat down to watch a movie (of course I know what movie it was, what I was wearing, and what ice cream I had).  Finally breathing a sigh of relief that our major remodel/addition was finished, Christmas was DONE, and just 3 weeks until our baby girl would arrive. This meant hubby needed to GET going painting the nursery!!! 

So, at 10 pm, I mentioned to him that I hadn't felt her move.  I didn't think much of it because I was sooo busy and sooo tired. Focusing on getting her to "wake up" to do kick counts for the next 2 hours, I was still in a very protected place mentally.  I don't know how I was so naive, but I was. 

Well, I said a short note…

I don't think I should write anymore on the details because it really spends me, emotionally, and it's late.

My first daughter was born still at 8:44 pm, December 27, 2010.  Her name is Madelyn Elise Buono. 8 lbs, 1.5 oz, 21 inches long.

Not too many other Madelyn's are spelled the same way.  Give yours an extra hug for me. 

We were Blessed to have Emily Moriah (mtn in Gen22) arrive healthy on 1/24/12, just thirteen months later.   She is a huge Blessing, but she doesn't take her sister's place nor does she heal the hole in my heart ... But she sure does make the rest of my heart happier!

Guest story: From the outside looking in

 

 

Sometimes, being a friend to someone who has lost a baby (or many babies) is a really hard thing. It's not the same kind of hard as losing your own child. But it can be difficult.

 

Just tonight I had a conversation with a pregnant friend. She, in all likelihood, will get to keep her baby. And as happy as I am for her, her pregnancy has put a strain on our relationship. Both of us are doing the best we can to meet each other where we are at. We are trying to be understanding and supportive.

 

I suppose it would be really easy to judge me, and say that I'm bitter. But I'm not. If I were bitter, I wouldn't be trying. But I am.

 

I'm grateful for the perspective anonymous has given us on what it's like to be an outsider looking in. I hope that all of us, on both sides of the coin, can learn to be more supportive and understanding of each other.

Rachel

 

 

A dear, sweet friend shared your post after her third miscarriage (2 boys, 1 girl).

 

I have never had to deal with the loss of a baby.

 

The Good Lord has blessed me with two wonderful babies. However, many of my friends have had miscarriages.

 

As an "outsider," it's hard to understand what exactly these strong women are going through. I'm just as guilty as most in thinking that "it was God's plan" and "it happened for a reason." Your story helps pave the way of beginning to understand what my friends (and other women) are going through.

 

During my second pregnancy, 2 of my friends went through miscarriages, in their first trimester. We were all 3 due within a couple weeks of each other.

 

One had a set of twin boys just 6 months old when she found out she was expecting. My other friend has had a second miscarriage, since the first, and is having problems coping. We haven't seen or spoken to each other in weeks/months, not by lack of trying on my part.

 

It's hard for me to understand why this happened when I carried and delivered mine. I hope to be more understanding towards them now and in the future, should another friend be faced with this.

Thank you for sharing your life and giving us a bit of perspective into these grieving mother's emotions. 

Facebook -- I love you, and hate you. Sometimes, I really really hate you.

So -- I kinda have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.

I love it because I have connected with past friends, and seriously love some of those renewed friendships. I love seeing pictures of my nephew. I love my 2 support groups I have where I can post in the middle of the night, and I receive prayers and encouragement right then! I love having a platform to share my blog, and a way for it to spread around the world.

But then again, I also hate Facebook.

Mostly because of it's uncanny ability to set my emotions reeling so quickly and unexpectedly.

Those of you who have gone through a loss or have struggled with infertility probably know what I'm talking about . . .

The unexpected announcement of a pregnancy. Or belly pictures. Or ultrasound pictures.

I get that I'm in the stage of life where this is normal. And when I was pregnant with Olivia, I was innocently wracking my brain to figure out a fun, creative way to announce our pregnancy. (I was going to take a picture of a Starbucks' cup with our baby "order" on the side. Never quite figured out what to write -- but being in the NW, I thought it would be appropriate.)

Now, though, I am not sure  how I'll announce another pregnancy (if we have one). However I treat it, it certainly won't be the same.

Because now I know that my announcement can hurt other people.

I know that pregnancy should be innocent. That announcing a new little life should be a celebration. (As my mom said, Every life should be celebrated. No matter how long they are with us.)  But I also can't ignore this horrible feeling in my gut every time I come across a pregnancy-related post. I WANT to feel happy for that person. And no matter whether I'm happy or not, I still get this sadness that comes from deep within every single time.

I'm not asking everyone to stop posting about their pregnancies. I'm not even trying to complain. And I'm not saying that your FB life should revolve around sensitive people like me.

But I do have at least one suggestion to help those of us that are hurting . . .

Before you begin posting about your pregnancy, and you know someone who has recently gone through a loss or struggles with infertility, please let them know privately about your news before sharing on your main page.

My sister and a few friends have done this for me. And allowing me to process those feelings before it's all "public" has been very helpful for me to not get that sadness in my gut whenever they do make that big announcement ... or subsequent posts about their pregnancy.

And please give your friend your blessing if they choose not to "like," "comment" or even view your posts.

Your sensitivity and understanding will go a long way in helping those women for whom checking Facebook is akin to walking through an emotional minefield. You can really help your friend navigate those mines with just a little forethought, respect and sensitivity.

P.S. A friend who has also gone through a loss commented on Facebook that she agreed, but she has added two feelings that I want to include here because I also feel the exact same way, and wish I had included them in my original post:

1. MY pain does not and should not negate HER joy.
2. I feel awful that her blessed event evokes a reaction of extreme sadness in myself.

3 rays of light in an impossible day . . .

Yesterday was a very good day to open my mail box.

Mixed in with ads, bills and insurance letters claiming to save me $100 a month on my coverage, I found 3 very sweet pieces of mail.

The first was a thank-you letter for attending a friend's baby shower. It was my first shower after my loss. And it didn't go without a complete breakdown from me, followed by my inability to read a blesssing to the baby, and tears for the rest of the day.

However, I love my friend and her sweet baby-on-the-way. And I'm glad I went. The act of going was more of a gift than the onesies and baby wash. I guess, in my own way, my presence (albeit, broken and teary-eyed) was the best gift I could give.

My second piece of mail was from my best friend, Robin. There was no letter, no note. Nothing but a ring.

She didn't need to have words. The ring was enough. The pearls stand for Maddy and Olivia. The diamonds are for Ryan and I, hemming in our precious little ones.

She doesn't know this, but my promise ring my grandparents gave me when I was 16 was a white gold ring, with a pearl and 2 diamonds on the side, just a little askew like this one. I love that my first ring symbolized my commitment to my husband. And this one symbolizes our love and commitment to our girls.

I have the best, best friend ever.

My third piece of mail is from my second mom in Jr. High -- Robin's mom, Judy. She wrote me the sweetest letter, and since there is no way to sum up her words, I'm just going to let you read her words yourself . . .

Mar. 24, 2012

Dear Rachel,

As you know, our beloved Robin can be sort of urgent, at times. "MOM!" she says. "You have to read Rachel's blog so we can PRAY!!" Rachel has a blog? I didn't know that . . .

So now I am reading your blog. And Rachel, it is amazing. You are so coherently and beautfiully expressing your season of grief. I am drawn into it because I know and love you, but that is not the only reason. Your writing is powerful. Someday, when it all doesn't hurt quite so badly, you could publish it.

So my mind and heart have been occupied this week with the "story" Rachel and Olivia. It so happens that Bob and I attend the annual Gideons Banquet. It comes to me that I could donate Bibles in Olivia's name. Anyway, that someone could find Jesus through her seems so fitting to me.  I love imagining a scene in heaven when you and me and Olivia and some Gideon who handed out Bibles in India are gathered around a woman with an amazing testimony of coming to faith through a Gideon Bible. This whole scenario delights and comforts me and I offer it to you in the hope that you will find comfort in it, too!

One last thing. When Bob is talking to someone who has just lost a loved one, he tells them, "Expect that people will say the wrong thing. Your friends and family do not intend to hurt you, but they will. This also is part of the grief process." Being in the ministry for so long, Bob and I have developed sort of a macabre sense of humor about the well-intentioned-but-awful things people can say sometimes!! Laugh them off whenever you can!

We love you, Rachel. Carry on. There's light up ahead!

Judy

I love that while I'm struggling with my faith, others who are stronger are carrying that faith for me, and are creating a spiritual legacy for my daughter.

Needless to say, I cried a lot yesterday. It was a really hard day full of anxiety and fear. I think God knew I needed these precious gifts of support yesterday to help carry me through.

To those of you who are supporting someone through a loss, please don't EVER question the impact you can have on a grieving mom! Your gifts and letters might seem like so little to you in light of the loss -- but trust me when I say they can make a difference between an impossible day, and a day where a little light and hope burst forth.

To everyone of you who has ever given a note of encouragement, a gift of rememberance, a thoughtful word, prayer or a hug to a woman with empty arms . . .

THANK YOU!

Sweet gifts!

I have received a few very special, very thoughtful gifts in honor of our Baby Olivia.

Here are some of my favorites:

We received this kit containing an oak tree seedling to plant in honor of Baby Olivia, from my sister Sarah.

We've been faithfully taking care of it -- but we haven't seen any signs of growth until this week. More than two months of watering, and finally, new life sprouts!

This new sapling reminds me of my grief a bit -- weeks and weeks of feeling like there's not "progress" and feeling like you'll be stuck in a rut forever . . . only to have a little bit of hope burst forth unexpectedly.

Today I received this lovely necklace from a friend. It is PERFECT. I have wanted a necklace to remember Olivia by, but never found the right one. I love how tiny the footprint is because I imagine that's how tiny her feet might have been. I love that it's just a little bit longer than I normally wear my necklaces, so it falls close to my heart.

                                                         

My friend Meredith sent me this book, and it came right when I was starting to get angry at God for losing our baby. It was perfect timing. I loved reading about how Jesus also heard God tell him "no." How he, too, knew the unspeakable grief and sorrow in separation and death. How he has also felt the loneliness in grief. This book helped open my eyes to a new side of Jesus and his Father that I hadn't really seen before. And it helped me trust my Savior, and love him, even more.



Last, another favorite gift of mine was the gift of time and hard work that my sister Judy gave me. (Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of this!)

A week after our surgery, she and her family "moved in" for a few days to take care of housework, laundry, cooking and planning Maddy's birthday party. Although I felt guilty watching her slave away at my house, it was so nice to have a clean home to recuperate in! Also, Maddy's birthday might have been a complete flop if it hadn't of been for her.

Thank you all, for the sweet, thoughtful gifts over the last 2 months!


 Here are links in case you are wanting to purchase these gifts for yourself or a friend:


Tree:  http://ww10.1800flowers.com/product.do?baseCode=4867&cm_cid=SEARCH#readmore

 Necklace:  http://www.etsy.com/listing/86335916/baby-foot-necklace-sterling-silver

Book: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_14?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=hearing+jesus+speak+into+your+sorrow+by+nancy+guthrie&sprefix=hearing+Jesus+%2Caps%2C196

A letter to my friends with infertility

Dear friend,


If you are reading this letter, and you struggle with infertility -- I just want to let you know how sorry I am. I know that your pain often goes unnoticed. Your grief invalidated. And your loss trivialized.


I also want to say, "Welcome." My blog is about pregnacy loss -- and for those of you who are struggling with infertility, you might not be dealing with the loss of your baby -- but you are dealing with the loss of motherhood. And that is a very valid pregnancy loss indeed.


I want you to know that I don't totally understand infertility, and all that it brings to life.


 I do not know the ups and downs each month of trying, waiting, being devastated, then mustering up the strength to try one more time.


I do not understand what it's like to have insensitive, ignorant (but well-meaning) people ask when it will be "my turn." I have not had people tell me to adopt, just so I could get pregnant. I have not had acquaintances tell me I'm trying too hard or wanting it too much. No one has ever told me just to "relax and it will happen."


I have not had to deal with years of struggling with friends' pregnancy announcements, birth announcements, subsequent pregnancy announcements, and on and on.


I do not know what it's like to have an empty nursery in my house.


I do not understand what it feels like to wonder if you will ever be a mother. I have not had to look infertility straight in the eye, and just give in because no amount of fighting would ever win me a victory . . . the victory of a sweet baby in my arms.


I have not had to give myself shots, undergo surgery, or face years of tests without a baby to show for it.


I have not had to face the guilt of not being able to provide a son or daughter for my husband . . . or a grandchild for my parents.


I do not know what it's like to face a suffering that is so silent, while at the same time, so consuming.


I have not faced the deep, deep loneliness of dealing with infertility.


As much as I cannot relate, I also feel that there are shadows of your suffering that I have been given just glimpses of . . .


I have felt distrust in my body, and anger when I felt it did not -- or could not -- support a healthy pregnancy.


With Madelyn, I felt as though my body worked against me -- and against her. In many ways, I felt like it did all it could to reject my baby.


At 12 weeks, I hemorrhaged. It was my birthday, and Father's Day. We were sent home from the E.R. with a 50/50 chance that we would lose her. She hung on.


Starting at 28 weeks, I had threatened premature labor and was put on bed rest several times throughout my pregnancy.


Beginning pretty much from the moment of conception (at least that's what it felt like), I had "all-day sickness." It was like having a case of the flu for 9 full months. Taking vitamins made me sicker. I couldn't ever focus on eating well for two. I could only focus on "What can I ingest that won't immediately come back up?"


And in the end, I had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome -- both of which could have resulted in either mine, or Madelyn's, deaths. During my labor, her heart rate dropped for 8 minutes. After that, we had a c-section.


Two years later, I believed I was pregnant, but refused to take a test. I was still too traumatized from my experience with Madelyn to even think about getting pregnant. Right about the time I thought, "well, I should take a test" -- I began what I dubbed "the period from hell." I really believe we lost a baby then, but there is no medical way for me to know for sure.


I went to counseling following that "miscarriage." I felt a lot of depression and anxiety stemming in part from distrust in my body.


After gaining back some confidence -- believing that my next pregnancy truly would be different -- we had an ectopic pregnancy. There is no medical explanation for why this happened to us. Losing Olivia has made me doubt whether my body was ever really meant for pregnancy. And I have felt much guilt that I could not provide a safe place for her to grow.


Deciding to try again is a very hard decision for us to make. (Although, I know that many of you would give all four limbs just to be able to make that choice for yourself. So I know our situation is not the same.)


I know what it's like to desperately want to be pregnant with your baby -- but not be pregnant.


Some of you have lost babies -- others haven't yet conceived. But I know at least for me how desperate I felt once we lost the baby to be pregnant again.


We have to wait on my body to heal. And we have to wait to pay for Olivia and save up before we can think of trying again.


My wait is short-term. And I know that that is different than what you might be facing. But I do know what it feels like to want something SO MUCH -- only for God to say, "No. Not this time."


I know what it's like to feel like adoption might be the only choice you have to expand your family.


Ryan and I are now licensed for foster care. We still have not received a call for a child. But I often wonder if I'm even ready anymore.


Many people think adoption is easy: "This baby wasn't wanted. You want a baby. Put the two and two together -- and BAM! You have a family!"


It's not that easy. Foster care isn't easy. Adoption isn't easy. Nothing about creating a family is easy. I'm not saying it's not worth it -- or that we still won't pursue adoption. I just know what it's like to face foster care/adoption and think it's your only alternative. And grieve because it's not the same as having your own child.


I know, in part, what it's like to struggle to be on Facebook, to be jealous of others, to struggle to trust God's plan, to struggle to be around other pregnant women/babies, and to wish desperately that my situation were different.


Some days, I actually accept my loss. And then I attend an event where the talk is about babies. Or I see a pregnant woman. Or I watch a commercial with a newborn baby. Or I hear the announcement from a friend that she is expecting. Or . . Or . . . Or.


There seems to be a billion reminders out there about what we don't have. And that's hard to deal with, plain and simple. And when you do deal with your pain, sometimes there's collateral damage. Sometimes a friend is hurt when you aren't able to attend her shower. Perhaps another friend can't understand why you grow silent when your girlfriends get together and the subject of babies arises. Maybe you feel people are tired of you "raining" on their parade.


I know I'm relatively new to this experience, but I can say that it is a constant struggle. I struggle to face those reminders, and chose over and over again to praise God, and say, "Your will be done."

I know what it's like to pay for a baby you don't bring home. And having finances play a part in holding you back from expanding your family.


There are few things more frustrating than feeling like finances are holding you back -- but at the same time, you are so overcome with grief and hurt it is difficult to work harder, or start a business, or move your finances forward.



I have had people say all the wrong things that hurts so much. I know what it's like to sometimes just want to hole up to protect yourself.



I have to admit that, at one time, I was the pregnant person that people dealing with loss kind of hate. If not hate, at least resent. Or maybe, just feel jealous toward.


I got pregnant quickly, without really trying. Without WANTING to be pregnant. And I did spend quite a bit of the next 9 months complaining -- often loudly -- about my struggles in pregnancy. I did not know that my pregnancy really had any effect on others. I did not know that my complaints might have caused pain for anyone.


Most of my complaints were valid. I was miserable for 9 months. But -- if I had known that they caused pain, I think I would have chosen more carefully who I complained to.


I also was the person to say all the wrong things to someone struggling with infertility. They were spoken with the right heart -- but were still all the wrong words.


On behalf of those of us who do not know your pain, please forgive us for our ignorance. For the times we say the wrong things at the wrong time. For dismissing your pain.


And please have grace with us, even as our situations might look so much different than what you are going through.


I hope that on this blog, you will feel welcome to share about your loss, your pain and your story.



From a fellow friend on this devastating journey,


Rachel

Helpful ways to support someone through a pregnancy loss

Today I heard about another woman who lost has lost her child at 38 weeks. Tonight, as the rest of the world moves on -- as life pulses around us -- this woman is living out her most devastating hours. The day of her baby's birth will also be the day of her beloved daughter's death. Life will never be the same.

I want to say that I cannot imagine such a loss. But the truth is -- I can. I just don't WANT to. To visit that pain, even for a bit, is so consuming.

If you find yourself as a support person in the midst of pregnancy loss, it can be so hard to know what to say or what to do. After all, there is NO FIXING the situation. Nothing we say or do will ever bring a baby back. While you can never FIX it, there are things you can still say and do to help.

I have asked a few friends that have experienced loss to expain what others did that gave them comfort or help. Here are a few of their answers:

"It helped when people would talk about my daughter! Hearing her name was music to my ears. Also when people would forward me poems or songs that were about the loss of a child. Those helped a lot too. In its own way, sympathy was good too."

"Sharing their stories and sometimes just being there, not saying anything, and letting me talk through it. As well as prayer."

"I had friends who never pushed me to get back to 'normal.' They loved me with such grace, such patience through my anger, self-pity, questioning my faith, mood swings, jealousy, and the need to be self-absorbed in my quest for inner peace. They listened and listened and listened."

"Sharing their stories. It was nice to know that I wasn't alone and it also took my focus off myself (when I was dangerously close to a mire of self-destructive emotions)."

I love my girlfriends' words! How true they are!

If you find yourself as a support person -- a loved one, family member, family friend, acquaintance, coworker or Facebook friend -- here are some other suggestions that might help you respond to your friend's loss in a comforting way:

Acknowledge the loss. Yes, a friend is grieving and we all want to give her space. But there are ways to reach out without intruding. You know your friend -- obviously the closer you are, the more you may want to reach out. But a great way to do that is through an email, card or text. Let them know you heard of their loss. You are praying for them. You are so very sorry. And you want to be there for her in anyway you can. Even though it is easier sometimes to love from afar, silence will often hurt. There is comfort in a tender note of condolence.

If you really don't know what to say, just say, "I really don't know what to say, other than I am so sorry." Usually, that alone is enough.

Offer physical help. After a loss, life still happens. Dishes still need to be done. Meals need to be made. Bathrooms need cleaning. Kids need loving on. If you are in the position to help with any of your friend's physical needs, it can be a very great help! Note of caution: Please do not say, "If you need anything, please let me know." The truth is -- she will most likely NEVER ask you for help, even if she desperately needs it.

One reason is because we women are notorious for having a hard time admitting we need help. She might think, "Well, I really need this ... but I would NEVER ask anyone to do this for me -- it's just too much."

But it's more likely that she has no idea what she really needs. Her entire world has been suspended in grief. With so much energy directed toward mourning, there is nothing left for the day-to-day. I remember wearing the same clothes over and over right after my loss because it was one less decision I would have to make. In late-term losses, couples have to make hard deicsions, like "Where to bury the baby" or "Who to invite to the memorial" or "How do I explain the loss of our baby to my children?" In light of such huge decisions, who even cares what's for dinner?

Helpful ways to offer tangible support are to say something like: "I would like to bring you dinner. Will Thursday or Friday be better for you? Are there any food allergies/preferences I should know about?" Or, "I would like to come for a few hours to clean. Will this Saturday work from 2-4? I would like to clean your floors and bathrooms -- unless there's something else you need more." "Can I take the kids for a few hours to love on them? Will Friday evening work?"

I didn't have to cook or grocery shop for a month after we lost Baby O. And I can't tell you how incredibly grateful I am for every single meal, every single cleaning job, every single ounce of help I received! I still have 2 frozen meals reserved for those really crappy days I know are still around the corner.

Give them a gift. Flowers are always appropriate. I received a lovely bunch of flowers the day after I thought I'd lost the baby with a darling teddy bear. What a precious reminder of my little one. I love that bear. My sister sent me an oak seed through (I believe) 1-800-FLOWERS that we can plant in rememberance of our baby. I also received the book, "Hearing Jesus Speak in Your Sorrow" by Nancy Guthrie. (I will list more helpful resources later.) I've heard other women really appreciate a gift of rememberance jewelry from a spouse or family member. If you know the sex of the baby, you can buy the baby something, too. From what I've read, most families treasure these gifts for years because they are something they can tangibly see and hold long after their baby is gone.

Listen. Let your friend "relive" her experience as many times as she needs to. Retelling the story is a huge part of processing grief. Cry with her. Just crying together has been some of the best "conversations" that I've head since we lost Baby O. If you sense your friend wants to talk, ask open-ended questions. Some helpful questions might be:

"Would you like to tell me about your baby? I would love to know her/him."
"Would you like to talk about the birth?"
"What's hardest on you right now?"
"What do you miss the most?"
"How is your husband doing?"
"Are there specific things that you need prayer for?"
"What do you need from me right now?"

Remember, silence is OK too. Sometimes just being there is the best.


Continue to check in on her.  Maybe it's been a month or more since the loss. Chances are, your friend is still in the midst of deep grief. Continue to call, or text, or email -- however your relationship already rolls. She still needs to know that her friends are surrounding her with love and prayers. A card a few months later to let her know you are still grieving with her is so meaningful. Especially hurtful times will most likely be Mother's Day and Father's Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, the anniversary of finding out she was pregnant, the anniversary of the baby's birth and/or passing, and her estimated due date. 

Pray for her. Some ideas of things to pray for . . .  Pray that God would guide her to Him during this time. Pray for her marriage, her partner and and their children. Pray for His peace and comfort. Pray that God would meet her physical needs. Pray for physical healing of her body. Pray that she would have the support she needs to grieve how she needs to.

If you have also lost a baby, you can let her know about your loss. She may ask to hear your story. Hearing that other people have dealt with loss and have (somehow) survived brings much hope. My support system from people who have "been there, done that" has been a lifesaver. Just a few reminders . . . Please don't compare your loss. Everyone's loss, and grief, are different, so just keep that in mind while you share.

Give your friend the freedom to grieve how she needs to -- no criticism, censorship or comparison. There is no timeline for grief. There is no right (or wrong) way to grieve. There are no wrong feelings in grief. If she is angry with God, let her express that without censoring her. If she is really struggling in an area, do not critcize her for it. A friend gave me the freedom to grieve how I needed, and that permission is just what I needed to encourage me to "publicly grieve" on this blog.

If she has named her baby, refer to her baby by name. It is so cathartic to hear your sweetie's name. It validates that your baby was a person -- and that you really had a loss.



While the potential to help is very real, the potential to hurt your friend while she is down is also real. A few things to avoid:

Answers. Please do not try to explain her loss. She might constantly be wondering "Why, God?" . . . but she doesn't need any of her friends or family to offer an answer. There is a reason she is asking God. If she does verbalize "Why???" in your presence, your best bet is to say, "I don't know. But I know it hurts so much."

Avoidance: Your friend is constantly thinking about the baby. Don't avoid the "big elephant" in the room. Ask her about her loss, her baby, her experience. At the very least, acknowledge her grief with an "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Platitudes. Steer clear of anything that sounds like a trite and easy answer. "All things work out for the good of those who love God." "God won't give you more than you can handle." "Maybe this is a blessing in disguise." "One day, this will all make sense." "You are young and can have more children." "Your baby is in heaven, now. Isn't that great that you will know him/her there?" "God needed another angel." Usually these only make the person offering platitudes feel better -- while making the grieving mom feel miserable.

Comparisons. Her exact situation is unique to her -- and only to her. Affirm her in her experience. But don't compare losses or grief.

Expectations. She will never be the person she was before the loss. It will change her forever. . . although the changes will become the "new normal" and time will help. Don't expect her to function at the level she was before. Don't expect her to carry extra responsibilities. Don't expect her to reciprocate your friendship in the same way you are loving on her -- it will take some time. She might start to seem better, then have really hard days. Just take her as she comes.


My experience losing Baby O could have been so much harder than it was if it weren't for the invaluable support from everywhere around me. From my husband, family and dearest friends -- to Facebook friends who I haven't talked to in years -- to Arbonne clients -- they have all played a huge role in my continued healing. I praise God for the support He has given me through His people.

If any of you who have "been there, done that" have anything you would like to add, please do. I know I haven't covered all of the bases and would love to hear from you.

If you find yourself as a support person, just know that you are never too far away or too close to love your friend through loss. 

Much blessing and comfort to all!

Rachel

Just a bump in the road?

I received an email today that can be so true . . .

For women who have experienced pregnancy loss, we know we've lost a baby. For other people, it's just a bump in the road.

I hate to even admit it, but that's how I felt a bit about miscarriage before I lost Baby O. Don't get me wrong, when my close friends miscarried -- I grieved for them, I prayed for them, I cried with them. Yes, I felt like they lost a baby. But I also felt like it was a bump. A bump they would soon get over.

Looking back, there were some things I JUST DIDN'T GET:

- That getting pregnant again does not heal the hurt from losing a baby. One baby does not replace another. Even if you get pregnant right away, there is still grief because there was still loss.

-That they did not need answers from me at all. Not one. I looked back on an email I sent to a friend after I heard about her loss, and while I said some appropriate things, I also said, "I know God's in control." When I re-read that email last week, I winced. She knew God was in control. She didn't need me to have an answer. She just needed to hear, "I'm so sorry. I'm crying with you. I will miss knowing your baby. I'm praying for you. If you need to talk, I'm here."

-That the hurt lasts so long. 3 weeks ago, we found out something was wrong with the pregnancy. And we only knew we were pregnant for 2.5 weeks up to that point. But I know that I am going to be reeling from this for quite some time. As in probably months of grief. And after that? Who knows? I know that I'm changed. And I'll never quite be the same again. I just wish that I had realized my friends were still dealing with grief for months, and for some, years . . . not just days.

-That no matter how early the loss, it still hurts. My love did not grow by weeks. The moment I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, I was in love with my baby. I was on cloud nine, thinking and planning and dreaming.  I didn't lose 7 weeks of pregnancy. I lost a lifetime with a baby I loved.

-That bringing up the loss doesn't remind them of the loss. They are thinking about it already. But it helps to acknowledge their pain. For most of my friends, I assumed that silence was best. As in, I sent an initial card or email . . . but then I did not continue to ask them about how they were doing. I wish I would have asked. I wish I would have sent remembrances. I wish I would have sent a card or flower on their due date.

-That comparison does not help. In trying to comfort, sometimes we try to relate as best we can. I've done it to others. And today I had that happen to me from the billing person at my Dr's office. She wanted to apologize that I would be receiving bills for months down the road for my surgery -- each bill as a reminder that I lost a baby. I agreed that yes, this would probably be hard. She then proceeded to say, "I know it's not the same, but last week I had to put my dog down . . . "  Oh no, I inwardly cringed. PLEASE do not compare my baby to losing a dog. In her own way she was trying to be helpful, trying to relate to my pain . . . but trust me when I say that it was NOT helpful.

I don't blame myself for not getting it before. I couldn't have known (unless I had taken the time to google how to help a friend with pregnancy loss). But I have tried my best to apologize to each of those friends who have miscarried before me. I figure saying the right thing is better late than never. And I still believe that, for me, saying at least something, even if it's wrong, is still better than total silence.

So no, pregnancy loss isn't just a bump in the road. It's more like coming to a screeching halt, careening the car onto a side road you didn't even see. And no matter what you do, you will never be able to turn the car around and get back on your journey. Somehow, you have to pull yourself together and figure out how you fit on this new journey. And maybe, just maybe, one day, you'll even grow to enjoy the view.