Burying our Babies

When I lost my little Lily to miscarriage 10 years ago I really didn't know what to do.  Sure the doctor had given me clinical instructions.  I was given some pills and told to go home and I would 'pass the tissue' and it would be over.  She didn't tell me the pills she gave me would actually induce labor, I would labor at home for hours in pain, and then be left with a little corpse.  The actual baby she referred callously to as tissue.  Even in the latest planned parenthood videos they call the babies "babies".  But the doctor never told me what I was supposed to DO with my little baby once she came out.

The doctor looked into my tear stained, red, swollen face and told me to just pass the tissue at home.

 Once my miscarriage was over, what was I to do with the babies body?

The Real Story: Miscarriage

Every few weeks I seem to get a prayer request for a fellow mom who has lost an unborn baby because of miscarriage.  Each time I find myself re-living my own experience, and I pray that my St. Lily and all those who make up the Army of Baby Saints will pray for these grieving moms.  The loss of every child is a unique experience, but knowing that I was not alone in my suffering brought great comfort when I needed it most.  I thought it was time I shared gave back too, and shared about how Lily came to be and left before any of us were able to hold her.  This is our story.  This is her story.

When we got married, Bob wanted two kids and I wanted three.  He used to say we compromised and had three, but then Anna came along so now with four kids we just laugh...

But back in the days before JR and Gracie and Anna, there was just a Mom and a Dad, and a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes.  We took our little Anthony with us on an adventure from Arizona to Oregon for a temporary relocation associated with my husband's work.  It was a wonderful time away.  I always thought I wanted to live where it rained a lot, and I had visions of playing with Anthony at the park every morning while I sipped my coffee wrapped in a lovely wool sweater.  I didn't realize the park would always be mushy and muddy and the swings and slides would be wet.  But I digress.  When we were about 1/2 way through our 10 month stay we decided we should have another baby.  Anthony was about 16 months old and I was finishing off my dissertation, eager to graduate and be called Dr. Hackett, if only by my little guy. 

As with Anthony, I conceived fairly easily.  We only told family about the pregnancy 'in case something happened'.  I don't think we really had any idea what that even meant.

Parts is Parts...Pre and post surgical ramblings about reproduction.

I was recently told that I may need a hysterectomy.  Not that I DID need one, but that if my little surgery this week didn't resolve things, that a hysterectomy was the next step.

I am not freaking out.  I am contemplative. I think if I was just told "you need a hysterectomy" I would bypass the contemplative state and move into placation-mode.  If you are told that you must have some procedure, or you receive a diagnosis of some sort, you don't have the luxury of mulling over the idea.  You have to act. You are removed from the philosophical into the reality that you are experiencing.  So here I am with some time to really think about how I feel about all of this. Writing is how I do that and since I am a blogger you get to come along on this journey of the mind.

A while back I wrote a piece about my body falling apart.  It happens.  Five pregnancies in 8 years, 4 live births via c-section, and one miscarriage, takes its toll.  I wrote

And the answer is we fix what is broken, not because we don't like the way it looks 

but rather because it doesn't work any more  

Part of my body isn't working any more and sadly it concerns my reproductive organs.  So we are fixing what is broken and that may entail just removing it all.

I know in NFP circles we often joke about wanting to go through early menopause, but it really isn't such a great time.  It isn't a horrible time either, but it can be kind of rough.  Menopause following a hysterectomy comes on suddenly and can be a bit more rough.  Instead of your body slowing down product of hormones it just stops.  Hormone replacement can be helpful but now we are getting into the medical part of it all and that isn't my area of expertise.  Early menopause eliminates the need for NFP obviously because you aren't fertile any more so I have mixed feelings about that too (read more). 

I think with much in life we can look at things as good or bad, but sometimes they are neither.  

Is it bad that I may not be able to have more kids naturally? Is it good since we already have 4? Is this God's way of saying we should continue to look at fostering?

Maybe in situations like this what is good or bad is how we respond to it all.

Fertility is a gift.  It is not a right. It is not something to be taken advantage of nor is it something to be manipulated for our own selfish desires and measures. I know families with lots of kids (by Catholic standards even) who have as many or even more babies in heaven.  Most people don't even know that although their arm are full, they have shed many tears for those babies who they never met.  I have friends how have carried babies to term, only to bury those babies.   They think about those little souls every day.  I have friends who have adopted babies after struggling with fertility or miscarriages and those babies are every bit as much theirs as their biological babies.  Was it their plan? No, it was God's plan and He always has a better plan than ours!

When we look at a couple or a family we never know their story, their struggles, their private prayers, the suffering they have endured.  Life is a gift.  The ability to cooperate with God the Almighty in His plan for life in this world is an honor.

I guess as it all comes around and my pontificating comes to an end... I surrender my fertility to God just as I always have.  If I need to be done with stage of my life so be it.  There are many ways to be generative and life-giving and I have these little faces to remind myself of that ongoing assignment from the Lord.

Thanks for stopping by to think with me!
Post-script: My surgery went well! Thanks for your prayers.  They think they found the source of my pain but weren't able to resolve it.  I need another specialist to do that, but like this procedure it is simple and should have a quick recovery. 

How my baby saint brought me to The Church

A little over 10 years ago my husband and I experienced a life changing event.  We lost our little girl Lily at 13 weeks gestation.  I had already experienced one normal, and uncomplicated pregnancy, and I thought I had safely passed through the first trimester.  We traveled to Florida for a friend's wedding and to see my husband's Grandmother.  We had a marvelous time…until the night before we were to return home.  It was dreadful.  Another story for another day (which you can read here).  Today the story is all about that little baby saint and how she brought me to The Church.

So there we were.  My husband, our little toddler Anthony, and I.  We were living temporarily in cold, gloomy Oregon.  We had some great friends in Oregon, but all our family was back in Arizona.  My mom took the first flight to come be with us and stayed as long as she could.  But once she was gone, and the baby was gone, we were filled not with hope for our future, but rather with emptiness.

And my husband spoke some wise words

 "I think we should find someone to talk with"

All I could do was nod.

We made an appointment with Father Juan.  Upon moving to Oregon we did a little church shopping and landed at the Catholic church nearby.  It was pretty traditional looking and the music was horrible, but we felt very welcome which was important because I wasn't even Catholic.  My husband was a mostly-practicing cradle Catholic.  He ate meat on Fridays during Lent and missed an occasional mass to play golf, but he loved God and The Church.   I was a devout Protestant who had worked at my church, sang in the choir, even sat on the search committee for a new pastor when the old one (who was my dad's racket ball partner) retired.   Our church growing up was pretty liberal.  It was a community church, but felt more like a community center.  There were lovely people, and great potlucks, and lots of intergenerational interaction.  Everyone knew your name and everyone dressed up.  Church was fun, but not really spiritually challenging in any way.

Then we sat down with Father Juan.  And for the first time in my life I felt what it was like to be in the presence of the Holy Spirit.  It was amazing.

Father asked

"how do you feel right now?' 

I responded

"like I am all wrapped up in a warm blanket"

I literally felt His presence covering me with love.  I was able to ask him all those questions, like "why does this happen" and I got answers that spoke to both my mind and my soul.  He offered to hold a private mass for our little one, but since my husband was the only Catholic there we declined.  He prayed with us and for us.  He encouraged us to name her.  

Day by day things got better as my heart healed, and my mind grew more and more curious about this whole Catholic thing.  The Church recognized my baby - not just as a 13 week old fetus - but as a life to be both cherished and mourned.  They saw her as more than a 'mass of tissues' which is how the doctor had referred to her as.  The contrast between the way the medical community treated her and how the Church cherished her was stark.  

Which got me thinking… what do Catholics believe anyway? Why did the church ever split? I only had protestant answers and those weren't enough anymore because I had FELT SOMETHING in this priest's presence.  They had something that I didn't have.  

My heart pulled me to the Church, but my head wanted answers.  So I searched.  I was writing my dissertation during nap times then, so whenever I sent off a draft for review, I would have some down time to research.  And slowly the barriers to conversion were lifted through research.  

When we returned to AZ, I met with the RCIA director.  She explained the process to me and I discussed the few lingering reservations (NFP & transubstantiation).  She told me that I could start the program in the fall, and decide in the spring if it was something I was ready for.  All she asked was that I come with an open heart and open mind.  I sat down with my husband and announced my intentions, and asked him to be my sponsor.  I had intentionally kept him unaware of it all and he was shocked.  

My conversion needed to be about me, not him.  It needed to be about my relationship with the Lord, with my Savior.  I was worried that if I told him before I was ready to commit, he would try to convince me to convert.  I didn't want my conversion to be about pleasing him, but rather about pleasing the Lord.  There was a part of me that didn't want to tell ANYONE.  It was so personal.  It was so real.  It was so important.  

This Easter marks 8-years of being in full communion with the Church.  My conversion and my husbands re-version happened after 7 years of marriage, and gave us both individually and jointly a serious spiritual jolt.  We had answers to questions we didn't know existed.   Knowing finally WHY the church taught what it taught, and seeing the continuity in its teaching was great. I had the benefit of getting a life's worth of catechesis when my mind was ready for it.   We learned and grew and loved as a couple.  It was a beautiful experience.

Lily's short life and death brought me to Christ in the flesh, body, blood, soul, and divinity. It brought me to His Bride - His Church.  It brought me into communion with The Saints and His Mother.  My mind wasn't immediately convinced because it was ignorant, but my heart was pulled by my little saint.  During those months following her death I dug deep and searched for the rationale behind all the crazy things that I thought Catholics thought and believed.  I got past the stereotypes to the truth of the faith that has remained for thousands of years.  Lily got me to accept more from God.  She got me to accept the fullness of truth.

This Easter and the coming Pentecost my prayer for all of us is that we can set aside our pride, and allow our hearts to grow larger and accept more God.  May all of our hearts learn to conform to His will, not our own.  

Thanks for stopping by to think with me!