After Xavier died, and like most loss mamas, I dealt with so many triggers related to children. So, I did what I do best: avoid. I tried to completely insulate myself from them. No birthday parties. No babysitting. No baby showers. No potlucks or cookouts. Nothing.
As you can imagine, that became extremely isolating very quickly.
Between my church community and my stage in life, I cross paths with lots of children. Continuing to engage with my tribe of people and their children has been one of the most difficult things since losing our son, but I believe the Lord has provided me with the measure of grace I need to tend to these valued relationships.
In the midst of my isolation the Lord began to redefine my ideas about motherhood and family. He showed me the many ways that I was already doing the mothering I had hoped to do with Xavier. My mama heart grew many times over with love for the littles in my life. They have been so integral to my healing, and they remind me that God can use anything and anyone for his purposes. Here are a few of their stories.
Originally, his mama and I were due a week apart. As soon as I found out we were going to be pregnant together I knew we'd be great mom friends. Since we were so close in due dates, it stung even more after I had Xavier in September and she remained pregnant through February. Not only was I grieving the loss of my son, I grieved the friendship I thought we could've had. Eventually, I came to the realization that we could still be mom friends; it would just look different than I had imagined. If this friendship mattered to me I'd have to fight for it, and I was ready to do just that.
I invited her and her three kids—including the newborn baby boy--over for breakfast one weekday morning. While her daughters were enraptured in a Netflix show, I had a chance to share Xavier's birth story in detail with her. She shared her son's and I listened intently, learning for the first time of her own birth trauma and fears she carried with her through pregnancy. She told me she thought of Xavier almost every day as she watched her son grow and meet new milestones. It was one of the most healing and redemptive conversations I have ever had to date.
Her son was the first baby I held after losing Xavier--just long enough for him to spit up on me. It felt so normal and right; yes, strange and gross, but it made me feel like a mama. Loss mamas without living children go through most of our days feeling like invisible mothers. So when, after spending months with empty arms, I finally felt the weight of a baby against my chest, my heart was both broken and full all at once. Even now, when he catches me eye and his mouth spreads into a drool-covered grin, my heart swells.
To The One Who Remembers I'm a Mother
Back in October I helped organize an event at our church for #WaveofLight, a campaign to honor pregnancy and infant loss. It was a beautiful evening of worship, prayer, and lamentation. I invited one of my closest friends to attend and she brought her children, who were 3 and 5 at the time.
Though we had provided childcare, the kids ended up sitting in for most of the service. At one point she took them to the back of the room to see one of the art pieces we had installed. Attending families had written their child's name on a beautifully crafted card and clipped it to tree branches placed in a tall vase. She explained that the babies’ names on the tree were babies who were in heaven and showed them where I had written Xavier's name. Her son, the oldest, looked up at her and said without hesitation, "Tia is still a mommy."
In such a small moment, the Lord had used this child to reaffirm and remind me of my motherhood. I know there is much debate over when it is appropriate to talk with children about death, and honestly I still haven't quite figured out my position on that. But one thing I know without a doubt: children see us. They hear us. They watch us. They can tell when we are angry or frustrated and sad. And, at some level, they get it. They get it in a way that adults don't give them enough credit for.
Despite his youth, he was able to hold both truths in his tiny hands at once: Yes, Xavier died. But Tia is still a mama. It is such profound truth, and I'm so blessed to have this precious, empathetic little man in my life.
To The One Who Likes My Yellow Necklace
As she was getting restless during Sunday church service, one of my favorite, spirited, little girls climbed into my lap. Her little hands gingerly touched the necklace I was wearing. As she twirled the forget me not charm around her fingers, she whispered, "Where's your yellow necklace?"
"Huh? Yellow necklace?" I whispered back.
She nodded emphatically. "The yellow necklace with letters on it."
I smiled. She was referring the gold bar necklace Victor had gotten me for Christmas after Xavier died. His name is engraved on it, and I vaguely recalled telling her what it said weeks before when she asked.
"Oh! That's at home," I answered. "I wanted to wear this one today. I thought it looked better with my dress." She studied my face for a few seconds and then, with her signature impish grin, countered, "I like the yellow one better."
Perhaps she just likes the fact she can point out letters she recognizes on the necklace. She may not even connect the letters to the baby I birthed and held in my arms. But that small little conversation, whispered in hushed tones, spoke volumes to my heart. Littles are listening, and they remember.
Even when we think they don't get it, they can surprise us in the best ways.
As you can imagine, that became extremely isolating very quickly.
Between my church community and my stage in life, I cross paths with lots of children. Continuing to engage with my tribe of people and their children has been one of the most difficult things since losing our son, but I believe the Lord has provided me with the measure of grace I need to tend to these valued relationships.
In the midst of my isolation the Lord began to redefine my ideas about motherhood and family. He showed me the many ways that I was already doing the mothering I had hoped to do with Xavier. My mama heart grew many times over with love for the littles in my life. They have been so integral to my healing, and they remind me that God can use anything and anyone for his purposes. Here are a few of their stories.
To The First One I Held
I invited her and her three kids—including the newborn baby boy--over for breakfast one weekday morning. While her daughters were enraptured in a Netflix show, I had a chance to share Xavier's birth story in detail with her. She shared her son's and I listened intently, learning for the first time of her own birth trauma and fears she carried with her through pregnancy. She told me she thought of Xavier almost every day as she watched her son grow and meet new milestones. It was one of the most healing and redemptive conversations I have ever had to date.
Her son was the first baby I held after losing Xavier--just long enough for him to spit up on me. It felt so normal and right; yes, strange and gross, but it made me feel like a mama. Loss mamas without living children go through most of our days feeling like invisible mothers. So when, after spending months with empty arms, I finally felt the weight of a baby against my chest, my heart was both broken and full all at once. Even now, when he catches me eye and his mouth spreads into a drool-covered grin, my heart swells.
To The One Who Remembers I'm a Mother
Back in October I helped organize an event at our church for #WaveofLight, a campaign to honor pregnancy and infant loss. It was a beautiful evening of worship, prayer, and lamentation. I invited one of my closest friends to attend and she brought her children, who were 3 and 5 at the time.
Though we had provided childcare, the kids ended up sitting in for most of the service. At one point she took them to the back of the room to see one of the art pieces we had installed. Attending families had written their child's name on a beautifully crafted card and clipped it to tree branches placed in a tall vase. She explained that the babies’ names on the tree were babies who were in heaven and showed them where I had written Xavier's name. Her son, the oldest, looked up at her and said without hesitation, "Tia is still a mommy."
In such a small moment, the Lord had used this child to reaffirm and remind me of my motherhood. I know there is much debate over when it is appropriate to talk with children about death, and honestly I still haven't quite figured out my position on that. But one thing I know without a doubt: children see us. They hear us. They watch us. They can tell when we are angry or frustrated and sad. And, at some level, they get it. They get it in a way that adults don't give them enough credit for.
Despite his youth, he was able to hold both truths in his tiny hands at once: Yes, Xavier died. But Tia is still a mama. It is such profound truth, and I'm so blessed to have this precious, empathetic little man in my life.
To The One Who Likes My Yellow Necklace
As she was getting restless during Sunday church service, one of my favorite, spirited, little girls climbed into my lap. Her little hands gingerly touched the necklace I was wearing. As she twirled the forget me not charm around her fingers, she whispered, "Where's your yellow necklace?"
"Huh? Yellow necklace?" I whispered back.
She nodded emphatically. "The yellow necklace with letters on it."
I smiled. She was referring the gold bar necklace Victor had gotten me for Christmas after Xavier died. His name is engraved on it, and I vaguely recalled telling her what it said weeks before when she asked.
"Oh! That's at home," I answered. "I wanted to wear this one today. I thought it looked better with my dress." She studied my face for a few seconds and then, with her signature impish grin, countered, "I like the yellow one better."
Perhaps she just likes the fact she can point out letters she recognizes on the necklace. She may not even connect the letters to the baby I birthed and held in my arms. But that small little conversation, whispered in hushed tones, spoke volumes to my heart. Littles are listening, and they remember.
Even when we think they don't get it, they can surprise us in the best ways.
Dedicated to all the joyful littles in my life.
May you continue to be curious, quirky, passionate,
fiery, and tenderhearted ministers of the Gospel.
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Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me
and do not hinder them, for to such belongs
the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 19:14
Beautiful! For me the hardest part of grief was the isolation. Many good people, wanting me to be the old "Matthea", said very hurtful things. I started avoiding them too. In the end, I lost their friendship. I realize now, I'll never be the old "Matthea". When a child is born, we are changed. People understand that when we are holding a little bundle of joy. But when our child dies, our arms are empty, and wrongly, others assume that we are not changed by the life of our child. Kai changed my life in a thousand different ways. Thank you for sharing your article "We lost our baby, but we didn't want to lose our marriage." Not being able to forgive my husband for getting a vasectomy two weeks before Kai's death was my biggest fear. God was good to us, and walked us through learning to love one another more than we love ourselves.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for reaching out Matthea. You are so right about the isolation and the fact that we will never be the "old" versions of ourselves. Kai is such a beautiful name; praying for you and your husband as you continue journeying together.
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