Grief

Grieving as a Couple: Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness

KIM BARNES | CONTRIBUTOR Twenty-two years ago, I was twenty-three weeks pregnant with our third child. During a routine check-up, my obstetrician discovered that our baby’s heart wasn’t beating. We were heartbroken. That evening, I was admitted to the hospital to induce labor, and by the next morning, I delivered our stillborn baby girl—Hannah. She was tiny, but fully formed. There were no visible problems—nothing to explain what had gone wrong. God had numbered her days. My husband and I held her in our arms, said our goodbyes, and felt the anguish of never getting to know her this side of eternity. The following summer, we were overjoyed to learn I was pregnant again. It felt like a miracle after the four years of infertility we experienced before our first child was born. But this pregnancy, our fourth, was marked by both joy and apprehension. We were deeply grateful but also carried the scars of our previous loss. One day, while twenty-six weeks along, I felt anxious. The baby’s movements seemed less frequent, but I assumed it was just my grief from losing Hannah making me overly cautious. I decided to visit the doctor, hoping for reassurance, but it wasn’t the news I hoped for. The next day, I delivered another stillborn baby girl. We named her Charity. The weight of grief was unbearable—we couldn’t believe it was happening again. In the United States, 1 out of every 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage, and 1 in every 160 pregnancies ends in stillbirth. October is Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month, and it is also the month we lost our baby, Hannah. It’s a time for remembrance, reflection on God’s faithfulness, and considering what we learned through these tragic losses...

Grieving as a Couple: Infant and Pregnancy Loss AwarenessChristina Fox2024-09-30T14:00:44+00:00

A Backwards Birth Into Heaven

SUSAN TYNER | CONTRIBUTOR I watched my Daddy be born into Heaven today. We were all around him as he lay dying in his bed at home. I squeezed his hand on one side while Mama grasped the other, my sister balancing on the mattress at his head while my brother held his feet. With our spouses and his many grandchildren crowded around, we sat with him one more time in his bedroom. We were no strangers to this room—there for about fifty years we had yelled at Ole Miss football games on the TV, nursed coffee during early morning talks, climbed into the warm covers while he read his Bible in a close by chair, even played tic-tac-toe in lotion on his back. Decades of normal breathing and living. And so, it was a blessing that when he needed to die, we could be in that familiar-made-sacred space together. I never saw someone die before, and it’s amazing how the human body will struggle to stay alive. We held our breaths as we counted his. He would pause breathing and we would look at each other, is this it? only to see him gasp air again. This happened so many times that once we laughed because it got comical for such a heavy moment—or maybe we just needed to release a tension we were not used to holding for so long. The hospice staff told us he could hear us even though he couldn’t respond, and Daddy proved them right when he squeezed Mama’s hand, responding that he loved her. His clavicle strained just like my little boy’s did when he had croup. We felt his pulse slow, lagging only a little behind his breath. At some point we attempted to comfort him by reciting Psalm 23 as a group. I think we added thirty minutes to his life because we flubbed it so bad my mom had to take over like the school teacher she is. Again, we laughed. How terrible for Daddy to hear us collectively fail a basic test when he had invested his adult life teaching us the Bible. Here we had been telling him to go and not worry about us and he’s lying there thinking, WHAT? My kids can’t even remember The Lord is My Shepherd?? What kind of shape am I leaving them in? Then, although we knew he was leaving, it was weird when in one moment after midnight, he did not catch his breath. Suddenly, he was gone. And, we did not feel like laughing anymore but going to our corners of the house to be quiet and do whatever one does after watching your role model leave your world. What seemed like only moments later, the funeral home is on site, desecrating our sacred bedroom. As I fill out paperwork, the hospice nurse tells me that Daddy, who practiced medicine for the hospice company, actually had worked earlier that week for them. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He pushed and tackled cancer’s pain the way he played linebacker at Bentonia High School. Whether it was football, medicine, church, or a good Mississippi snow day, Will Thompson left it all on the field. Why would his death week be any different? I see them put Daddy’s body in a plastic bag. As a doctor, he saw death a lot and this scene would not shock him. I did not know at the time it was shocking me. I assumed my head knowledge that he was in a better place would inoculate me from shock—that the theology I had been taught would cushion the impact grief causes....

A Backwards Birth Into HeavenChristina Fox2024-05-31T15:52:57+00:00

The Lament of Jesus

LISA WALLOVER|GUEST Christians are Resurrection People. We truly are. Every Easter morn, pastors around the world declare, “He is risen!” And all God’s people say, “He is risen, indeed!” Truly, every Sunday is that celebration! We serve a risen Savior. The tomb is empty. Life is full. Death, where is your sting? Except. Except that life still stings, sometimes. Maybe more than sometimes. Our hearts can be heavy. We are weary from the lingering weight of sin—around us, and within. To lament is to express to God that sadness that sits in our souls. I wonder if we are sometimes hesitant to lament because it somehow seems “unfaithful” to admit that sorrow can feel bigger than we are. Perhaps it even feels bigger than God. Is it possible that it is in this sorrow where we might meet God most closely? That He is there, waiting, because He deeply understands? That in our grief over sin and its effect, we may actually reflect God’s design and God’s heart? That in the midst of our sorrow we are “conformed to the image of His Son”? Isaiah wrote a description of the coming Messiah that sounds more like defeat than deliverance: He was to be “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Is. 53:3). And yet, this is the way of the gospel. The path toward the joy and victory of the empty tomb goes through the grief of Gethsemane and pain of Golgotha. It travels through our own grief and pain as well. Our God understands sadness. The sorrow that Jesus felt, He felt perfectly. Completely. How grateful we can be that the Gospel writers share His lament. Jesus wept at the tomb of His friend, Lazarus...

The Lament of JesusChristina Fox2023-08-15T13:41:29+00:00

How Job Teaches Us to Grieve With Hope

MARISSA BONDURANT|GUEST “Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:20-21). In February of 2019 my husband taped a sign on our refrigerator that said, “It’s been 0 days since an incident in this home.” He was trying to bring some levity to a horrible week for our family. One thing after another occurred and we were exhausted from dealing with all the emergencies. I remember feeling on edge with the thought of, “What’s next?” On a much bigger scale, Job understood what it was like to receive one tragic report after another. In Job 1:13 a messenger arrives and tells Job about the Sabeans who came, taking all his oxen and donkeys and destroying his servants. While he was still talking, another messenger entered and told Job that fire consumed all his sheep. While he was still talking, a third messenger inform him that his camels were stolen and more servants killed. And while that messenger was still talking, a fourth comes in and tells Job that all his children perished in a horrible house collapse. His children, his livelihood, his finances… all gone in a single day. How did Job react? And how can his response encourage us in our sufferings today?...

How Job Teaches Us to Grieve With HopeChristina Fox2023-03-24T17:51:13+00:00

A Living Grief

HEATHER MOLENDYK|CONTRIBUTOR Hot water pounds my shoulders. I reach to turn the temperature hotter, desperate for the heat to stop the shivering in my bones. Although I am completely alone, my arms hug my naked chest in a protective gesture. They attempt to hold the broken pieces of my heart together. They utterly fail. The crumpling starts with my face before traveling down my vulnerable form. Dry sobs push up through my throat, contorting my mouth in a silent scream. There I stand completely alone, body raging against the guttural pain of grief, and unable to catch my breath before the next wave of tears push past my clenched eyes. To say that losing a loved one is hard is like saying an erupting volcano causes landscaping inconveniences. The exit of one you love always leaves a hole. Others may make substitutions. Others may offer what they can. But just like the uniqueness of individual snowflakes, each person in our lives contributes a special touch that only their fingerprints can make. We all know that life – no matter how vibrant and impactful – is always temporary. Each person is destined for eternity somewhere else. No one is guaranteed tomorrow. No one can live forever. That’s what each carved stone whispers to us from the cemetery. To dust we all return. No one is exempt...

A Living GriefChristina Fox2023-03-24T17:51:56+00:00

A Time to Mourn

JESSICA ROAN | GUEST She really was extraordinary—funny, loving, and firm when she needed to be. If a perfect teacher exists, she would be at the top of the list, in our house anyway. Thankfully for us, our younger son was in her class, not once, but twice. When we found out he would have his kindergarten teacher again for 5th grade, we were elated. The unpredictability of 2020 was especially difficult for him. While we couldn’t be sure which activities, even school itself, would go on, we could be sure about one thing: Mrs. W. And she delivered—suddenly breaking into song, encouraging dance-offs, dressing up in wild costumes. If there was anything an 11-year-old would love, she did it. Now that life has resumed some normalcy, we have tried to embrace change. My boys started new schools this year. While they were excited to move on to new adventures, the subtle dread of leaving this enjoyable relationship behind haunted us all. My son periodically says, “I miss Mrs. W.” After six great years under her tutelage, we all miss her. We mourn this transition in our lives. Mourning comes in all shapes and sizes. Not only has our family mourned transitions, we’ve mourned broken relationships, and the passing of dear family members. Life is filled with losses and each one brings us great grief.

A Time to MournChristina Fox2023-03-24T18:10:27+00:00

Grieving the Loss of a Baby? You Are Not Alone

LAURA BOOZ|GUEST The banquet room sparkled with excitement as waiters removed our dinner plates and topped off steaming cups of coffee. I reached toward the center of the table and selected a dish of chocolate mousse. I was attending a bloggers’ conference with hundreds of women from all over the country who loved the Lord and wanted to reach others through blogging. We networked with one another and attended sessions about how to write compelling content, attract readers, and manage the technical side of writing online. The room relaxed as we rearranged our chairs to enjoy a warm drink and listen to the evening keynote address. We applauded as Angie Smith made her way up to the stage. I couldn’t believe that she was speaking at this conference. I had just read I Will Carry You, a book Angie Smith wrote about carrying her baby, Audrey, to term, despite the doctor’s prognosis that her daughter wouldn’t live long after birth. Audrey did, in fact, die shortly after birth. The book is heartbreaking and helpful. Here was Angie, at the blogging conference that would keep me occupied as my baby’s due date came and went. I originally thought I would have to miss the conference because I would be in my hometown delivering a full-term baby, healthy and happy. But I had delivered my baby four months ago. She was stillborn. Earlier in the evening, I had introduced myself to Angie and told her how much her book meant to me. She listened intently, as if I were the only grieving mother in the world. She hugged me and looked in my eyes and asked, “What is your baby’s name?”...

Grieving the Loss of a Baby? You Are Not AloneChristina Fox2023-03-24T18:15:20+00:00

Letting Go of My Mother and Friend

PATSY KUIPERS|GUEST God blessed me with the gift of a godly mother, a blessing that would impact my life in innumerable ways over the six decades we shared. Raised as an only child after my baby sister passed away, my bond with Mom was strong and multi-faceted. She could be a firm disciplinarian, but she was also my best friend and closest confidant. When my 39-year-old husband, Ray, passed away suddenly, Mom and Dad moved to Georgia to help me and my then 7- and 10-year-old daughters navigate life without our beloved husband and father. In the ensuing 24 years, my daughters, son-in-law, and three grandchildren also benefitted from her selfless, unconditional love and unwavering faith. I couldn’t imagine life without her. As a child, I would sometimes hope we’d die together in an accident of some sort. Little did I know then that a day would come when I’d sit by her hospital bed and plead with the Lord to take her Home. But it did. Role Reversal Unlike my husband’s sudden, unexpected loss, I lost Mom bit by bit over the last few years of her life. Tiny but determined, she continued to take care of her home and loved ones even as arthritis and osteoporosis took a greater and greater toll on her physically. Then came some red-flag moments signaling a decline in her mental abilities— her request for help balancing her checkbook even though she’d worked in banking for years, the inability to successfully bake a cake she’d made countless times over 50 years. Those moments alarmed and saddened me. Gradually, our roles shifted as I assumed more caregiving activities. Mom would often tell others, “I don’t know what I’d do without Patsy. She’s the mother now.” Or she’d tell me, “Thank you for your help. I can’t ever repay you.” I’d remind her, every time, of the years she’d invested in my children and me, lavishing so much love and care on us, and that if we were keeping accounts, I’d be the one forever in her debt. Bound by love, we knew there was no record-keeping between us. Yet, there was a growing sense of sorrow as we experienced our changing roles and limits on what we could do together...

Letting Go of My Mother and FriendChristina Fox2023-03-24T18:15:27+00:00

Delicious Despair 201

ANN MAREE GOUDZWAARD|CONTRIBUTOR My entire backyard burst with the colors of spring. Everything bloomed. It was a perfect, 70-degree day and the landscape showed off. I looked out my window and saw the wicker chairs scattered under the pergola and balloons dotted on the boulders strategically situated throughout the yard. When we invested in landscaping last year, I had visions of hosting joyful events. The picturesque backdrop was perfect for a tea party or bridal shower. In fact, we planned to host a “baby sprinkle” for my daughter that very day. (A “sprinkle” is a baby shower for couples who already have children.) Cori and Brett had all they needed for two kids, but then they found out they were expecting twins. So, we planned a sprinkle to help them provide for multiple babies. We hosted a memorial for the twins (Deacon and Hallie) that day instead. In 2020, the pandemic reminded us to preface our plans with “if the Lord wills.” Everyone’s agenda hit a “hard stop,” and we realized how precarious goals are. For our family, 2021 ushered in the opportunity to experience that truth in real time. My husband and I planned for chaotic bliss in adding a twelfth and thirteenth grandchild to our already bustling family. Together with our other children, we coordinated our calendars to support Cori and Brett at her due date. God had another plan. The Lord willed something different. Something more difficult. An accommodation we had no idea we would need to make. And so began my education in grief. What’s essential in the grief process is to try and grasp God’s redemptive plans. This takes time. It may even last indefinitely. In Delicious Despair 101, I wrote that Martin Luther fully expected the pain of suffering to result in a transformation.[1] For instance, in opposition to the “first step” of grief (denial)[2], candor looks suffering in the face and says, “Yes, that really happened.” Candor acknowledges devastation, but it also asks, “Now what do I do?” Wallowing in self-pity over the events God ordains is antithetical to biblical grieving. In 1 Thess. 4:13, Paul instructs mourners not to grieve as those without hope. So, we must keep moving through our grief and actively seek wisdom to reinterpret what happened as perfect and good...

Delicious Despair 201Christina Fox2023-03-24T18:18:06+00:00

Delicious Despair

ANN MAREE GOUDZWAARD|CONTRIBUTOR It was date night. My husband and I were enjoying our first outing in over a year. Our favorite restaurant looked a lot more like a family night; kids and babies were everywhere. My eyes kept connecting with the sweet baby boy at the table next to us. He was cooing in his daddy’s arms while his father gently rocked him. He was content despite all the commotion. I’ve never been much of a baby person. I prefer hanging out with teenagers. But ever since my twin grandchildren were born and passed too soon, I’ve found my eyes lingering on chubby cheeks and toothless smiles. Deacon and Hallie’s brief life outside the womb created an emptiness in my arms for something I had but lost. The void is overwhelming. So, instead of growing impatient with the noise of children and a baby’s laughter, I smiled. As we were leaving, I turned to stand and saw the baby boy seated in a Bumbo on his table happily eating his dinner. I smiled at him. He smiled at me. But, in a flash my joy turned into ugly tears because, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a second Bumbo. Seated next to the baby boy was his sister. His twin sister. My eyes went back and forth between them. Was I seeing correctly? Were twins really sitting right in front of me? Torrents of grief washed over me. I couldn’t stand. I looked to my husband to confirm the scene. He saw the shock in my eyes. He wrapped his arm around my heaving shoulders and helped me walk out of the restaurant. I barely made it to the car. In an instant, I found myself back to square one. Denial. It’s typically the first “step”[1] of grieving. It had only been a little over two weeks since our grandchildren’s death and, in a heartbeat, I was once again questioning, “Did that really happen? Did mourning really crash into our family’s world? Were the sweet little babies we expected to love and cradle ushered into the presence of God instead?” Grieving is not passive. Suffering isn’t something that just happens to you and then you ride a wave of emotions until the circumstances quell. Suffering is like school, and grieving is how we accomplish the coursework. It’s not the kind of education anyone willingly signs up for. But, when devastation enters our lives, we are automatically enrolled into the seminar on suffering. And, just as we would prepare for any class, we must download the syllabus and begin to faithfully complete the assignments...

Delicious DespairChristina Fox2023-03-24T18:20:13+00:00