Category Archives: Child Loss

When it’s So Difficult to Pray

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I often hear newly bereaved parents say, “I just can’t seem to pray at the moment.” Yes, I remember feeling the same way in those early weeks after our baby Thomas died. When we need prayers most, why is it so difficult to concentrate and pray?

I tried to pray the Rosary. I’d sit with my beads and begin, but my thoughts would wander away after the first few words. Eventually I’d realise I wasn’t praying at all. I was thinking about Thomas.

I confided my problem to my close friend, Sarah and she kindly said, “But Sue, we will pray for you. That’s what we’re here for. Don’t worry.” This brought me a lot of comfort. I am so grateful for the people who prayed for me. But still I was concerned. Why couldn’t I pray? I needed God. I had to pray.

A long time later, I realised I was actually praying during those traumatic and difficult days. I was praying non-stop. I was just praying in an unaccustomed way.

For weeks, all I could think about was my son. Thomas consumed every thought. I thought about him all day. I went to bed thinking about him. I woke up thinking about him. Nothing else was important. And what I was thinking about most of all was, “Why?” Why did God allow my baby to die when I wanted him so much? Why didn’t God answer my prayers?  Was I unworthy? I was suffering like I’d never suffered before and I was trying to make sense of it all.

Then I realised my thoughts of Thomas were bound up completely with God. I was trying to make sense of my suffering, but no answer was possible without Him. I was having an unending conversation with God.

Living continually in God’s presence? That’s something we all try to do. I think that’s exactly what I was doing during those early weeks of sorrow. Despite thinking it was so difficult for me to pray, I was actually praying constantly. I was praying like I’d never prayed before.

And though I felt far, far away from God, I am sure He was there holding me so very close. He was right there beside me, listening to my prayers… the prayers I was unaware I was even praying.

 

Please feel welcome to visit my blog, Sue Elvis Writes, to share more of my grief posts.

To Whom Shall I Go?

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The day after Thomas’ funeral I visited Father F.

“I feel so angry with God,” I confessed. “All the doctors told me that there was little possibility that Thomas would live after birth, but I refused to accept that. I told them that there was a greater Power than them. I insisted God could heal our baby.”

I had on many occasions voiced my faith in God. The doctors had looked at me with pity. Why wouldn’t I just accept their prognosis? Why did I keep burying my head in the sand, unable to accept reality? They didn’t think God would help me. I hoped so much He would.

But the doctors had been right and I’d been wrong. God hadn’t come to my rescue.

“God just doesn’t care about me,” I said to Father. “He doesn’t love me. Why did He allow such suffering when I was willing to profess my faith in Him? It wasn’t easy going out on a limb telling those doctors I had full confidence in God. Maybe they thought I was crazy.”

And then I said, “I’ve decided I’m never going to Mass again.”

Father told me a story. When he was a seminarian in Vietnam, he was imprisoned with other seminarians and priests. All he’d wanted to do was give his life to God and God had allowed Father F to be imprisoned. It didn’t seem fair. He wanted to do good work for God and there he was shut up in a cell. He had survived by eating rats. He had suffered. And he felt that God had abandoned him. “I thought that God didn’t care about me at all,” he finished.

Then Father gave me a hug, a hug from one sufferer to another. Tears flowed down my face and my body shook and Father held me. He understood.

A few minutes later, I dried my eyes and attempted a smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at Mass on Sunday after all,” I said.

Father smiled. Yes, he understood.

I think about the apostles when Jesus said they must eat His flesh and drink His blood if they wanted eternal life.

After this many of his disciples drew back and no longer went about with him. Jesus said to the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life; and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” 

“To whom shall we go?” The apostles didn’t understand but they knew Jesus alone had the words of eternal life. He was the Son of God and they believed.

I also didn’t understand. Why did God allow Thomas to die? I had tried so hard to stand up and proclaim my Faith in Him. Why was I suffering? I had no idea but I knew I had to trust Him.

So I turned to God. There was nowhere else for me to go. For who else could bring me through the pain? I knew I couldn’t survive on my own. I needed God.

And He didn’t let me down. I survived.

One day, I am sure, just like the apostles, I will understand why God allowed Thomas to die. Even now, I catch glimpses of the meaning of God’s plan. But to understand fully is no longer important. “You have the words of eternal life and we have believed.” I believe. That is all that really matters.

If you would like to share more of my grief stories, please visit my blog Sue Elvis Writes

National Infant loss Awareness

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 October is National Respect life month and National Infant loss Awareness month. Please consider making a donation to ” Back In His Arms Again” a ministry that helps nearly 80 families a month in the Columbus area through infant loss. For more information please visit our NEW web site at www.backinhisarmsagain.com to learn more about our services and how you might be able to help or donate. We are most grateful for you response to this growing need in our community.
When making a donation. Go to our new web site…….hit the DONATE tab at the top and follow instructions!
God Bless,

Kambra Malone
President/CEO
Back in His Arms Again

614.906.3115
www.backinhisarmsagain.com

God Can Do Anything

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A few weeks after our baby died, we took our other children to the beach in an attempt to relieve the heaviness of grief. Just for a few hours we wanted to forget the pain and do something normal and happy, and see our children’s faces light up with delight.

As they splashed in the lagoon and built sand castles, I wandered to the edge of the sea, and stood quietly by myself. I watched the waves rolling in one after another, breaking onto the shore and over my feet. The bright sunlight glinted off the water. A refreshing salty breeze lifted my hair.

For a long time I stared out at the horizon, oblivious to everything but the ocean. It was so vast and seemed unending. It was magnificent and powerful and beautiful. And while I stood there on the sand, I saw God:

All-knowing

All-loving

Almighty

and eternal.

I was a mere grain of sand standing before a God who is so enormous, He goes on and on forever, without end.  I am one tiny soul in the universe of creation but despite this, I was aware I was still important. God was looking at me, and He knew all about my grief.

My whole body throbbed with pain. I could do nothing about my suffering. But I knew that my all-consuming grief was nothing compared to God. All He had to do was blow one tiny breath, very gently over me, and I would be healed. God could do that. He can do anything.

God reached down, scooped me up, and wrapped me in Love. And hope washed through me. I prayed.

Of course, my grief didn’t vanish in a moment while I stood on that beach looking out at the waves. I wasn’t healed in an instant. But I began to hope. Whenever I was tempted to believe that nothing would ever defeat my grief, I thought of the never-ending ocean and I remembered…

God is the Creator of everything,

For He made all things from nothing:

He is the Holy One,

A Mystery Awesome and Wondrous,

The Supreme Being, the Supreme Spirit,

All-knowing, All-loving, Almighty and Eternal.

God can wipe away any pain. God can heal. God can do anything.

I blog at Sue Elvis Writes. Please feel welcome to visit and share more of my posts.

God did not consider me unworthy

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Thomas was born one day and he died the next. I came home to grieve amongst friends. Many of those friends had babies in their arms, and I couldn’t help wondering why God had given them the gift of healthy children, and not me. Had I done something wrong? Did He really love me? I felt abandoned and worthless.

One day, I came across some words of St Clotilde. She wrote them at the time of the death of her first born child, immediately after his baptism. She said:

“I give thanks to Almighty God that He had not considered me unworthy to be the mother of a child admitted into the celestial kingdom. Having quitted the world in the white robe of his innocence, he will rejoice in the presence of God through all eternity.”

I thought about these words for a long time. Could it be that God wasn’t punishing me at all? Did God in fact choose me to be Thomas’ mother? Had He considered me worthy enough to be the mother of a saint?

Yes, God sent me a beautiful, precious, innocent soul, to grow within me, to be born, to be baptised and confirmed, and then to be returned back to Him. God gave that difficult task to me. Although I didn’t think I could fulfil that task, with God’s help, I did.

When Thomas died, many people tried to console me with the quick and thoughtless words, “But you have a saint in heaven!” I felt so angry. What was a saint compared with a baby in arms? I wanted to be like my friends. I wanted to be the mother of a live and healthy baby.

That was then, but now…

I think about having a saint in heaven. Thomas is already rejoicing in the presence of God. He is waiting for me. God gave me a great gift. Knowing this doesn’t take away the pain and the grief. My heart still yearns for my son. But it does remind me that…

God does love me. God did not consider me unworthy.

………………………………………………………………………………….

Prayer to St Clotilde:

 Hail, gentle and loving St. Clotilde, sweet illustrious Queen of the Franks, who by thy faith and perseverance in the Lord didst convert thy husband and made France for many centuries a venerable stalwart of the Catholic faith, I implore thy powerful intercession in this my great need.

 Assist me, holy St. Clotilde, from thy height of glory in heaven. Thou, who during thy earthly sojourn, didst drink deeply from the Saviour’s chalice of sorrows, have pity on my dire distress, especially . . . (Here make your intention).

Grant also that through my sorrows I may, like thee, purify my faith and never lose hope in the mercy of God. Amen.

……………………………………………………………………….

Perhaps you’d like to share my story My Starring Role and other grief stories on my blog Sue Elvis Writes. Please feel welcome to visit.

 

One Day at a Time

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I open my eyes, and I immediately realise that nothing has changed overnight. There is still a huge ache in my chest, and one all-consuming thought in my mind: Thomas. Although it is still very early- the sun has hardly risen – I know I have to get up. If I stay in bed, I will start to think about my baby. I will wonder if I will survive Thomas’ death and the tears will again begin to flow. I don’t want to start the day in a melancholy mood without hope, so I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get moving.

I shower and dress and eat breakfast automatically, and soon I find myself standing in the kitchen. A wave of grief sweeps through me, but I set my lips firmly together and I banish all thoughts of my baby. Instead, I think about washing the dishes.

But a voice says, “Give in. Cry!”

And the tears start to seep from my eyes.

“Who can be expected to shoulder this burden? It’s too much. No one cares that you’re hurting so much. Give in. It will never get any better.”

The tears are flowing freely now and I sob. I want to sink to the floor, allowing my misery to overcome me. I want to cry, “It’s all too difficult. I’ve had enough.” I want to despair.

But I don’t.

I start to say, “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in the battle.

Be our protection against the malice and the snares of the devil…”

I put one foot in front of the other and keep going, and somehow I make it through this difficult moment.  I call upon St Michael the Archangel many times, and I keep moving through the day, until it finally ends.

As I climb into bed, I think about the next day and the next and the next… How long will I have to keep struggling through this dark grief-filled world? Will it really get any better?

And then I realise something. I have survived another day.

I hear a voice, “Don’t look ahead. Take one day at a time. That’s all you have to do. You’re doing well.”

And I reply, “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in the battle.
Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host,
by the Divine Power of God,
cast into hell Satan and all the other evil spirits
who roam through the world seeking the ruin of souls.

Please share more of my grief posts at my blog, Sue Elvis Writes

Keep Trusting

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When I found out that our unborn baby was unlikely to live after birth, I truly believed God could heal him. I knew He had the power to fix Thomas’ diaphragmatic hernia and save me from so much suffering. But would He?

I pleaded with God. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I threw myself down before Him and asked Him to have pity on me. “I am not strong enough for this, Lord. I am so weak. I will never survive.”

But although I had full confidence in God’s power to perform miracles, I had to face the fact He might not grant one to me. I might have to give birth to my child, hold him as he died, bury him, and then grieve. In some ways, this seemed the most likely thing to happen.

And that’s what did happen. God chose not to heal my baby, Thomas. He chose not to spare me the deep pain of bereavement. He chose to let me, in all my weakness, suffer.

I look back over the years to Thomas’ death. I remember the crushing weight of grief, the black sunless world I lived in for a long time, the near-despair that threatened to consume me. I think about the pain that still lives hidden deep within me. And I look at God and I say, “Thank you.”

Thank you for not granting me a miracle and letting me suffer.

I could never have willingly asked for suffering. God knew this but He sent it anyway. And through that suffering He has drawn me closer to Him; suffering has changed who I am; suffering has made me so aware of God’s love for me… I could write so much about how the pain of losing a child has affected my life.

I imagine going back in time, and God saying, “ I could grant you a miracle or … if you are willing to trust Me, I would like to take you on a journey, filled admittedly with deep pain, but also overflowing with grace and love. Don’t worry about being weak as I will be there to give you My strength. What will it be?”

And I hope I could say, “Give me Your strength, Lord. I am willing to go where You lead.”

I wish I could have said that years ago. But I couldn’t. I was far too afraid.

Telling the end of a story is not always helpful to those in the middle of the journey. “That’s all right for you, Sue. You’re no longer bowed down by the great heavy weight of grief. You no longer wonder if you’ll get through each day. You know you survived. But me?”

I reply, “Keep trusting.”

The words “Jesus, I trust in You” were constantly on my lips while I was grieving. Trust God who loves you so very much. Everything that He allows is in His plan for you. Accept, trust and you will survive. Will it be easy? No. But then nothing of value ever is. And God is the greatest Gift of all.

By receiving suffering, I lost Thomas. Or did I? No, I still have my child. Of course, Thomas is not here with me but he is waiting.

And one day I will be with Thomas. I will be with God. I will have everything.

Please share more of my grief stories on my blog Sue Elvis Writes

Notes from my journal {March 17, 2008}

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“Gabriel” is the name we gave to our child that we lost the end of July 2008. We really didn’t know if it was a boy or girl since his/her heartbeat stopped at 7 weeks, but we just had this *feeling* it was a boy. For the sake of simplicity, I will use “he”.

Gabriel would have been due today. My arms ache to hold him and there is a empty space in my heart. I wonder what he would of looked like and what it would be like to nurse and nuzzle a baby again. I wonder how Angeline would of reacted and picture her holding her new brother or sister. I long to see my husband holding a newborn again in wonder of this life we created together with God.

Despite this longing and the tears that fall as I write this, there is inner peace…peace in the knowledge that Chris and I have created, with God, a soul to eternally praise Him in Heaven. Isn’t this what we are called to do in the Sacrament of Marriage? This is a soul that is now looking upon the very face of God Himself and intercedes for us. This is a soul that will be spared the pains and trials of life on earth.

There is also peace in the knowledge that God’s will is perfect. God sees the *big picture* and knows what is most sanctifying for our souls.

I have been wearing a very delicate pendant with Gabriel’s birthstone that I obtained from this site that carries memorial jewelry for children lost during pregnancy. I will put it away today with a lovely poem that came with it, a picture Angeline made me and my last ultrasound picture of him. This is not in an effort to forget him, but to help me have closure. 

I will continue to speak to Gabriel in prayer and hold him close to my heart with the hope that one day we will finally meet and embrace in Heaven.

{Theresa lives out her vocation as wife, mother to four (and two in Heaven), Classical homeschooler, Secular Carmelite, and part-time ultrasonographer in Pennsylvania.  She shares her fumbling writings at my desert heart when the Spirit nudges her.}

I Will Praise Thee Forever and Ever

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My son Thomas died when he was one day old. That was nearly thirteen years ago. We’d have been celebrating his first teenage birthday this November. A teenager? We don’t really think of him as being that age. Somehow in our imaginations, he hasn’t grown up.

When I think of Thomas, I imagine him as I last saw him. He is a beautiful, precious, newborn baby with wispy hair and tiny fingers.

I wonder what Thomas would have looked like had he lived. One day I will meet him again in heaven. Will I recognise him?

When I return to my pew after receiving Holy Communion, I always whisper the Anima Christi to Jesus:

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.

Body of Christ, save me.

Blood of Christ, inebriate me.

Water from the side of Christ, wash me.

Passion of Christ, strengthen me.

O good Jesus, hear me.

Within Thy words, hide me.

Never permit me to be separated from Thee.

From the evil enemy, defend me…

As I come to the end of the prayer, I also spend a moment thinking about Thomas…

At the hour of my death call me;

And bid me come to Thee,

So that with Thy saints,

I may praise Thee forever and ever.

Amen…

I imagine Thomas waiting with Jesus to welcome me into heaven. Thomas is all grown up. He is a handsome young man. I worry we won’t recognise each other but then he says, “I love you, Mum!”

And I know that all the pain, the grief and the suffering are finally over. I am with Thomas and I am with Love.

And yes, with Thomas and all Thy saints, I will praise Thee forever and ever… Amen.

Please share more of my grief posts at my blog Sue Elvis Writes