It’s hard to be vulnerable. And today I am feeling very
vulnerable. Two years ago my friend and writing partner, Joy Freeman, and I sent
an email that eventually turned into a book about our experiences as grieving
mothers. And today, February 1, 2016 is the day that book is released.
I’m struggling with knowing that others will read words I
have poured out from my heart onto the page. THIS is the real me. All of my
doubts, anger, heartache, all of my stuff available for any and all to see. And
I can’t help but ask myself, what if someone says something about my experience
that is hurtful. There is already hurt there, what if more is piled on?
And I think of the five other clergywomen who have poured
their hearts out onto these pages, and revealed some of the hardest moments of
their lives…and they are vulnerable and real in those words too. They are
beautiful, gut wrenching stories. And, ultimately, they are stories that share
in the hope that is God…but for some of us it takes a while to get there.
And it’s just so hard to be so exposed. To share my wounds
with the world and say, ‘this is my heartache.’ But then I remember it’s not so
I can be judged, I’ve done that to myself plenty already. It’s so that other women
can see that wherever they are in their own story of loss/death, it is simply
where they are. There’s not a ‘right’ way or a ‘wrong’ way to grieve, to cope,
to create a new life out of the ashes of one’s most beautiful hopes.
We share our stories so that women who have not yet been
able to share their stories know they are not alone. That’s our purpose. We ARE
NOT ALONE.
My story began a little over thirteen years ago…
“As if, at the age of twenty-six,
the deaths of two of my children in their first trimester were not enough
heartache for one year, I faced my own morality too. Cancer. Now there is a
death word if there ever was one. I wondered more than once, were the previous
nine months a foreshadowing of the next year? During the only prenatal visit
with my third pregnancy my doctor discovered a lump in my neck. This was a
visit that began with hope and expectation of a future, not only my future but
also the future of my child. I was convinced before the appointment that this
child would live and I was determined everything would be okay. I felt my
appointment without significant worry, although there was a sliver of
uncertainty where complete confidence had once reigned. Everything seemed fine
with this baby, and my doctor gave reassurances that the lump was “probably
nothing,” but she wanted me to make appointments with others to “just make
sure.”
Even though I want to be, I am not
truly in control of what happens within my body. I can try to be by exercising,
eating right, and generally caring for my body, but really that just improves
the odds a bit. This journey has taught me that very difficult lesson. Within
the month I would find out that this baby, too, had died. And just a few short
months after that I would be diagnosed with thyroid cancer. For me, loss of children,
loss of self, loss of faith, and loss of health are all intertwined. I wanted
my body to nurture cells that would form into a baby—a living manifestation of
the love my husband and I had for each other. Instead, my womb denied life and
my body allowed cancer to flourish. Death prospered where life withered" (33).
Still A Mother:
journeys through perinatal bereavement is available through any bookseller.
I encourage you to visit www.judsonpress.com
or www.amazon.com if you would like a
preview or would like to order the book and share in our journey…
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