This post has been swirling all around my head for days. Yesterday, it swirled faster and faster. I decided that I need to get it out of my head and somewhere.
Why did it all start swirling faster yesterday? Because, yesterday, a little girl our family knows through our dance studio passed away. She passed away fighting a battle with a rare cancer. Finding her victory and healing in Heaven and in the arms of her Savior.
If you've read my intro post, or know me in real life, you know that our family has three babies waiting for us in heaven. My bio mentions those babies whenever I have to submit it for speaking events. I talk about my sweet alphabetically named babies earth-side and the three sweet babies awaiting us heaven-side.
If you meet me, it also doesn't take long for me to mention those three babies. The three babies are a part of our family and I've never been ashamed to talk about them and their lives. Albeit short lives, their lives mattered. Even though they took their first breaths in heaven and never one here on earth, their lives mattered. Our babies mattered and I won't ever not share about them.
I will be honest, though. Even though, I 100% think our babies and their lives and their place in our family is worth being shared and so very important. I have placed our loss of their lives lower than the loss of someone else's child. Someone else's child that breathed here on earth.
I thought that their loss had to be so much more than mine. I thought that maybe I was being too "dramatic" in how big I thought our loss was.
Then, in the summer of 2011, I attended a funeral of an 18 year old that died in an automobile accident. The line was long. I was holding it together pretty well, too. That is, until I heard a familiar gut wrenching screaming cry.
It was from the mom of the child that was killed in the accident. She was hugging a friend and the noise that came from her, came from the depths of her soul.
The scream was so familiar to me, because 2 summers before, and 4 years before that...I screamed those same screaming cries.
Hearing those screaming cries instantly put me back into the doorway between our kitchen and dining room and I could hear my own screaming cries echoing hers.
It hit me in that moment...the loss of a child. Is the loss of a child.
The loss of my children was NO LESS than the loss of her child. (and actually children, this wasn't her first devastating loss)
Her loss was 100% different. She held her sweet boy in her arms. She watched him grow into a young man. She was part of his life for 18 years.
But her loss was not any "more" than my loss. It was just a different loss.
I needed to get this post out of my head because I found myself feeling my losses were less important again. I can't imagine what sweet Sami's mom has been going through the last few years. Feeling so helpless. Not being able to just snap her fingers and help her daughter.
I can't imagine what it feels like to be told your child is actively dying. I've never had a child breathe on earth and then take the next breath in heaven. My children have all died in the safety of my womb.
I can't imagine watching and waiting for my child to take their last breath. Knowing it can be any single moment.
Sami's loss is huge to her family. Her loss will be felt by her parents and her brother and sister. They've gotten to know her for eleven years. They've done all that they could to help her and treat the cancer that wreaked havoc on her. Sami fought a beautiful fight against the cancer that tried so hard to slow her down.
Her loss, though, is not "more" than the loss of babies that have only been born to heaven. or babies who've lived seconds. or minutes. or hours. or a few years. or a lot of years.
Her loss is just different.
The loss. The pain. The everything of losing a child...is absolutely HORRIBLE. Downright stupid if you ask me.
There are no words that I can speak to her mom, or anyone else that has lost a child that will make anything better. The only words I have are "this sucks. a lot."
It does. It does suck. A LOT. More than a lot, even. There aren't words enough to express the magnitude of losing a child.
The loss of a child is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even my worst enemy.
The loss of a child puts you in a club you never asked to be in. You never researched membership...or inquired how to be part of it...you are just thrown right into it. Sometimes you "know" it will be coming. Other times you're completely blindsided at a doctor's appointment when they can't find a heartbeat. It doesn't matter how you gain access to the club, anyone that is part of the club would love to NOT be in it.
BUT. Those of us in the club. We are here for you. We are here for the new members thrown into a new and crazy moment of their lives. A moment of their life that will change every single part of the rest of their life.
My best advice? Find a member of the club and use them as a "person". A person that you can just reach out to and cry at. Talk to. Sit with. A person that doesn't know EXACTLY how you're feeling, but a person who has walked their own walk of loss.
You don't have to go through the loss alone. You don't have to hide your loss.
Your child's life mattered.
It mattered an awful lot.
You'd give anything for one more millisecond with them.
I am so thankful that I will get to see my babies again someday. Instead of one more millisecond, I will have ETERNITY with them. The hope of heaven was something that got me through those early days. I could feel sad, but I could dance with that grief of loss and the joy of heaven. It's a bittersweet dance between grief and joy, but it's also a healing dance.
Our babies (because no matter the age, our children are always our babies) are all important. Our babies lives all matter. Our babies are worth being spoken about. Our babies are worth being shared. Our babies are ours only for a specific time. Our babies deserved to be treasured for all of that specific time, too.
Treasure your babies. Not because someone else lost theirs, but because babies are worth being treasured. We don't have to act like we love our kids "more" because someone else lost their baby, we just need to act in love. Always. Treasure the time. Because no matter the length you're given, you'll always wish for that one millisecond more.
Find the hope of Heaven. Because you'll get that wish of an eternity of milliseconds with those that share your same hope...and, more importantly, with the Savior who gave you (and them) their very life.
♡ ap
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