When a woman has a miscarriage often times, if it is very early , she can feel alone in her grieving. There is no ceremony to honor the baby’s life. No foot prints to place in a shadow box, but your heart longs for a closure.
As the rain poured down , we sat there on the sofa in silence for a few seconds. Both knowing something had to be done. Janna began reading an article to me regarding loss. I sat there arms hugging my folded legs. Her words piercing my heart, my head nodding in agreement of the accuracy of her words. The article was beautifully written, and was spoken out of a place of deep ache. The ache that began to rise up in me more fully as she continued to read.
A part began about a handkerchief the woman chose to bury on her land. Immediately the Lord reminded me of mine that was given to me as a family heirloom. Every night I would cry silently into it, as to not wake anyone. It sat on my computer table, ready to embrace all my grief at a moments notice. I never tucked it away, as I wanted to displayed throughout my day. It was my way of telling myself I was validated to be angry. I was validated to grieve.
As soon as the word handkerchief left her lips, I saw an Angel walk into my room from the end of the hallway. He was quiet and didn’t speak a word, as I knew what he was going for. I knew what he wanted me to do. It had to be done. My crutch, my place of mourning had to flee. I needed to walk into peace and freedom.
I had wondered what Jesus would have for us to do. Some sort of short service is what I wanted. When I am deeply grieved, I like to be alone. I like to process things on my own, and cry . Alone. In this case the Lord laid it on my heart to let Janna in. Let her love me and support me. If it wasn’t for her, the service would never have happened. My stubbornness was pushed aside as I allowed my friend to serve me. My faithful, gentle friend.
We walked out into the pouring rain together. The rain and the chill was fitting for how my heart felt. Soaked with tears, and cold with anger. We had no destination in mind, but as we kept walking we ended up in the same spot together, in silence.
I knelt down , holding what was left of Jude physically. What I had been holding onto, without realizing it symbolized my grief, my anger. It began to rain harder, and Janna pressed on. Not once did she remind me it was raining. I’m not even sure she noticed, as her love and compassion for me was so thick , surrounding me as I wept.
I began digging. It seemed I was digging for hours, as the dirt turned to mud in my hands. I didn’t want the digging to stop, there was something in my mind that wanted to dig forever. Then maybe I would never have a proper goodbye. Maybe I could hold onto my grief for eternity, until I embraced my son. But grief was making me and angry wife and mother, so I stopped digging.
I laid the last of him in the tiny grave. I used the shovel to cover every inch of the white until I no longer saw my heirloom. Just mud, black thick ugly mud. With Janna reciting scripture , the Lord began to speak to me through this verse:
Lift up your eyes and look around; all your children gather and come to you. As surely as I live,” declares the LORD, “you will wear them all as ornaments; you will put them on, like a bride.
Isaiah 49:18
I saw a vision of ALL of my children surrounding me, as we laughed together. Joy erupted, as I knew Jude was mine, and he will COME to ME in heaven when we meet. I will wear him as an ornament in my heart. A twinkle in my eye, and a smile on my lips.
Something in my spirit told me to stand on his tiny grave, and stomp, I did this as Janna played ” Hey Jude” by the Beatles. A favorite of mine, and very fitting for this season. As the drum solo began I closed my eyes, to see a vision of Jude in heaven.
His blonde curly hair bouncing as his arms gracefully and forcefully hit the drums. His beats were radiating JOY as other children were learning from his skill. His laughter created more JOY as he PRAISED Jesus. I knew he was happy he wasnt on this earth for long. Although he would have played drums here, he is much more useful in heaven , where he belongs.
I knew He was mine to bless me. He was, and is my gift from heaven. He came for a short while to let me know he loved me, but he couldn’t stay. His life was worth celebrating, and in that moment I felt a release to let him stay in the place he loved so much.
I knew that all my grieving was just a Momma longing to hold her son. All my tears would never bring him back, nor should they. He doesn’t belong with me. Not yet.
My rocking sobs were soon embraced by Janna, as she wrapped her arms around me. She held me so tight as I tried to release any more angry tears I had left. Stored up for later. I let them out, I let myself be vulnerable in front of a dear friend, and that was freeing in itself. She cried with me as we rocked back and forth in our embrace.
The deep love of a friend, the willingness of her compassionate spirit is what brought me to the place of acceptance in death. Knowing my body was a graveyard for my son , I knew the anger was towards my womb for not complying with my plans for this child. I silently forgave myself, as the rain began to pour harder, my sobs became louder and the Holy Spirit became more physically present with us.
The Witty Uterus 