The Littlest of Angels

Babies who were lost in the womb were never touched by fear, they were never cold, never hungry, never alone and...always knew love. - Z. Clark-Coates




It was September, and Facebook was flooded with pictures of the first day of school.  Most of them were captioned with something like, "how did this happen? She's growing up way too fast!" and "He didn't even look back...I wish he'd stop getting so big!"  And then there was a post from a friend of mine with a gentle reminder.  This friend had lost her infant son to a tragedy at the age of 3 months, and she talked about how it is a privilege to watch your children grow and reach new milestones.  Being over-sensitive by nature, I am often a misty-eyed mother when I reflect on the passing of time and things that are no longer.  The start of a new school year highlights these feelings, but I was convicted by my friend and remembered the gift- and the privilege- I have in watching my boys grow each year, each day.


Today is Infant and Pregnancy Loss Recognition Day, and along with this friend, I hold in my heart countless others.  I have many friends who have lost their sweet babies to miscarriage; to their own health crises; and to birth anomalies.  I am lighting a candle for them and their little angels tonight, and my heart is heavy in grief over those who are the tiniest.


When I worked in pediatric hospice, I cared for families in our perinatal hospice program.  These were parents whose babies were diagnosed in utero with a fatal anomaly; these babies were unlikely to survive much past birth, if at all.  We gave the families special baby books; inside them, there were no pages for first steps, first words, or favorite foods.  Instead, there were spaces for pictures of the pregnancy, lines for writing how their name was chosen, areas to describe memories that were made.  The social worker and I talked about making memories now with their baby...if they always wanted to take them to the beach, go to the beach.  If they dreamed of tender moments reading stories, read together.  Their baby was with them everywhere they went, they were still making memories with them, even if they hadn't been born yet. 


Some of these babies lived long enough to come home, and then we would support them in our hospice program. The people I met, the babies they loved, are tucked in my heart in a tearful place. The tenderness and intensity of love that I witnessed from these families has changed me.  There were moments and images that I watched unfold that are too unfathomably sad to write about.  There were babies and families that taught me profound things, and I was humbled and grateful to be a part of it.


One day we received a referral for a baby who was going home on hospice in the most unusual of circumstances.  The baby's mother had an abortion several months ago, which, unbeknownst to her, had failed. I was baffled and nervous; I had no idea what to prepare for when I made my home visit.  Here was a woman who terminated an unwanted pregnancy, then finds out it didn't work, then delivers a child who is not expected to survive.  But when I walked in the home, I saw a very familiar sight: the mother, holding her baby with such tenderness, kissing her, playing with her tiny fingers.  The mother's parents were in the room, also adoring the baby.  When I made the next home visit two days later, the baby had died.  The mother sobbed, lay the baby in her lap to gaze at her face, rocked her, stroked her cheek.  And then said to her daughter: "I just wish I had more time with you...I loved being your Mommy."


Tonight I also grieve for those who have lost something else...the loss of a dream.  For those who desire nothing more than to be parents, who ache and ache and ache, and their arms turn up empty. Infertility carries an intensity of grief and loss that most cannot understand, and so I light a candle for them too.


It brings joy to post ultrasound pictures and images of a growing belly.  It's easy to be sad over children growing up too quickly.  And it's second nature to complain about our kids misbehaving.    But tonight, I share with you that one in four women will lose a baby in utero or in infancy, and those struggling with infertility are all around us.  Parenting is a privilege.  Watching our children grow is a privilege. Be sensitive to your surroundings, light a candle, say a prayer.


 Lord God, please comfort those who have been encompassed by grief over the loss of a child or the dream of one, tonight, and every day.  May they find peace that though their babies are no longer in their arms, they are most certainly in Yours. Amen.