Losing Joseph

The car was brimming with excitement as the girls and I stopped by the office to pick up Daddy. It was Septemper 14th, 2010 and we were on our way to our first "baby-doctor appointment". From my best estimate, our new baby was about 11 weeks old, and I was looking forward to hearing it's little heartbeat. We were supposed to have gone in the week before, but the office called last minute to reschedule.

Having carried my first two children to term, with no complications, I did not expect the visit to be anything other than routine. Shortly after arriving, we were called in for the ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy and due date. This pregnancy had been different than the others, I had yet to experience any real nausea or physical sensation of being pregnant. There were times, for a fleeting moment, when I would fear that I wasn't pregnant. So when the ultrasound technician seemed to take an especially long time to say anything, I was beginning to wonder if my fear was a valid one. What I did not expect was what she did say, "I am having trouble finding a heartbeat." She left to find my midwife, and when they returned she confirmed that there was no heartbeat. We then saw the image on the screen. The baby was there, but it was only about 8 weeks in size. The heart should have developed around 5 to 6 weeks, but was no infrared activity where the heart would have been. I went numb in shock.

Everything after that was kind of a blur. My midwife reassured me that this happens to many women, and talked about my options, allowing the pregnancy to miscarry naturally or schedule a surgical procedure. The staff left us alone for moment to discuss things. The girls had no idea what was going on and Justin and I barely had a grasp of the reality the situation. We knew that we wanted to trust that my body would do what God designed it to do, and declined the procedure.

I managed to hold it together on my way out, scheduling a follow up visit, and helping Justin round up the girls. I tried to remain composed as I helped Justin get the girls in the car, but as he drew close to open my door, I turned and buried my head in his chest. He held me for a moment, and the tears began to fall. I don't like crying in public, so I gathered myself together enough to get into the car. Clare, who'd witnessed my tears, asked "What's wrong Mommy, why are you crying?". I didn't know what to say at first, and Justin, protectively, tried to redirect her to a different topic. She asked again, and I told her, "Our baby died. God took our baby to heaven." 

Waiting for my body to miscarry our baby was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I went through a wave of emotions. The idea of having my child's dead body inside my womb felt very disturbing. Sometimes I even felt resentful. I am not exactly sure towards whom or what, maybe the baby's body that had "failed" my child. I struggled with this until my mom, who had come to visit for Clare's birthday, shared with me something she had written in her journal during her prayer time in the adoration chapel. An excerpt is as follows:

Message from Jesus through my heart to you on September 18, 2010:

"--This child within you is alive in me. I have created it out the love and union of hearts between you and Justin. This child is fulfilling the purpose for which I created it. Hearts are drawn to prayer and to love and reverence the gift of life. --

Do not think of this child as dead. This child is alive, just not able to grow and mature. You know now that its life is short, but that its soul is living and will live forever. Just as an embryo is alive before it develops a heartbeat, this child is alive, living in the warmth and safety of your womb. Do not be afraid to love it. When the time comes, its life will separate from yours. Its body will decay but its soul will enter then the heavenly realms."

This message was very consoling and allowed me to hold on to hope that, by some miracle, our baby would survive. I knew that this was unlikely, but gave myself permission to be hopeful and postpone mourning the loss of my baby.  We did our best to go on with our lives as normal, while preparing mentally for what was to come.   We asked for prayers.  We spent a lot of time talking about it with the girls.  

 On Saturday, Sept. 18th,  just a half hour before Clare's 4th birthday party, I began to experience strong cramping and bright red spotting.  The realization that this was really going to happen overwhelmed me and I wasn't sure that I'd be able to host the friends and family coming to celebrate.  Shortly before everyone arrived, everything stopped.  We had a pleasant evening and I was thankful that we were able to make the day special for Clare. 

 The contractions began again the following morning, a couple hours after we returned home from mass.  What followed was essentially labor, but with nothing to look forward to.  I found myself angrily resisting cooperating with my body, as I had learned to do with the labor of my second daughter.  I did not want to relax and let my body do what it needed to do.   I wanted to somehow hold on to my baby.  I remember thinking defiantly, "as long as my baby stays in my womb, there's a chance, right?!?"   I spent most of the day on the couch, trying to rest, with contractions coming regularly.  Things really started to kick in later that night, after the girls were in bed.  Around 11p.m., I felt the pressure to push, and that's when things began to happen.  I did my best to collect the tissue, but didn't see anything that looked like my baby's little body.  After about an hour, the bleeding was not slowing, and after consulting the OB on call, that Justin and I decided  that I should go to the ER to make sure I wasn't hemorrhaging.

A good friend of mine was awake and able to take me the hospital, so Justin stayed home with the girls.  We arrived at the hospital around 12:45 a.m..  An ultrasound determined that I was not hemorrhaging, that all the tissue had detached from the uterine wall, and that it should , therefore,  pass on its own.  (Had it not, the doctor may have wanted to perform a surgical procedure).  The technician suggested I go to the restroom to clean up, and while there, more tissue, that had been sitting on my cervix, passed into the toilet.  I thought that I saw something that could have been my baby's body, but when I stood up to ask the tech. for help in retrieving the tissue, the toilet automatically flushed.  My heart sank, I had been holding on to the hope that I would be able to find my baby's body.  Somehow, I was thinking clearly enough to say a prayer of conditional baptism , wishing I had thought to bring holy water.  

Back in the room, I was trying to let go of finding the baby's body, when the doctor came in to do a physical examination.  During the exam, he gently removed more tissue that had been resting on my cervix. Thankfully my friend was inspired to ask,  "Is that the baby?".  He said that it was, and I felt a wave of relief and joy. "May I please take my baby home?", I asked.  He set the body aside in a small container, and at  3:30a.m., I headed home with the body of my baby carefully packaged, on my lap.    The baby was small, not much longer than a an inch, and it was still in its embryonic sac, but it was my baby, and I was bringing it home with me.  This made me happy.

The following morning, Justin stayed home from work.  We spent the morning arranging to bury the baby  in the infant area of local Catholic cemetery.  After talking with a close friend about how she and her family had honored the baby they lost several years before, we felt that this would be the best way to acknowledge the life of and respect the body of our third child.  It felt a little strange at first, but we decided that we wanted to approach the loss of this child as we would for the loss of any of our children.

  
The next day, we brought the body to the funeral home to be put into a small urn we had purchased for burial. As we left, I experienced an overwhelming physical sensation of separation. I was no longer carrying my child, in my womb, or its body in my hands. A wave of emotion came and I again let the tears fall freely.  The following day, when we were preparing to go to the simple grave-side prayer service and burial of our baby, I felt an overwhelming need to hold my baby again.  Justin called the funeral home and arranged to pick up the urn to bring to the prayer service ourselves.  I am so glad that I was able to hold the baby one last time, in it's beautiful little container.  We also allowed the girls each to take a turn holding the baby, which was very special for them.  When we arrived at the cemetery, one of our favorite priests was there to say a blessing over the baby's body and our family.  


We named the baby Joseph Mary.  The body was too small to determine if the baby had been a girl or boy, so  we decided on a name that followed the Catholic tradition of including a form of "Mary" in a child's name, regardless of gender. 

I knew that I would morn the loss of what would have been, but I did not anticipate the immense feelings of loss of what had been. I physically felt empty...my womb was empty. The soul that had been there, alive and growing was now missing. I experienced my first true longing for heaven, to be reunited with this soul that I known for such brief moment in time.


In one of the days that followed, we went to evening mass. I remember looking at the statue of the Madonna with Child at some point throughout the mass, and recalling one of my recent recurring prayer requests, I want to be more like Mary; Make me a mother like Mary... I realized then, that God had answered my prayer, but not in the way that I was expecting. I was experiencing a piercing of my heart.

It occurred to me, that in all the other painful experiences in my life, I had been able to console myself by looking at the positive side of things.  This is something I tried to do for this experience, but in it found no consolation. I knew the baby was in heaven; this I trusted was true.  I knew that it was likely that I could have another baby, but I did not want ANOTHER baby...I wanted THIS baby!   I had an overwhelming awareness of a need to allow my self to stay in my grief, to experience it, to feel it, to live in it freely, with no restrictions. I spent a lot of time crying; different things would be the catalyst: reviewing the funeral home form, my mom's sweet loving emails, reading the stories of other mothers, simply  permitting my mind to be still in the moment and contemplate what was really happening...

I allowed myself to experience everything I was feeling. Justin and I drew close to each other, and our girls.  Justin's office gave him bereavement time off, so he was able to stay home with us for a few days. He ended up deciding to postpone taking his scheduled actuarial exam until the following year, and was able to spend more time with us at home. We went to work creating a Mary garden in memory of our baby. We drew close as a family and friends drew close around us,  strengthening us with love and support. I went to  mass often, and spent time in the adoration chapel. Week by week, month by month it got easier, and I began to feel that I would function normally again.  

We thank God for Joseph everyday, and are reminded of him constantly. The girls call him Baby Jo Jo. Tears still come at times, and I give my self permission to cry. In allowing myself to embrace my sorrow, I found God has brought me healing.  Most of all , I am in awe at God's providence: the way he prepared us for the loss, the way He supported us through it, the way that he brought our family closer to each other, the way he drew me closer to his beloved mother; the way he drew us closer to Him.

Praise God, now and forever! You give and take away, now and forever! Amen.