I had a (MOM)ent today. I borrowed that phrase from the lovely *Shanicka House. In a nutshell, she describes it as those moments that God speaks to her or uses her specifically through her motherhood. "Where real meets revelation." Because of the uniqueness of my motherhood, I don’t get many of those moments. And when I do, they are rarely lighthearted. Today was no exception…
I was working in my boutique (I manage a francesca’s). It was extremely slow, so I was glad for the group of 4 ladies who walked in. They were all friendly, 3 of them in their late 20s (maybe 30s), and one a bit older. They were all just browsing and chatting. They had dispersed from each other as they looked around. I was helping one of the young ladies when I heard a gut-wrenching cry. It was not at all loud, but very distinct.
I looked over and all of the ladies were huddled around one. The one I had been assisting sat her items on the counter and joined the group. I gave them their space, but naturally, I was concerned. I waited at the counter. The older woman walked up and asked if I could hold some items for her as well.
“Of course…are we okay?”
The woman leaned in and whispered, “She lost her baby.”
“Oh no. Oh no. How long ago?”
“On Friday.”
“Oh, my goodness.” I stood still and waited before approaching the situation without permission. “May I hug her? I lost my baby several years ago. I’d like to encourage her if it’s alright.”
The woman (who I later learned was the grieving woman’s mother) lit up. “Oh yes! Please.”
I walked over as the other ladies just kind of stepped aside. I embraced her and cried
with her for a few moments. I whispered into her ear “I lost my baby, too.” She cried a little harder. Almost like it gave her the go-ahead to feel everything she needed to feel in that moment.
More hugs. More tears. In that moment, we were the same.
I stepped back a little, gently held her face in my hands, and matched her teary eyes to my own. “It gets better. You will get better. I promise.”
“Really?”
“Really. Look at me. I didn’t think so either, but yes. What’s your name?”
“Christine.”
“What is your baby’s name?”
“Judah.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful name!”
She smiled and agreed. “Yes. It’s strong.”
“Yes, it is. How old was he?”
“Five months.”
“Were you five months pregnant, or was he five months old?”
She sighed, but her voice was regaining strength. “He was five months old. I never thought I’d be shopping for this.”
“I know. What do you need? I’ll help you.”
As we talked, she didn’t even realized that she’d stopped crying. We were looking at jewelry, pairing earrings with a shirt. I leaned into her and said “It comes in waves. The grief.”
She looked relieved that someone understood. She even chuckled a little. (I remember because her cheek revealed an adorable dimple.) “It really does. I’ve been pretty okay, but that one was big.”
I nodded in agreement. “Partner with the grief. Think of it like a friend who speaks a language that only you understand, coming to help you express yourself.”
Grief really does have its own language, and I never thought I would be glad that I speak it so fluently. But today, I was grateful for it. Christine was grateful as well, but honestly, I think it was her mom that left with the left most joy from our brief time together. I can recall my own mother not quite knowing how to speak to me in the beginning. On my roughest days, she would reach out to my cousin who had lost her firstborn 4 years before I lost mine. She, too, speaks the language.
Christine expressed her peace in knowing that for Judah’s whole life, he was surrounded by love and family. I share in that peace, as Karis was surrounded by the same.
This brand of motherhood…it’s tough. I go back and forth between hoping for another child and being content with my motherhood experience as is. Truly, I don’t know. I haven’t the faith to speak it with certainty. I don’t know if that’s where my hope lies. Some days, I get as far as…"Maybe.”
Oh, we the childless mothers; those of us who have lost, those who have outlived our hearts…
Pray for us.
In the meantime, I’m still honoring my promise to God:
For those mothers who can’t talk about it, I can. For those who won’t, I will.
And He holds me to it as He continues to remind me that I take assignments, not jobs. (That part!)
*To check out Shanicka and her Transparent (MOM)ents, visit www.shanickavailhouse.com. It's a whole blessing!
Royally yours,
Audrey (Karis' Mom)
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