Monday, June 14, 2010
My Dear Readers,
The following is a direct copy from a Blogger friend of mine who runs " We Aren't Perfect". Today she put up this post and I was moved enough to respond with an offer to post it here as well to give this great cause as much exposure as possible.
She graciously agreed to let me copy the entire post here; please take a moment to read it, comment on it, post it, and give it the shout out it deserves.
I hope you will be moved as well.
TEARS for a Tiny Life Lost
When those two pink lines show up on the test stick, you never imagine burying your baby. Instead, you dream of soft blankets, sweet-smelling baby skin, and cute maternity shirts on a rounded belly. You brush away happy tears imagining those little newborn sighs while he lay at your breast.
You don’t dream of an ultrasound that shows a full-grown baby…with no heartbeat. You don’t think you’ll be leaving the hospital without a belly, without a new child. The car seat you picked out, so lovingly installed by an eager dad-to-be, now sits in the backseat. Empty. The nursery you’ve just finished decorating is still beautiful--but there’s no one there. No cries heard on the monitor. No little body to be swaddled in the blankets, or dressed in the carefully washed and folded baby clothes. No bottom to be diapered, no colic to be soothed in the rocking chair.
While the rest of us new moms and dads mourn for sleep, there are parents weeping for babies they can’t have. For babies they’ve buried.
A dear friend of mine and her husband lost their son when she was just over 7 months pregnant. But it wasn't just a 'pregnancy'; it was their baby. It was their child. She nurtured him and mothered him, fed him and loved him. His daddy read to him and bonded with him. She remembers rocking him to sleep in her belly, being awakened at the same time everyday with a hearty “ninja” kick, feeling the lurch of his tiny body hiccuping. And the love. The insane, all-encompassing, passionate love she had for her boy.
But then, they lost him. One day he was healthy, with a strong heartbeat, the next...he was gone.
Through sobs and gasps of sorrow, she delivered their baby boy. With insurmountable grief they held their tiny baby together. Isaiah, (“God is My Salvation”) was their firstborn child. Who could ever imagine that a 3 pound, 10 ounce bundle could hold the weight of the world's sorrows?
Today Isaiah should be running and jumping, covering his mom and dad with muddy hugs and chocolate kisses. He should be sleeping with his favorite blanket, protesting for just one more story, one more kiss. Instead, Isaiah sleeps in a cemetery, under a tree that provides shade and shelter for those who come to see him.
Even in death, this sweet boy puts others first.
What do you tell a woman whose belly, now flat, was swollen with life just two weeks ago? What do you tell a father who spent his days praying for his new baby? What do you tell a mom, who counted every kick, every movement with baited breath, praying for her baby’s safe delivery? What do you say to her? I don’t know.
My blog is mostly carefree; bordering on humorous. It is not political nor does it promote social activism or charitable causes. But I wanted to do this post to bring awareness to anyone who has ever been affected by infant loss. And because of life; oh, how I treasure it. How I believe in it. Every week and month that little baby exists is a week and a month we’re connected to another soul. I don’t believe for a second God causes these babies to die. I don’t believe He ignores the prayers and turns his back on hopeful parents. No, I can’t believe that. I don’t know why it happens, other than we live in a broken world. Bad things happen. Life happens. But at least it happens with a God who can hold us as we mourn. While that is my belief, I know it may not be that yours. And that’s ok. I just believe what I believe.
Where TEARS comes in: The next time you go to the store and see excited moms-to-be eagerly picking out items to stock their wish lists with, take a moment to breathe a prayer for the parents who are at the same moment picking out a tiny headstone. A tiny coffin. And think of the tragedy on top of it all: Their inability to pay for a funeral. While they desperately want to give their daughter or son a proper burial, they simply cannot afford it. Who plans funeral costs during a pregnancy? If you get a chance, if this post has moved you at all, please go visit the TEARS Foundation. The outreach and financial support it gives these grieving families is quite simply, a blessing. My friends have their own page in honor of Isaiah: http://www.firstgiving.com/abbiesmith2. Each year they do a walk to raise money for tears. This year I didn't have any money to give to them. What I did have was a blog, and lots of people who read it.
Whether you have a dollar or twenty to spare, send it on. And if you don’t, that's ok. Just send this post to someone who might. And then they’ll send it, and they’ll send it, and hopefully, we can get enough funding to give least a few families the ability to bury their children properly.
And do me a favor (my faithful followers and readers in particular): Make sure to leave a comment below and let me know if you’ve forwarded either this post to someone. Linking back to this on your blog would be even better. We really want to raise awareness for this cause.
Thanks for visiting. And tonight, as you approach the never ending bedtime battle with your kids, give them a free pass--let them read that third book. Lay with them an extra five minutes. Or ten. And as you do, think of those parents who would give anything to be in your shoes.
Posted by wendy wallach at 8:56 PM