Random Thoughts and Ramblings

Tag: Grief

  • Dads Hurt Too

    DadsOctober is a month of awareness, as per Wikipedia it appears to be designated for more causes than any other month. There is a cause in particular that speaks most to me at the moment. As I’m a pastor, you may expect me to say that it’s “Pastor Appreciation Month.” I appreciate being appreciated but the cause on my mind right now is National Infant Loss and Miscarriage Awareness Month.

    I’ve seen some posts and I was even tagged in one about this commemoration. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Hannah. But as I have seen these posts, many of them implore the reader to pray for the women who have lost babies. I know that it’s different for a mother who has lost their baby. The baby was literally a part of them for the time the baby/babies was carried and I know in that sense there is certainly a stronger connection. Having said that, I have noticed that little to none is said about the dads in the scenario. Now, know that I’m not writing this to bring attention to myself. My intention here is to bring awareness that the dads hurt too.

    As I think about our loss of Hannah, I remember how we received tremendous support from our family and our friends. However, generally speaking, people do often forget about the dad. As I acknowledged above, it is different for the mother. Dads, as the stubborn men we tend to be, aren’t as good at showing our emotions and we may look strong. I can promise you that, even if on the inside, we are crying.

    We need to know that we are not forgotten when this tragedy strikes. We need to know that we matter.

    In part because of the posts I’ve seen, I’ve been pondering what I won’t get to do since Hannah didn’t survive. One of the things that sticks out is that I only got to hold her after she had died. I saw her while she was technically still alive but did not get to hold her during those moments due to the attempts to keep her alive. I only got to hold my baby after she had died. This was not easy to accept.

    I’ve not shared this with many people but before she died I had a brief moment where I wanted to baptize her before she died but this was fleeting and gave way to grief very quickly. I suppose part of the reason I had this thought was because when I realized that she was not going to make it, I knew that we would not get to have her baptized by her grandfather, who is an Elder in the United Methodist Church, on Easter Sunday as we had planned.

    I won’t get to hear her first words, watch her first steps or dress her up for Halloween for the first time. I won’t get to kiss her boo-boos, hold her when she is upset, or experience her laughing at the silliness in life. I won’t get to be her t-ball coach, softball coach, or otherwise support her in whatever sports she may have wanted to play. I won’t get to jump in piles of leaves with Hannah, make mud pies, or help her to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation. I won’t get to help her with homework (and let her teach me how to do algebra), cheer her on as she earns good grades, and teach her the importance of those good grades. I won’t get to teach her life lessons, about not giving up, and about being positive. I won’t get to teach her about Jesus and how much He loves her… Although I think now she could teach me more about Him than any of my seminary professors would ever be able to. I will never be able to teach her how to drive, about the importance of using turn signals, and the joy of taking a drive on a sunny Fall day with the windows down and the radio up. I won’t get to put the fear of God in her first date when he comes to pick her up (the muddy shovel in the corner and shotgun above the front door would have sent a clear message!). I won’t get to walk her down the aisle, and enjoy grandchildren who call her mom.

    I will miss out on raising a daughter. I will miss out on being her daddy.

    As we mourn for and with those who have lost their children through infant death or miscarriage, let us remember that the moms are certainly in deep grief. But let us also remember that dads hurt too. The dads are grieving and they need to know that they are supported, loved, and being prayed for as much as the moms are. Dads hurt. Dads grieve the loss of their children.

    We need to know that you know that.

    Jonathan

  • Wakey, Wakey, Blog

    wake-up-and-be-awesome-wooden-sign-closeupHas it really been almost two years since I posted here? Apparently it has. Wow.

    Lots of things in my life have changed, I’m a little older, I’m a little wiser… Well, two out of three isn’t bad. For real, lots of things have changed. I’m going to try and write here a little more often because I have always found writing to be therapeutic.

    I need lots of therapy.

    I’m still a paramedic. Also, I’m still a United Methodist pastor, serving a congregation just outside of Meridian, Mississippi. I have entered my final semester as a student at Liberty University and I anticipate enrolling in seminary in the Fall Semester. If all goes as I hope and pray that it does, Jessica and I will be moving to Kentucky so I can attend Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore.

    There is one other significant change that has taken place since I posted here. The change is both amazing and tragic, a truly bittersweet part of who I am now. On December 8, 2014, I became a father.

    And the same day, about an hour later, I learned what it is like to lose a child.

    The day that my daughter, Hannah, was born was supposed to be a joyous day. In part, it was. It was also one of the saddest days I have ever lived to tell about. I was at work just doing my typical paramedic things. Jessica had been put on bed rest and was seeing her doctor twice a week. On this day she was at her usual appointment and next thing we knew she was being sent to the hospital for some extra monitoring. We had noticed Hannah not moving as much as normal but didn’t think much about it at the time. Plus Jessica had been under observation before so, again, we just didn’t think much about it.

    The next thing I know, Jessica calls me and tells me that nurses are running around and she is scared. I left work and went to the hospital. My EMS station was just up the road from the hospital so it was less than 15 minutes later that I was there. By the time I had arrived, Hannah had been born by emergency C-section. Soon after I found out that Hannah was not going to live. When all the pieces were put together, we found out that nothing we did or didn’t do caused any of this to occur. Hannah had somehow gotten sick and basically gone into heart failure, which caused her other organs to fail. It was a heart wrenching day. Probably the worst part of this whole thing is that we still don’t have all of the answers that we would like to have about Hannah’s death. Unfortunately, we may never know.

    This is an ugly fraternity that Jessica and I have found ourselves in, the dismal one called “Angel Parents.” Jessica and I are mom and dad, yet our daughter isn’t here. It’s a strange feeling. Some wound argue that we truly are not parents but I say that is not true. I saw my baby. I held my baby. I rejoiced that, even if for a brief moment, I got to see a part of me alive. Even though Hannah is with God, I am still her daddy and I always will be. While we are sad, we also celebrate that Hannah didn’t have to linger long in a NICU. It doesn’t make it any easier, however.

    Jessica and I have learned a lot through this experience and we are still learning. One thing that I think she and I can both agree on is that God will allow us to minister to others who are in this position. In that, I can take comfort. But right now, as we are still grieving, we are thankful for the many, many people who have ministered to us. There’s no way we can adequately express our gratitude.

    I would like to go ahead and share some tips for dealing with people who have suffered this kind of loss. First, do not criticize. Do not criticize anything parents who lose their child do or don’t do as a result of their loss. People grieve in different ways. One’s grief is theirs, that grief does not belong to anyone else. No one has the right to tell someone how to grieve.

    Also, the reaction of many people when they hear that a couple have lost their baby at birth is to ask, “what happened? What did they do wrong?” More often than not, the answer is “nothing.” This type of loss is tragic and the vast majority of the time is through no fault of either parent. Don’t do it.

    This one grates on my nerves more than anything, especially since we’ve been on the receiving end of it now: Do not, and I mean do not, ever tell someone that it was “God’s will” that their baby died or say other pithy things like “God just needed another angel.” Now, I know people who say these things mean well. Sometimes these statements are born out of not knowing what to say (and if that is the case, to say nothing would be the better response). As a pastor, I can tell you that such theology is flat wrong. Not only is it not true but it’s damaging and anything but comforting. A God who takes children away from his or her parents is not a God that I could believe in, let alone proclaim.

    So that’s all I have on my mind at the moment. I will write more on this, I’m sure. And I will also write of the other things that come about as we prepare for a big year of transition. Thanks for hanging with us on the long, bumpy ride.

    Jonathan