A bittersweet evening.

Wednesday night, the music ministry at my church played for the 8th grade graduation from the parish school. I was honored to play with the group for a couple of reasons. My friend Kathy, who plays the trumpet, (I’m the flute so together we make the entire wind section!) had her youngest son graduating, so I wanted to be there for her.

My neighbor Jenni was also attending the graduation. Her daughter had passed away when the class was in kindergarten. I didn’t know the family then, even though they lived just around the corner. But because of our proximity, I did get to know her and her other kids. I got to watch her as she grew past her grief.

When I lost my baby at 23 weeks of pregnancy, I can only describe that kind of grief as crushing. I had lost people I loved before, particularly my grandparents who raised me, and my uncle who lived with us while I was growing up. I also lost my flute teacher who was my mentor for almost 20 years, and both my father-in-law and mother-in-law. All of those losses were sad, difficult, life altering. But none of them felt the same as losing a child. We’re just not supposed to lose our children and the grief is indescribable. It’s like having something cut out of you. You know that feeling when you have misplaced something important… I mean really important and you just can’t find it? The feeling is very similar to that only a thousand times worse.

Many mornings when I lay in bed after the stillbirth and just wanted to die, I thought of Jenni, and how she was so vibrant, and so energetic. How she always waved hello, had a smile, and how she was busy with her life and with the lives of her other two children. And that image made me get up in the morning, for months, and even now still occasionally.

So on Wednesday I watched as a mature young lady about to enter high school, the best friend of the little girl that died, read a tribute to her classmate and then present Jenni with some flowers, and we all wept. I wept with sorrow, shared grief, but also with some pride that my neighbor had been able to live and live fully and well. Sometimes that’s a huge accomplishment in and of itself.

I finally e-mailed Jenni with how much her example had meant to me and she sent me some words of wisdom that I knew, but it really had meaning coming from her.

I hope that you have made peace with what happened to your baby. She (sic)is always Gods child. We just get to borrow them for a little while. But I wanted you to know I still have my moments of insanity over it. Like the insomnia and crying fits. It is a never ending battle. I just pick my battles a little more wisely and live each day as though it might be my other childrens last one also. God is letting us have them for a little while. We learn from the death of our loved ones and we learn to help others through our grief

Maybe this will help someone else who comes upon it as well, and that’s why I’m posting it.

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