Sharing your light

Dear Tavish, As I write this, your dad and I are enjoying a train ride through Norway. Your great grandma is from there, so we're taking a trip to see the land that your ancestors, on your Dad's side, are from. It really is quite beautiful. I wish I could share it with you in person, I know you would love it. Your Dad and I are both adventurers at heart, and I have a feeling you would have loved the experience as much as we do. Who doesn't love gorgeous farm land and pretty lakes (fjords) surrounded by trees?

I think God uses adventures such as these to bring light back to my heart when things seem dark and hopeless. WhenI was in college, I went to England, and while there, the beauty and excitement of the land around me provided me with a huge shift in perspective. In both of these situations (now and back then) I began to look for that shift before the trip. However, it wasn't until I was arrived, seeing and experiencing how different life can be, that I started to really open myself to what God wanted to show me. A few days ago, I was having lunch with a friend of mine who also lost a baby, her little girl Addy, to Trisomy 18. She told me about a retreat she and her husband were going on for grieving parents. She explained that on this retreat, instead of spending the weekend crying about their loss, couples would spend their time looking at how to find joy in spite of it, and how to spread that experience to others.

That really resonated with me. I am a "fixer," and a "doer." It is really hard for me to let go of something unless I feel like I have been able to use that experience in some way. That's the thing about grief. In American culture, grief is a very private thing. Especially grief over losing a child. No one wants to talk about it because very few people actually understand what it is like. It makes them uncomfortable, so they would rather not talk about it. For Me, talking about it is how I process it. It's how I make sense of what happened, and how I figure out how to move forward. Going to a retreat that helps loss parents figure out how to use their grief, instead of just feeling it, gives me hope. I know I need to feel it, and I do feel it, but there's a difference between crying about it, and productively grieving. I don't want to just sit and cry. I want to use whatI am feeling.

Tavish, I think what I am trying to say is that I can't remain silent, and I won't. I haven't been, but I also haven't felt like I have had a way to make beauty from the ashes of this pain I am living through. Several months ago, I ran across a blog another loss mom is writing. It's called Jensengrey.com. A few days ago, this mom posted about how she was participating in "random acts of kindness day." She mentioned how she did a random act of kindness, and handed off a small card with a little information about her son Jensen and why she was doing what she was doing. Reading about it, I started to feel like this was something small I could do, not only to share your story, but to share my experience of Gods love and faithfulness through it all. I don't have a specific timeline I plan on following, although once a week seems like a good plan to start with. All I know is that I want to share you with everyone I can. Through this, I feel that that is more possible.

As a Christian, sweet boy, I feel like God calls me to witness to others. Infant loss is such a taboo topic, it is difficult to know how to use that to minister to others. This is one way that I can do that.

In the beautiful land of Norway, I can feel peace and quiet. I am drawn closer to God through the glory of His creation. I can see a little more clearly how to use my pain to bring relief to others, and I can begin to make my way back towards the light. It isn't a huge leap, but it does provide me with a glimmer of daylight. Not just of being able to survive with the pain, I've been doing that for a while, but to learn how to thrive in the midst of it.

Run and play sweet boy. Say hi to Addy and Hannah, and give your grandpa a hug and a kiss from me.

 Love,
Mom