A Labor of Love

Last night I attended my ninth Labor of Love Christmas Service.  And I was asked to share the same speech that I shared at the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness "Walk to Remember" back in October. I decided to condense it last night for time's sake, but here it is - in its entirety - for you all to read.  My sincere hope and prayer is that it reaches the person who needs to hear these words, for comfort, to feel understood, and to know they're not alone...

Hello, friends.  My name is Meghan Dingle and I lost my baby boy nine years ago.  In this community, some see me as a seasoned veteran, with many years under my belt, but all that really means is that I’ve cried a few more tears than some of you.  That’s right.  I’m still crying nine years later.

What does grief feel like when you are this many years out from the day you said both “hello” and “goodbye" to your precious little one? When the world has forgotten, but your heart still remembers? I’m here to tell you that the sharp pain of grief dulls over time, but the wound has left a scar that will forever tell the story of the missing piece of your heart.

This period feels like an emotional tug of war.  Some days, my mind wins.  When the craziness of life buries the energy my sadness requires.  When I'm lost in the mundane schedule of being a stay at home Momma.  But some days my heart fills with such a heavy sorrow that my mind never stood a chance.  Push, pull.  Push, pull.

It is exhausting, draining, and difficult.  Still.  But this is the “normal” that we, as Infant Loss Parents know.  We’re all just walking around trying to figure out how to “move on” without “getting over” and still keep their memory alive. Trying to figure out how to muster up the strength to put on that fake smile until the real one emerges with genuine joy.

I know I don’t have a nine year old, but my body remembers. And my body tells me, down to my tingling fingertips and the awe on my eyes as I watch other 9 year olds that were born around the same time as my Gabriel. “Hello…” I feel my soul whisper, “Hello little big one. What a miracle it is that you are here. What a miracle it is that I gave birth to one just like you, and then birthed him back into Heaven… And yet I am still standing.”

A precious quote from someone I follow on Instagram, Michaela Evanow, who created the heartbreakingly important hashtag #MamaGrief, said: "Death demands miracles on a daily basis from the parents that are left behind.  Stand up.  Breathe.  Eat.  Work.   Laugh.  Somehow, life pulls this from us, and we begin to thrive again until we walk right into our walls of grief.  We face them, Davids against our Goliaths; sometimes we win, sometimes we lose.  But our children will always give us a sense of victory, no matter how the battle is waged.  For that, I am grateful."  Wow.

Each and every day I try to remember the phrase I made up so many years ago – to Shine through the Sorrow.  What does that even mean? It simply means to wake up and show up. Fake it til you make it.  Especially if you have other little ones depending on you.  Please hear me, this is NOT easy.  This is not even natural. This goes against everything our body is telling us, and it’s not fair.  You carry extra weight around your body without being able to carry a baby around in your arms.  But you are not alone.  You are not the first, and unfortunately you won’t be the last, to feel the horrible pain of losing a precious baby.

I remember when the pain was so fresh, and I felt so horrible that I wished no one else would ever have to feel the same way.  And every single time I hear about another fatal diagnosis, another miscarriage, another stillborn baby, another baby born too early, another baby who leaves this Earth far too soon, I think, “NO, wasn’t my heartache enough? Didn’t I learn the life lesson for us all? Okay, we’ll appreciate all the small stuff.  We promise!” 

But that’s not how life works. Sometimes really awful things happy in this lifetime so that we question everything on this side of Heaven.  Always remember that grief is the greatest price for the deepest love, and we understand that better than anyone, so cry the tears when they form.  Let it out! Let your intense sadness wash over you as you remember them.  And then smile again.  Shine through your sorrow.  Because someday soon, I believe, we’ll all be together again.