Horrible, Thanks for Asking

February 08, 2019

Almost ten years ago, I delivered the baby boy who would die in my arms just two hours later. But we had months to prepare for this reality. His fatal diagnosis had come sixteen weeks before. So there was no baby shower. No celebration of the life about to begin. We didn't have a nursery full of items we’d have to return with a sorrowful explanation.

That hasn’t been the case for my best friend.

Two months ago today, I sat by her side as she tearfully and reluctantly pushed her baby girl into this world. Silence. Just the sounds of our gasps at the beauty of her perfect face. There she was. The miracle baby no one thought would come. The one we were all so looking forward to meeting. In absolute perfect form, but already gone.

It was surreal, like there was no way this was actually happening. Not again. Not to my Laura. It was somehow holy, the thick presence of death also brought the sure presence of God. It was beautiful, because here she finally was, and just look at her! We all wanted to gaze at her and admire her again and again. And as someone special reminded me recently, it was trauma. What Laura experienced, bringing Margot into this world, was traumatic. And for many of us in that room that day, we are still not okay.

I continue to replay the moments of that day over and over in my head again. Getting the call from her husband, David, “she wants you here.” Driving with our dear friend Trish to the hospital, both of us still hoping that somehow a mistake has been made. Laura having to endure an induction and labor that lasted over 14 hours. The waves of emotion on repeat that day. Laura wailing. David's sweet, sad face. The way they would embrace each other in a hopeless attempt to comfort one another. Laura asking for her Daddy. Laura wanting someone to talk about something easy and neutral. Sweet nurses coming to tend to her. And then something would happen to make it start all over again. “Every time I have a contraction, I think it’s her moving inside.” And we’d all weep. And repeat.

I’m one of her best friends. And I’ve been through this exact thing. And I can’t fix this. Neither can Trish, who's also tasted the bitter pill of death, after burying her husband decades before she should have. Not only do we love Laura like a sister, but we know the stinging finality of death. This has been traumatic for us, too. We know there is no fixing this. We know there are no comforting words. We know there are no perfect, encouraging sentiments. And when it's not a "Natural Order Death," like the three of us have endured, it's even more complicated. Right now we're struggling to see the redemption in it. So that is where we are. I think I can speak for the three of us - Laura, Trish, and I, and say - We are horrible, but truly, thanks for asking.

I couldn’t attend a baby shower shortly afterwards. I had a panic attack instead. I couldn’t sing at church for seven weeks; worshiping God felt like I was somehow betraying Margot. I’ve had to relearn the basics of Self Care. Our worlds continue to feel upside down, while yours just kept going. It's a very weird place to be. So, please be gentle. We're so fragile.

But what can you do? Please continue to pray for us. That we would have strength for each day. That we could continue to care not only for those in our lives who are very much still here, but for ourselves, too. That we would have to courage to keep showing up. That we would somehow remember the only HOPE in all of this, that we’ll all be together again – in Heaven.