It’s October 15th, kind of a special ‘holiday’ for everyone who’s lost a baby along the way. Not a holiday in the sense of a fun, merry celebration, but a ‘holiday’ where we observe what’s happened and recognize the lives of the little babies who didn’t make it. All of October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, but October 15th is kind of THE DAY. It belongs to our special, elite little club of survivors. It belongs to that special group of people that have normal conversations which can lead others running for the hills. If talking about the loss of your baby is normal, or thinking about it all of the time is normal, this is our day!
Everyone is invited to remember with us today. I think all of us survivors would encourage it. In a way, though, I think it’s best if you can do it from a distance. Not because we survivors would want to push you away. Far from that. It’s that this little club really doesn’t want you to be able to observe this day the same way that we do. If it sounds standoffish, let me clarify 🙂
See, we beat the odds. Our elite little club is filled with stunned people whose babies didn’t make it. For those of us who made it all the way to term but don’t have our baby Doria in our home, this wasn’t supposed to happen. For ‘outsiders’ to fully understand what the day means for us, they would have to join the club. Joining the club means paying the full price of admission, and I don’t think any of us here want you to pay that price. Picture a ticket office saying “We don’t want your money. Don’t buy a ticket.” That’s the policy here. If I could enforce it, I would. No more dead babies. Let’s close off the membership.
For the membership that’s already paid the price, it’s a morning of mourning followed by a lifetime of remembering. As a friend of mine points out, we didn’t want to pay the price, but here we are. We’re in the club. There are no refunds. We didn’t want to join, but nobody leaves the club. That’s not an option. If it were, I can’t imagine that this club would have a single member left over. There isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay to get out. I know that. I love these people dearly, but it’s not the place I expected to be.
I downloaded a one-year devotional this past weekend. For this morning, it focused on Psalm 6. I’d like to post that here. I remember sharing this with the teens at our church a summer or two ago, and it’s going to be helpful for me today. (thanks to http://www.biblegateway.com)
A Prayer of Faith in Time of Distress
To the Chief Musician. With stringed instruments. On an eight-stringed harp.[a] A Psalm of David.
6 O Lord, do not rebuke me in Your anger,
Nor chasten me in Your hot displeasure.
2 Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak;
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are troubled.
3 My soul also is greatly troubled;
But You, O Lord—how long?
4 Return, O Lord, deliver me!
Oh, save me for Your mercies’ sake!
5 For in death there is no remembrance of You;
In the grave who will give You thanks?
6 I am weary with my groaning;
All night I make my bed swim;
I drench my couch with my tears.
7 My eye wastes away because of grief;
It grows old because of all my enemies.
8 Depart from me, all you workers of iniquity;
For the Lord has heard the voice of my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my supplication;
The Lord will receive my prayer.
10 Let all my enemies be ashamed and greatly troubled;
Let them turn back and be ashamed suddenly.
The man after God’s own heart cried enough to soak his couch, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. Looking forward today to laughs and tears, because that’s what we do now. I’d do anything to be annoyed with her screaming, but this will have to do.
Remember a baby today. We’re remembering Doria. We’re praying for all the other members of the club. Feel free to join in. We covet your presence and your mourning with us, just not as a member of the club.