House of Mourning.

A few months back, a couple from our church found out their baby had a chromosomal genetic disorder mid-way through their pregnancy. I had heard of tri-18, some of the moms in the baby loss circle had lost babies with this disorder. The couple are newer to our church so I hadn't met them yet, but when I heard their diagnosis, I emailed the mama, said a few things about Maelee and told her I'd be praying. I then quickly emailed again saying they shouldn't focus on their baby dying, they don't need to hear stories like ours, because some babies with tri-18 can live... they needed to focus on that.

A few weeks after that I picked them out of the crowd at church. I could tell who they were, this sweet mama with her starting-to-show belly, with tears as she sang those worship songs. When you are in the midst of suffering, choosing to praise God takes on a whole new meaning. It wasn't hard to spot them because I remembered what it was like to stand there, singing songs while your heart was breaking. I met her briefly afterwards but I didn't want to be this picture of doom, I'm glad we didn't see each other often since.

Then this week we get the email. The one that says their baby was going to be born via c-section that day. Then hours later, the email saying that Nathaniel went to be with Jesus. This is not what we had hoped for. I didn't want them to join our club. I wanted their baby to defy odds and be the miracle.

And like every baby we hear about that dies or anyone we hear struggling with infertility, we ache for the parents. Wishing it didn't have to be so. Wanting so badly to be in control, to fix everything. Sigh.

Today we went to Nathaniel's funeral, to enter into the house of mourning with his parents.

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Ecclesiastes 7:2

I remember well when my mother-in-law spoke at Maelee's Day (her burial service) and she thanked all our family and friends for coming, for joining us in our house of mourning. It is better. It is better to join people in their grief, in their suffering. It's easy to join people in celebration, it's good and fun and wonderful to be happy with others. Anyone can do that. But it is better, yes better, to join with them in their pain.

Of course for us this was different. This is a type of grief that we begrudgingly understand. We had been them over two years ago, standing at the front of that church, giving desperate hugs to friends and family, no baby in hands. And as I sat there watching the scene unfold, I so badly want to fast forward for them. To protect them from these days ahead, this hard journey they have only just begun. But no, I told myself, they have to, they need to go through these tough days. The learning they have graciously experienced already, in the hard times of their baby's diagnosis and the unknown, is precious, as will be what they learn in these days of grieving with empty arms.

Even so, I wanted to shelter them from the silly things good-meaning people will say. I wanted to give them years of grief lessons in one minute. I wanted them to know the importance of this day, to know they don't get another funeral. As we watched them take the casket down the isle, I turned to Greg and bemoaned that I didn't see anyone take photographs. As we headed out of the church, I became frantic wondering if they had anyone to take photos at the burial. I know too well, they will only get a few photos "with" their boy, of these events and how treasured the images are later. I went up to the mom, got her camera. But you know me, it was just a point-and-shoot, with low battery at that. I made Greg rush home to get my camera. He made it to the burial site just in time, I was able to get a few shots for them to help remember this day.

Nathaniel's mommy had the words to I Will Carry You on the back of Nathaniel's program and the first line, the one that always, always gets me is "There were photographs I wanted to take..." oh how we grieve all the photos we will never, ever get to take with our children on earth.

 

Jeremy and Sidni, we ache with you on the loss of your sweet boy. We miss him with you. We stand firm in knowing your lives on earth will hurt more but be better because of him. And by God's grace may you be given the gift of grieving well.

If you would have told me when I stood up in front of that church on April 9, 2010 that years later, I would be the one hugging a grieving mother, and that I would be glad for Maelee's death in that it has taught me how to enter in with others in suffering, I probably would have laughed (or smacked you). Oh sweet girl, your short life has made me willing to join those in the house of mourning. I'm so glad the Lord gave us you.

-Heather (Maelee's mama)