Remembering Benedict

Today I was part of a discussion on facebook about miscarriage, and how to provide support for those who have lost a child.  After seeing such beautiful sharing and reflections, I decided it was time to finally post this entry that has been simmering for months.
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I've yearned to be a mother for as long as I can remember.

I remember stuffing barbie bellies and my own with rumpled clothes or pillows, attempting the life-fullness of a 9 month pregnant lady, although in truth it bore more resemblance to a grotesque lumpy biscuit.

There is something of the milk-sweet tenderness that called to me---a desire to nurture, in quiet dark beginnings, a sweet babe to fill my womb, my heart and my life.  

Now, 7 years later after the first holy &*$% shock of first-time parenthood, that doe-eyed yearning has been richly tempered by sleepness nights, family snuggles, temper tantrums, marathon nursing,  and uncontainable poo.  Tempered and strengthened into the ever-openness to life.

I've spoken before of our fertility challenges.  My PCOS and endometriosis cause crazy irregularity, and we have small windows of opportunity and years trying to conceive. 

So, you can imagine the ecstatic joy when we found out in mid-May that we were expecting little Haley #3.

It was high drama. I snuck down to the Village community center to take the test (I figured it was yet another negative and didn't want to be home to see Kev's disappointment). So, there I am in the small communal bathroom using my dollar store pregnancy test and it's POSITIVE!!!

 I'm screaming, shaking, crying....thank God Sarah E. was in the garden nearby as I screamed for her to come for an emergency. She thought by my cries that someone was dead in the playroom and came rushing in terror then lost it to high heaven when she heard the joyosity.  Jacob came running because of the screams and I told him to get daddy as fast as he could. He ran off on a mission.....

Everyone else (Hamricks and Benvenutis) were outside enjoying one last night before the Benvenutis left town. They saw a panicked Jacob running past after hearing Sarah's scream and thought something was majorly wrong.  I ended up running down to building E and blurting out, "I'm PREGNANT!!!"as soon as Kev walks out the door to many screams tears and hugs.....and every child over the next hour found the prettiest bundle of wild flowers to give to me......pretty much the best ever.

What celebration in the life of a wee little pea, a sweet babe loved immediately by our clan.  Shaking in joy and celebration, taking in all the well-wishing, I had a strange surreal feeling not felt after the positive tests of my first two.  I felt the need to rejoice in the reality of now, the life of our sweet one sown in quiet, enveloped in love.

Following the news, I had a full rush of pregnancy symptoms, always a mixed bag of comfort/dread, right?  Nonetheless I had an inkling, a foreboding that something was amiss---no physical indications, mind you, just that batty intuition which seems constant in my life.

Then there were the dreams.

Now I know there are many conflicting biblical precendents about dreams.  God spoke through prophets and holy people all throughout the Old Testament and beyond, but there are also warnings against placing stock in dreams and their amibiguity.  Innumerable times I have dreams of births, deaths and other life happenings before they happen or while in process.  I place no significance in me, I only honor the chance for greater and more pointed prayer.  The Lord speaks in the quiet of our hearts and, through the bonds of sacramental grace, we are receptive to the Holy Spirit, in all states of consciousness.

At first the dreams were slightly comical:  giving birth to a fully-formed adult male, my very own Tom Thumb.  Then there was the one where my baby told me, "Love me now, for this is all we have."  Later they became so gruesome and painful, they shall go unmentioned.

Though I had the nausea, the exhaustion, the soreness, the crippling fatigue, for some reason I didn't allow myself the unbridled joy like in my other pregnancies.

Guarded.

Protected.

[From here on out, there may be some sensitive/intense/personal material that may not be comfortable for everyone to read. If so, perhaps stop reading until the next string of asteriks]

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Wednesday July 26th.  Evening.   I was in TJ Maxx picking up last-minute items for our annual first-week-of-July trip to the heavenly wilds of Maine.  Sad that Kevin wasn't coming with us, I meandered around the store distracted by the many treasures.  

Hmm...something was not right.

With the cheesy Glee rendition of "Hey Soul Sister" blaring from the speakers, I went to the bathroom to find I was spotting.

Okay, just breathe.  This can be totally normal.  There are so many explanations, right?

I talked to my sister, I talked to my mom, I accepted their comforting words while cursing my lack of insurance.  Serendipitously, I had an ultrasound scheduled at the Women's Care Center for the very next morning

Deep down, I knew.

The next morning I woke up dragging, sluggish, apprehensive.  Normally something for which I would count down the hours, I dreaded going to the ultrasound.  Kev really wanted the kids with us, confident that everything was going to be ok.

The ultrasound tech was a kind, supportive woman who was elated to see our family again (we had been 5 weeks earlier when I was too early to detect a heartbeat).  Working in an environment when much time is spent encouraging woman to choose life versus abortion, she was thankful to have a family full of love and joy who were pumped to have another kiddo.

We started with the abdominal ultrasound but weren't getting a good look, so we did a transvaginal.  I kept seeing the sack, and the wee peanut but no movement at all, when at this point the heartbeat would be obvious and taking up much of the baby's image.  It was then I sent Kev and the kids out, as I knew what was coming.

Kindly and gently, the tech continued with the ultrasound, though her gregarious mood was quickly sobering.  I felt so badly that she had to be the one to give such tragic news, so I wanted to ease the burden for her, "There's no heartbeat, is there?"  Wanting so much to find something, she said, "I'll keep looking at different angles."  After a few more minutes, she said:

"Okay, here is the sac which is measuring 8 weeks 2 days, and the baby who is measuring 8 weeks.  But, sweetheart, I can't find a heartbeat.  At this point, I should see it quite clearly."

Everything crashes in, the sobs come out in barks and moans.  I knew, but wanted to believe otherwise.  So many other women lay in my place crying because they have a living child within them and here I sit, mourning for my dead baby.

Women's Care Center was so kind in caring for our kids so that Kevin and I had some time to grieve and cry together before leaving.  How wonderful that my mother lives right down the block so we could go straight there to be together as a family and seek the comfort only a mama can give.

As we got into the car, it was obvious to the children that something was amiss.

"Jacob, Ceci, we have some sad news, " said Kevin, "When we saw the baby in the ultrasound, there was no heartbeat.  That means the baby has died."

Gut-wrenching, watching Jacob's face crumble in sorrow, trying so hard to cover his face in machismo.

Feeling wholly inadequate, I say, "Sweetie, just let yourself cry as much as you need to.  We're all going to grieve differently over the next many weeks, and tears come when they come.  We love you and are so sad with you.  Our sweet baby is in heaven with Jesus and Mother Mary."

"The baby diiiied, mommy, and you cry like this, 'waaa-waa,'" Ceci in here innocence providing some comical relief only a joy bomb like her can do.

Though we did not know the gender, as part of our grieving we decided to name the baby.  As soon as we found out we were pregnant, Jacob asked that if the baby were a boy that we name him Benedict Joseph.

Benedict Joseph he is.

Another decision awaited:  go to Maine (without Kevin), wait for the miscarriage to begin while amidst family and beautiful surroundings or stay home in our tiny space and "rest" only to feel compelled to pack and prep for our move.

A no brainer, right?  

Away we went.  Jacob, Ceci and I piled into the borrowed 15 passenger van (thank you, Everetts!) along with mom, dad, Julia, Natalie and Mikayla for our 2-day journey to Maine.

At every rest stop, with every twang of pain, every moment I waited to begin the loss of my sweet baby, long-awaited and never to be held.  Mercifully (the extent of which I realized later), I only experienced the beginnings of the process).

After two long days of travel, we turned onto Kohut Rd. on Thompson Lake.  

Some combination of our Humphrey family has made this journey every year for the past 20 years, and the drive is thickly wooded, lined with towering pines and rock piles, the very essence of nature showering us in a deluge of the scent of wilderness.

Home.

It used to be an old fishing cabin.  Uncle Chuck wanted a place where we could all gather annually for a week of rest, relaxation and family.  So, he had it lifted up to add a floor underneath.  More spouses and kiddos came along and space ran short.  Did he stop having Humphrey Week?  Heck no.  He restored the barn as a dormer.  Now the kiddos' kiddos are coming.

Before we settled into our room for the week, we of did the requisite run to the dock, test of the water, jump on the trampoline and then shared in the annual first meal of dogs and burgers courtesy of the hosts.

That evening I had some cramping and back pain and thought, "Okay, this is not so bad, I can do this."

But Sunday I awoke with a heavy heart and an even heavier womb.

The day had come, a day of laboring, tears, prayer and brokenness. 

As the rest of the South Bend crew went to Mass in a small country parish with bad 80s liturgical music, I cocooned myself in the sweet quiet room.

And waited.

The cramping began mildly enough at first, a warm ache and tension that came and went every few minutes.  Blood loss was intense as my body worked to expel my sweet one in a baptism of blood.

In order to distract myself and participate in the Sunday liturgy, I read the reading for the day.  

Now, let me give you a little background.  With all the difficulty in getting pregnant, Kevin and I have had an uncannily liturgical conception/birth pattern:

Jacob        Conceived Easter Season 2005           
                 Born 1-2-06     Christmas Season

Cecilia      Conceived Easter Season 2009 
                 Born 12-21-09  Advent 2009

Benedict:  Conceived Easter Season 2012
                 Birthday never to come

And, the readings for Sunday, July 1st  (bold emphasis added by me)

Reading 1 Wis 1:13-15; 2:23-24

God did not make death,
nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.
For he fashioned all things that they might have being;
and the creatures of the world are wholesome,
and there is not a destructive drug among them
nor any domain of the netherworld on earth,
for justice is undying.
For God formed man to be imperishable;
the image of his own nature he made him.
But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world,
and they who belong to his company experience it.

Responsorial Psalm Ps 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11, 12, 13

R. (2a) I will praise you, Lord, for you have rescued me.
I will extol you, O LORD, for you drew me clear
and did not let my enemies rejoice over me.
O LORD, you brought me up from the netherworld;
you preserved me from among those going down into the pit.
R. I will praise you, Lord, for you have rescued me.
Sing praise to the LORD, you his faithful ones,
and give thanks to his holy name.
For his anger lasts but a moment;
a lifetime, his good will.
At nightfall, weeping enters in,
but with the dawn, rejoicing.
R. I will praise you, Lord, for you have rescued me.
Hear, O LORD, and have pity on me;
O LORD, be my helper.
You changed my mourning into dancing;
O LORD, my God, forever will I give you thanks.
R. I will praise you, Lord, for you have rescued me.

Reading 2 2 Cor 8:7, 9, 13-15

Brothers and sisters:
As you excel in every respect, in faith, discourse,
knowledge, all earnestness, and in the love we have for you,
may you excel in this gracious act also.

For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that though he was rich, for your sake he became poor,
so that by his poverty you might become rich.
Not that others should have relief while you are burdened,
but that as a matter of equality
your abundance at the present time should supply their needs,
so that their abundance may also supply your needs,
that there may be equality.
As it is written:
Whoever had much did not have more,
and whoever had little did not have less.

Gospel Mk 5:21-43

When Jesus had crossed again in the boat
to the other side,
a large crowd gathered around him, and he stayed close to the sea.
One of the synagogue officials, named Jairus, came forward.
Seeing him he fell at his feet and pleaded earnestly with him, saying,
"My daughter is at the point of death.
Please, come lay your hands on her
that she may get well and live."
He went off with him,
and a large crowd followed him and pressed upon him.

There was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years.
She had suffered greatly at the hands of many doctors
and had spent all that she had.
Yet she was not helped but only grew worse.
She had heard about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd
and touched his cloak.
She said, "If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured."
Immediately her flow of blood dried up.
She felt in her body that she was healed of her affliction.
Jesus, aware at once that power had gone out from him,
turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who has touched my clothes?"
But his disciples said to Jesus,
"You see how the crowd is pressing upon you,
and yet you ask, 'Who touched me?'"
And he looked around to see who had done it.
The woman, realizing what had happened to her,
approached in fear and trembling.
She fell down before Jesus and told him the whole truth.
He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has saved you.
Go in peace and be cured of your affliction."

While he was still speaking,
people from the synagogue official's house arrived and said,
"Your daughter has died; why trouble the teacher any longer?"
Disregarding the message that was reported,
Jesus said to the synagogue official,
"Do not be afraid; just have faith."
He did not allow anyone to accompany him inside
except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James.
When they arrived at the house of the synagogue official,
he caught sight of a commotion,
people weeping and wailing loudly.
So he went in and said to them,
"Why this commotion and weeping?
The child is not dead but asleep."
And they ridiculed him.
Then he put them all out.
He took along the child's father and mother
and those who were with him
and entered the room where the child was.
He took the child by the hand and said to her, "Talitha koum,"
which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise!"
The girl, a child of twelve, arose immediately and walked around.
At that they were utterly astounded.
He gave strict orders that no one should know this
and said that she should be given something to eat.
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God desired our Benedict, loved him into being and allowed his ever so short life to bless us and others with such happiness.

Woman.

The hemorraging woman. 

What profundity, that even the loss of our child is liturgically sensitive!

3 p.m.  The hour of death.  Thus began my own pointed agony.

As if wrapped in some instrument of torture, encircling my entire back and middle.  Everything contracted.  Constantly.  For 6 hours.

No break for breathing, no moments of relief---it was one giant contraction.  Of course there were the contractions within the contractions that hearkened the imminent passage of my womb's fruit.  I lay in bed, breathing, thinking of my induction with Jacob and the ensuing c-section and second c-section (VBAC hopes dashed) with Cecilia.

This is the only "birth" experience I will have, drenched in sorrow and death.

God have mercy on me.  I feel as if some alien element is trying to force itself out of me, through sobs and a rivulet of blood trickling down my leg, I stumbled crying out to Claire who called to mom who called to Julia and the latter two helped me hobble to the bathroom.  Which became my delivery room.

Shower to bed, attempts to rest, back to the shower, back to bed.  After this furious pattern, I sat in the shower for a long time.  

Crying for Kevin, for his strong arms and steadfast comfort, his imperfect perfection.

Squatting.  Hands and knees, watering hammering, mother comforting and removing the results of my primal work.

Mother.  Mine.  Ever servant, giving her life, mothering her daughter who is a mother in sorrow.

His.  Laboring in mired stable; a life whose death brought life.

Woman.  Hemorrhaging.  Your desperate faith, healed by Him.

I have faith, dear Lord, I have faith, please heal me.

*************************************************** 9 p.m.   The longest and most painful part of the process was beginning to abate.  My mother's constant care, my sisters' support, Aunt Madeline and Uncle Mark's words of wisdom were all boons in this most horrible day of my life.  My sweet nieces and the rest of the family cared for the kids the following days so I could rest, grieve, read, cry, pray.

Monday and Tuesday were still quite painful, though nothing like the days before. Wednesday morning I awoke feeling puny, exhausted and emotionally drained but, for this first time that week I was comfortable enough to venture out to the dock for an extended amount of time.  Glorious, that sun-soaked dock, alive with with youthful energy.  I sat wishing I could be carefree like my younger siblings and cousins, without a hideous weight of sorrow upon me.  Yet, the comfort of a sunshine-drenched Maine afternoon gave some relief.  

Sitting with my face upturned to catch the sun, I opened my eyes for a moment to see a tall person walking toward the dock, but without my glasses I just assumed it was my cousin.  A few moments later someone stood in front of my, but, no it couldn't possibly be the one person I needed most in that very moment, KEVIN?   KEVIN?!?!?!?!?  

My straight-laced, responsible husband trying to finish his dissertation before our departure for California, stood in front of me in all his muscleicious glory.  It was the second biggest surprise of our entire relationship.  And I ran, jumped into his arms, and sobbed, and laughed, and sobbed some more.

You, see, the work of grieving a lost child is one for both the husband and the wife.  Both have lost a child wanted, desired, loved into being, and lost too soon.

Our remaining time in Maine was blessed and full of time to grieve, rest, and to "just be."  

Then we returned home, packed up our house, said goodbye to our family, traveled 2100 miles, moved in, unpacked, started new jobs and....here we are.

Yet still, my baby died, and that pain and longing doesn't go away. 

 In a world where the very details of our eating and sleeping and fighting and falling in love are broadcast in various and sundry social networks, miscarriage is a subject that is just not discussed.

Because it's painful, and hard, and raw, and intense.  It also warrants the recognition that this unborn child is just that:  a child, a person whose life meant something.

So I welcome the tears, the sadness that comes out of the blue----when I see pregnant women with a belly full of life, newborn pictures and birth stories. 

 I welcome the invitation to mourn my own child and, in doing so, mark the importance of his life.  

My prayer is that women and men who have experienced such loss would be liberated to talk about it (if they are ready), to have a chance to celebrate the life of their child and praise God for that child's patronage as a member of the heavenly kingdom. 

And so I pray for Benedict Joseph, Emmanuel, Bridget, John, Henry, Amanda, Sebastian, Michael, Rose, William, Christopher, Charlie, Isabella, Francis, Dominic, Frances, Aiden, Jude, Stephen James, Mara, Grace, Paul, Raphael, John Thomas, Jacinta and all babies who have died.  May they enjoy the Beatific Vision, the nurturing arms of Our Lady and an abiding love that is more than we could have ever hoped for them.