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How Do You Keep Going?

‘How do you keep going day after day after loosing a child? What do you cling to on those hard days?’

As I read those words in a text recently from a friend who also just lost a child, I began to think and reflect on what had kept us going.. At first, I conjured up what I felt seemed like typical ‘Christian’ responses faith, hope, etc., while true, they didn’t seem adequate to explain my journey. I told her I’d get back to her in a few days as I thought it though.

The next day as I was reading about Moses, it hit me, MANNA! That is what has kept me going each day. Just as the children of Israel were dependent on God to provide manna to keep them going each day, I have also had to learn to completely lean on God to give me the manna I needed every day to sustain me. (Exodus 16)

manna

I can remember sitting on the couch in our living room the mornings just after Zoe passed away, with time to fill since I was no longer nursing and cuddling her in the early mornings. While the boys were still asleep, I would read. I felt like I was sitting there almost begging and pleading for God to fill my broken heart. I would search the pages of each book or the Bible for what God wanted to ‘feed me with’ that day. It became such a refreshing time for me that I found myself absolutely needing that time each morning. Still today, I look forward so much to that time in the mornings, alone, where I can read, enjoy my coffee, and search the Word for pieces of truth and hope to cling to each day.

coffee

In my desperate need for daily manna, I’ve also come to realize that yesterday’s manna is NOT ENOUGH for today. While in the past I may have felt I could make through on my own for at least a day or two, or sometimes even a week, today I KNOW differently. Just like the Israelites couldn’t store up manna and needed a fresh supply each day, so do I! I need the nourishment and a fresh Word, that will soothe my heart, and strengthen me each day.

While it took loosing Zoe for me to realize what desperate need for God looks like, I am grateful for this gift of desperation. I have truly come to know that nothing else will satisfy and soothe our broken hearts except the true living Word of God.

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Dear Woman Who Has Never Lost a Child,

 

Dear Woman Who Has Never Lost a Child,

I was once in your shoes; with two sons by my side and a daughter in my arms.  When I was pregnant with both of our boys, I was oblivious to that fact that other moms around me were hurting; many in silence.

I didn’t know anyone by name who was living through a miscarriage, the birth of a still born baby, nor a parent who lost a child to SIDS. Our close friends had lost their child to illness as a toddler, and that was a pain I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Yet, should I have felt guilty that I had a child and others did not? Absolutely not. Should I have not shared the immense joy of our sons’ births publicly? Absolutely not. Guilt is never the answer.

Should I have been more thankful and less quick to complain about pregnancy or motherhood; yes. Yes I should have.

Sometimes I forgot that:

There are many women begging for the aches of pregnancy.

There are many women longing for long nights awake with a fussy baby.

There are many women who long for someone to call them ‘Mom’.

There are many women who feel like God is answering everyone else’s prayers but theirs.

And all those things that we complain about, are exactly the things that someone else is begging for.

Three years after our second son was born, I was pregnant with Zoe, and things were much different. This time, eight of my friends and family lost their precious growing baby through miscarriage during my pregnancy. It was incredibly hard to know what to say or do. I had many conversations with God about ‘Why us?’, “Why did we get to keep our baby?’, and ‘How was I supposed to respond as the only one who was still pregnant?’ I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to celebrate publicly at times, because I didn’t want to hurt them; but I did know the last thing they would want to hear was my complaining.

Yet three months after she was born, our precious baby girl was no longer with us anymore. At three months of age, she closed her eyes for a nap and then opened them again in the arms of her Heavenly Father. She was able to meet many of our friends and family’s little ones before their earthly parents even got to meet them.

All of the sudden, things changed. All of the sudden I became a part of the group of women who HAD lost a child. With feelings and emotions that I’d never experienced before, I began to swim through a rip tide of emotions. However, the best thing I did was to allow myself to feel the bottom of the ocean. As my feet scrapped across the bottom, God gave me the strength to push off, and steadily I began to rise back up eventually above the rip tide. For many years as a teenager and even in college, I had taught this ‘life saving’ technique of pushing off the bottom to my swim students; it was finally time to practice what I had taught.

You see, that is where many of your friends are, they are stuck spinning around day after day in that rip tide of emotions. Therefore, they may be what seems overly emotional at times, extremely sensitive, or downright insensitive to you. But here is the truth, they need you. They also need you to let them feel the bottom, so they are better positioned to push off when they are ready. Extra grace is required. They, deep in their hearts, are happy for your pregnancy. They want to hold your baby; but maybe are too scared to feel the feelings that come with that. They want to come to your baby shower, but aren’t sure if they could emotionally survive. So what do you do? You include, invite, and share with them anyway; you let THEM choose what they are ready for.

Every mom who has lost a child has different needs, however, the thing that fills my heart with constant joy, is to see a mom who has their baby, but is so over the top grateful for all that comes with that- the aches and pains of pregnancy, and exhaustion and the sleepless nights of having a newborn. I don’t believe you have to go through a miscarriage, still birth, or infant loss to have a grateful heart as a mom… rather, it’s about where you choose to focus. Your gratefulness as a mother is a gift to your child, but it is also a gift to those around you.

October 15th is Miscarriage and Infant Loss Awareness Day, another day for you to support your loved ones who have lost a child- Send them a note, share a picture that you have of their child or them during their pregnancy, recognize their child and their pain.

 

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Walk Into The Pain

This post was originally written on June 7, 2014 on our family blog; one month after we lost our daughter Zoe. As true as these words were then, they still ring true today. 

One month later.

Still a family of five.

We’ve learned so much this past month and are still processing even more.

This past week I’ve been really praying and listening, asking God what He wants me to learn from this past month. Again and again, I hear Him reminding me to continue to walk into the pain

One of the first things I remember telling Jeff the evening Zoe passed away, was how much my heart hurt. I had never felt that type of pain before; it was different.

Because of the pain, there were so many things I found myself scared to do that first evening, one of them was to be alone. I needed Jeff to be with me whatever I did; I just couldn’t be alone. Maybe it was the loneliness that comes with loosing someone so close to you; I’m not sure.

That night we both laid in bed, but neither of us could sleep. In the early morning hours, we decided to get up, and that was when Jeff wrote this. As we talked through writing that first post, and shared our very raw story through tears, we began to feel comfort. After we pressed ‘publish’, I was able to get up and go back to bed without Jeff, as he was still wide awake. That was the first moment I began to realize that as allowed myself to walk into the pain, the more comfort and healing I was able to find.


(Our last picture of Zoe; just hours before she woke up in His arms.) 

The next day, was filled with hard things- waking up and realizing I wouldn’t hear her cries, continuing to pump milk (as I had still been nursing), going into Zoe’s room for the first time, looking at the pictures of Zoe that I had taken of her just hours before she passed away, the list could go on and on. However, because of what God had shown me early that morning, I walked into each of those moments with a new perspective- the more I allow myself and or sometimes force myself to walk into the pain, each time I was able to come out better and healthier than before.

Those next few days leading up to Zoe’s Celebration, were filled with very hard moments and decisions. One of my most healing moments was also one of the hardest, and it came the morning of Zoe’s Celebration. Jeff and I had decided that it would best for our family if he and I went alone to spend time with and see her, the morning before her celebration. We were both sick to our stomachs and nervous beyond belief to see her. However, after the initial crying, we were able to sit and hold her one last time. I was not sure I would be able to do that and had been fearing that moment since we first talked about it. However, we both sat silently, each holding her, staring at her until we were ready to kiss her goodbye. Jeff said it best, that during that time, we both realized that one’s soul does change their appearance, and even though she looked like our Zoe, she looked different. Her soul was gone. That was just the assurance we needed to bring a tremendous peace and comfort that only the Lord could give. The hard things didn’t subside, but my pain and fear did, each time I walked into the pain.

Today walking into the pain looks different than it did a month ago-

maybe it’s not turning the radio off when a song that stirs my emotions comes on but allowing myself to cry through it,

maybe it’s sitting and watching videos or looking at pictures of Zoe that bring tears of joy,

maybe it’s allowing myself to picture her with our family today and what she might be doing,

maybe it’s allowing myself to stare at another baby I see and remember Zoe’s tiny little fingers or sweet little nose,

or maybe it’s sitting down and writing out my feelings and what I’m learning.

Because I do have the hope of knowing I will see and hold my precious girl again in heaven one day, I have been able to commit to walking into the pain but then existing on the other side healthier than before.

I will walk into the pain, and I will walk THROUGH the pain, but I will not live in the pain.

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Our Story of Hope- Rollins Family (Zoe)

’It’s the baby, she’s not breathing!’ The babysitter cried into the phone. 

‘Call 911! My husband is nearby I’ll call him, he’ll be there soon!’ I quickly replied. 

That was the extent of my conversation with our sweet babysitter. My heart sank and began pounding. I ran out of my office at school and called my husband as I ran down the hall. “You have to get to the babysitter’s, Zoe’s not breathing, 911′s on their way. Hurry!” 

I ran into the Upper School office and told the secretary that Zoe wasn’t breathing and I needed her to drive me; I knew I couldn’t drive. I texted one of our small groups to pray as soon as I got into the car; one sweet friend texted back ‘Jesus breathe into Zoe.’ I clung to that as I began praying aloud, “Jesus breathe into her, Jesus breathe into her.” I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t cry, I could barely breathe. I continued praying, and pointed directions to our secretary as she drove me. 

Traffic seemed worse than usual for that time of day. I just wanted to hold my baby girl. I scanned the roadway looking for the flashing lights of an ambulance. Nothing. I strained my ears to listen for a siren. Silence. I finally got up enough courage to text Jeff again, I asked him if I should go to the babysitters house or to the hospital. My heart raced as I feared the reply. ‘Here.’ he responded. 

As we grew closer, my prayers got louder, I didn’t know what else to do. A part of me couldn’t get there fast enough, but another part of me didn’t want to arrive; I didn’t know what I was going to find. I peered down the street as we turned onto the road where the babysitters house was, just a few streets away from our home. I saw an ambulance, I saw cars, I saw people standing outside, I saw Jeff in the driveway. 

I ran up and hugged Jeff, he held me. ‘She’s gone.’ he whispered. 

‘No! Tell them to help her, tell them to go help her!’ I cried. He held me tighter. 

I knew there was nothing we could do, we were helpless. We were powerless. Night had enclosed around us on the beautiful afternoon of May 7th.

I remember looking across the street at the line of people gathering and watching the scene. Several specific faces are cemented in my mind. They were watching… they were watching to see if the God we professed was big enough to get us through this. They were watching to see if we ran to or ran from our faith in Jesus in a moment like this. It was in that moment Jeff and I made one of the most important decisions we would ever make- to run TO God and let Him carry us through this nightmare.

After talking with the emergency personnel and reassuring the babysitter that it was not her fault, that we still trusted her, and we were so sorry that she had to experience this, we went home. The house seemed empty, yet there were reminders of Zoe everywhere- bottles drying on the drying rack, her swing in the living room, burp rags on the edge on the couch; everything was waiting for her to come home with us. Our two older boys were at Jeff’s parents house just around the corner. His mom had picked them up before I arrived at the babysitters house, and they still weren’t quite sure what had happened during their nap time. We sat with two of our pastors and asked for advice on what and how we should tell them; we knew they were going to be heartbroken. They reassured us that there weren’t words for something like this, but that God would give us the words to say. Finally, we called Jeff’s parents and nervously waited for our boys to come home. 

“I want to play with Zoe!” were Jayden’s first words as he walked through the door; his words pierced our hearts. We sat them down with us on the couch and slowly explained to them that she wasn’t coming home. Jesus had taken her up to be with him in Heaven during her nap today; her room was ready and her ‘special job’ that God had for her life here was finished (or in many ways just beginning). All we could do was cry together.

The next day, was filled with hard things- waking up to realize her cries would no longer wake us up, continuing to pump milk (as I had still been nursing), going into Zoe’s room for the first time, looking at the pictures of Zoe that I had taken of her just hours before she passed away, the list could go on and on. However, as I made the choice to walk into the pain, each time, I was able to come out stronger and healthier than before.

Typically, we try to avoid pain, it’s natural. Perhaps that is why most people say the first stage of grief is denial. We don’t want to feel pain because it’s unpleasant and miserable at times. I didn’t want to feel the pain of losing Zoe, none of us did. I had such a hard time as family and friends wanted to ‘help us’ by putting her things away, I kept thinking someone would bring her home to us and she would need all those things again. This was just a nightmare. We had to move forward with our new reality, that we would now carry the pain of loss with us the rest of our lives. We couldn’t avoid it, instead we had to walk into the pain.

Pain is an indicator. It communicates to us that something is wrong. This is true of both emotional pain and physical pain. It is a message that causes us to react. When we touch a hot stove and feel the pain our first reaction is to jerk away. Emotional pain has the same effect on us, however we must to respond differently to this type of pain; we must sometimes keep our hand ‘on the burner’ and allow ourselves to experience the emotional pain in order to become healthier. 

Rather than backing away from the emotional pain that we were feeling as a result of Zoe’s loss, we needed to process it and move forward with it as a new reality in our lives. We had to choose to walk into the pain because in doing so we could walk through the pain and continue living our lives. We had to reject the guilt of moving on and accept the truth, that she was EVEN happier in her new home, and in the arms of the Father who gave her to us in the first place. She was in the best place she could be!

“I need to shower, shave, and get dressed.” Jeff shared with me that next morning. “I’m afraid what will happen if I don’t.” It was his way of saying that we can’t allow ourselves to get stuck. Just as I used to teach my students as a swim instructor, when you go under the water, the best thing to do is push off the bottom. We were at the bottom. We could either sit there and ‘die’ ourselves, or we could push off the bottom and trust that God would take us back up, for our sake, and for the sake of our grieving boys. 

It was evident, that as we walked forward into the pain, we knew that we weren’t walking alone. We knew we were being carried forward each day by someone who had walked through this pain before. He knew well the pain of losing a child. Without Him to walk with us into the pain and even carry us some days, we would never have been able to walk through the pain. 

Today walking into the pain looks different than it did last year, or the year before; grief doesn’t go away, but it does change. The burden gets lighter and the Lord continues to bring Joy into your life that balances out the pain. Honestly, we don’t want the pain to go away. The pain reminds us of the deep, deep love we have for our precious Zoe.

One of the many things that I have learned through loosing Zoe, is that true hope is so much stronger than even our worst circumstances. As a mom, one of the biggest fears I had was losing one of my children. I now live that reality, but I live it with hope. I am able to live with hope, because I know I will see and hold my precious girl again in heaven one day. Because of this hope, I have been able to commit to walking into the pain but then existing on the other side healthier than before.

I will walk into the pain, and I will walk THROUGH the pain, but I will not live in the pain. 

Someone once told us that losing a child was a terrible gift. At the time, that was a difficult statement to understand and even harder to accept. It was just terrible. However, as God has brought other grieving families into our lives, there has been a connection with them that is indescribable. We have come to realize that that deep connection is our terrible gift.

God has used Zoe’s loss in our lives as a way to allow us to walk with others through the pain of losing their children. It is a journey that begins with death, but can bring hope and healing amidst the loss.

In July of 2017, we welcomed a new precious little girl into our family; Nora Jane Rollins. Her name means God’s Gift of Light; and she is every bit of that for our family. 

Jeff & Mackenzie’s Story created by WoodsEdge Community Church was created while they were serving as missionaries in Ecuador from 2014-2017.