If you'd like to read Benjamin's story from the beginning, click here.
Otherwise, there are a few quick tidbits I've come to experience regarding the loss of an unborn child that I'd like to mention as sort of a PS to this blog...
First is that the experience never leaves you. I have spoken with women who lost babies over twenty years ago, and they still reach out to me with empathy and compassion because they remember so well how it felt. The loss becomes a part of you, it stays with you forever, and to be honest, I don't think any of us would want it any other way.
Secondly, the experience creates an instantaneous bond between women who have lost babies. I am amazed that women I've casually been acquainted with for years have suddenly become closer just because we share this crazy, awful experience. It's a bond that none of us would ever pray for, but one for which we are eternally grateful nonetheless.
Lastly, this experience is not exclusive to women. Sure, it's our bodies that go through the change from full to empty. But daddies feel the loss too. If that's one thing I would change, it would be that others reach out to men who've lost children too. So many people asked my husband how I was doing in the days and weeks following our loss. (And I was truly touched, to be sure!) But it was a rare occurrence that someone actually asked how he was doing as well. He was a rock. He was a huge source of comfort and support for me. But he cried too. If the opportunity presents itself to acknowledge a daddy's grief, do so. And if it doesn't, do so anyway. The typical man might blow it off and change the subject back to his wife, but at least he'll know that his loss has been noted.
I hope you're here today out of curiosity and not because you've "been there," but if you are here because you've been touched by a premature goodbye like us, my heart and prayers are with you.
May the "God of all comfort" (2 Cor. 1:3) truly comfort you.
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