A Journey Through Grief and Healing
Six months ago, Andrew and I experienced our most difficult goodbye. After labor had come and gone, we found ourselves holding our precious Lainey Jayne. Tears streamed down our faces as we cradled our angel baby. Every passing moment felt painfully slow. Even now, I wish I had held her for just a little longer. Nurses entered with gentle smiles to check on us, and social workers brought packets filled with information about grief and counseling. I hardly registered their words, as my mind was preoccupied with a mental checklist of what needed to happen next.
I called the funeral home, barely managing to finish my sentence before breaking down. I steadied myself long enough to provide the necessary information. After the call, all I wanted was to go home and hide in my room. Hours later, we were finally discharged. The walk from our room to the truck felt like an eternity. The hallway buzzed with visiting family members and expectant mothers checking in for delivery. Nurses’ conversations faded as we walked by; they offered soft smiles but said nothing. When we reached the end of the maternity wing, my knees buckled. Without my loving husband by my side, I would have fallen to the ground. Overwhelmed with tears and anger, I cried out that this was unfair and that I didn’t understand. Andrew quickly wrapped me in a hug, helping me regain my composure as we continued toward the truck. He sat me down on a bench outside to get the truck.
A young couple walked out, cradling their tiny bundle of joy. The mother looked exhausted, while the father appeared nervous as he loaded the car seat into the back. This sight brought me back to the first time we left the hospital with Charlee, and how each experience with Olivia and Emma felt a little less stressful. But this time would be different. There would be no backseat rides, no worrying about our little one’s first car ride home—just long stretches of silence with muffled sobs as we tried to be strong for each other. My mind raced with questions: Why did this happen? What did I do to deserve this? How will I choose a burial outfit for my baby? Will there be a service? I felt anger towards God but also recognized that this was part of His plan. He was not punishing me. The emotional turmoil was exhausting.
In the following days, we arranged the service, purchased a burial plot, selected a tiny casket, and picked out flowers. Finally, the day arrived to lay our baby to rest. Numbness enveloped me as we made our way to the church, mentally preparing to speak in front of our friends and family. My heart raced, and my body trembled, yet I found the strength to begin. My eulogy touched on our struggles with infertility, the challenges in our marriage, and most importantly, my deepening relationship with Jesus. He had been by my side the entire time, preparing me for this day. Over the past few years, He had gently guided us, ensuring we had family, true friends, and a loving church community around us.
In the last six months, I have experienced more emotions than I can count. I have shed countless tears, yet I have also felt immense joy. My heart still aches for the sweet baby cuddles and the soft cries in the night. My nightmares eventually transformed into dreams filled with all the firsts we would have shared with Lainey. The past months have been anything but easy, but life continues to move forward, never pausing for tragedy. I began to find ways to return to normal for the sake of my other children. For me, that meant focusing on Charlee’s rodeo adventures and nurturing my relationship with God and the church.
My nights became filled with studying the Bible and reflecting in journals, applying the lessons to my life. I began to pray more, talking with God as if He were sitting right beside me. I started attending church more frequently, getting to know fellow members better. I still faced setbacks; some days, I would be consumed with anger at Him for taking Lainey Jayne from us, but that feeling would fade into a recognition that He was caring for her and that she was loved. My mind was exhausted from the internal conflict. On some days, my emotions were all over the place—I’d cry for hours or feel irritable over minor issues.
About a month ago, I hit a breaking point. The girls had been screaming and bickering all day, and the heat was wearing me down as I prepared for a barrel race. After finally settling the girls down for a nap, I returned outside to finish bathing the horses. Once I completed that task, I walked the horse back to the pen, only to have the gate fall off its hinge. I dropped to my knees and cried right there, feeling helpless. I couldn’t fix the gate by myself, so I called Andrew, tears streaming down my face. I struggled to speak before he reassured me, “I’m on my way home.” In that moment, I sat in the dirt, pleading with God for help. I was at a crossroads and desperately needed guidance. A sense of calm washed over me like never before. I got up, grabbed some lead ropes, and tied the gate shut to prevent it from being pushed open. I continued with my day until Andrew arrived.
In the weeks that followed, that sense of calm lingered. If you know me, I’m a meticulous planner; I account for every detail. Any deviation from the plan typically causes me stress, but that anxiety seemed to fade away. I found myself living more in the moment, feeling more present in my children’s lives. I continued to pray for guidance on the path God wanted me to take, which drew me closer to our church. I became more involved by joining the choir and volunteering at VBS. I read the Bible more, ask questions, and participated actively in Sunday school.
While I still feel sadness at times, often reflecting on all the experiences I’m missing out on with a new baby, one remarkable thing has emerged from our loss: both my faith and my husband’s faith have grown stronger. Our relationship has deepened as we build a better connection with Jesus. I know challenging days still lie ahead, but I am grateful for the boundless love He has to offer.
