My colleague, Tanya, and I travel quite a bit for work as we speak at seminars, attend conferences, and provide training. On any given flight, we are asked where and what we do, and I can tell you, it’s not always sexy for others to learn that we are reproductive grief and loss educators. Some people will tell us their precious and sacred stories, and others will not look us in the eye for the rest of the journey. On one such flight, Tanya sat beside a beautiful young woman who asked what the purpose of our trip was. Tanya quietly mentioned our travel plans, then sat back to see where the conversation would lead. Soon, the woman looked up at the air vent, hoping to find the meaning of these words there. She hesitatingly asked, “Miscarriage?” Tanya breathed out, “Yes.” After a long pause, the woman asked, “Abortion?” Again, Tanya answered, “Yes.” Finally, the woman looked up, searching for words in the sky beyond the plane, and asked, “Hysterectomy?”
Yes.
The woman went on to share with Tanya how she had to have a complete hysterectomy at a young age and was now grieving the children she would never bear.
Reproductive loss is any experience of grief in a person’s life related to their reproductive health, decisions, fertility, the outcomes of a pregnancy, or the creation or care of their family[1]. It can involve the pain of miscarriage, the agony of stillbirth, perinatal and infant loss, and the complex emotions tied to infertility, assisted reproduction, and abortion. It also extends to adoption, children born with congenital disabilities, and any loss affecting a person’s reproductive well-being.
Reproductive loss is a widespread and often unspoken part of life. Miscarriage alone accounts for a quarter of all pregnancies, resulting in about two million losses yearly in the United States. Yet, it differs from other forms of grief in that parents who have experienced reproductive loss may have limited tangible memories of their baby. Their loss is silent, and they often grieve without the support or recognition they need to heal. Additionally, when individuals form deep connections with their unborn or newborn children and experience any loss, grief inevitably follows.
Knowing that many people struggle with reproductive loss is half the battle of becoming a source of understanding and empathy for them. Because it is a private (or scary) topic, we seldom delve into these particular and painfully common tragedies. Thus, distressed women and men are not receiving the biblical guidance they desperately need. Instead, struggling with their pain in isolation, they often seek comfort and answers online, where much of the content they stumble upon focuses on the emotional dimensions of losing a child rather than applying the truths of God’s Word to their grief. While they find empathy in the articles they read, the profound hope embedded in the gospel of Jesus Christ is missing.
With just a little bit of information on this topic, we can listen to these stories with empathy and offer the hope and comfort afforded us in Christ Jesus.
Tricia Lewis, Co-Founder Reproductive Loss Network
[1] Flores and Lewis, 2023; Earle et al., 2008; Price, 2008; Roth, 2018
It started out like any other pregnancy. A positive test. Excitement. Fatigue. Nausea. With a history of miscarriage, pregnancy for me always came with a considerable amount of anxiety as well. An early ultrasound at 7 weeks showed a heartbeat, so that helped to put my mind at ease.
My next ultrasound was at 12 weeks. This time, however, the results were far from reassuring. At a follow-up doctor’s appt., I was told that my baby had some “complications”. . . After several more scans, a meeting with a genetics counselor, and eventually an amniocentesis at 18 weeks, a diagnosis was confirmed. We had a son and he had Trisomy-18 (Edwards Syndrome), a rare chromosomal abnormality. He was deemed “incompatible with life”. The news was devastating.
Though termination was recommended, I believe strongly that God alone is the giver and taker of life. He had given me this child and I was determined to carry him as long as the Lord allowed me to. God knew the number of his days and I was at peace placing my son’s life in His Sovereign hands.
Since there is a high chance of miscarriage with Trisomy babies, I woke up every morning wondering if “today” would be the day. It was a highly emotional and tumultuous time for our family and the daily strains of carrying a child that I knew would probably not survive was exhausting. But God allowed me to carry this precious child for 40 weeks. An induction was scheduled and at 7:41 pm on Tuesday, November 15, 2016, Isaac Matthew Green was stillborn. Labor had proved to be too much for him.
It was one of the darkest and most difficult times of my life. I had held out hope for a miracle for so long. I was overcome by the profound disappointment of not getting to look into his eyes, even once, to tell him I loved him. The heart-breaking reality of a life cut short hit hard. I would never get to see him grow up. My older boys would never get to shower him with their affection (& wrestling!). It was unfair. The grief, all-consuming.
But amidst the overwhelming grief, God was there. He was faithful. And He was good. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction . . .” (2 Cor. 1:3-4a) Praise God the Holy Spirit helps us when we are at our weakest, interceding on our behalf (Rom. 8:26-27).
And when God felt far away and we were too consumed by our grief to make our own way, He used the body of Christ to carry us. They were His hands & feet, reaching into our lives and drawing us closer to Him. There wasn’t much they could say to “make it better”, but they brought us meals, paid for a house cleaner, watched our kids, and checked in on us frequently. They prayed for us and cried with us. Before Isaac was born, a group of women from our church threw a “Celebration of Life” party for me and I was given a quilt that they had each created their own unique square for. After Isaac was born, those same women came to the hospital to “meet” him and to sit with us in our grief. I will cherish these simple acts of kindness and compassion for the rest of my life.
Isaac will always be a part of our family. He is a part of me, and his brief life has changed me forever; I will never be the same. Five and a half years on, the intensity of my grief has faded, but it still hits me when I least expect it. Despite everything, I am thankful. I am thankful to God for giving Isaac to our family. I am thankful for the many ultrasounds where we got to “see” him alive and kicking inside the womb. I am thankful for the answered prayers for strength and the Lord’s protection from having to make additional difficult decisions regarding Isaac’s care. I am thankful for the exceptionally understanding and compassionate medical professionals who helped and guided us. I am thankful for the amazing community of believers He provided to walk beside us on our journey. But most of all, I am thankful for how God will one day turn my mourning into gladness and take the ashes of my life and turn them into something truly BEAUTIFUL.
by Rachel Green
