Last week I discussed the worth of walking down the wrong path. In that piece I focused more on saying a full yes to one vocation, only to ultimately learn that it was not meant for me. That time spent discerning was a gift instead of a waste.

It's relatively easy to accept that taking a risk on discernment will pay off somehow. But what about when the "wrong road" involves losing a child? What if it means losing multiple children? Was it still worth it?

I've shared a bit about our story from this summer. A very complicated miscarriage in June that didn't end until July when we also had to do surgery to remove a cystic tumor on my ovary (unrelated to miscarriage, I'm just lucky like that.) A subsequent miscarriage in September.

I don't think it truly was a "wrong road" to have been open to those pregnancies, but it was a wrong road in the sense that it did not lead to a living baby as one would hope. Roads that lead to heartache are roads most people would rather not travel. It's not wrong to feel that.

However, I wasn't anticipating how strongly my losses would result in me being avoided. Like miscarriage is catching. Like I have a bad luck virus. Even among women who have had miscarriages, my story is odd. This particular road is rare, and, perhaps the scariest of all, unavoidable.
My losses are not due to any underlying problem we have been able to identify. All three are more than likely due to bad luck. There is nothing I could have done to prevent them. There is nothing to do to avoid losing future children.

That terrifies people.

We don't like it, but it's true - being open to life will entail being open to death. Whether we accept that reality or not. A road that you thought was bordered by sunshine and daisies can turn into a nightmare in an instant. But it's still a grace to be on that road. It is better to have been open to grace and cooperating with it, than to have prevented the heartache with sameness.

Heartache is a reminder of the power and size of your yes. When your heart breaks over a sudden turn in the road, it lets you know how deeply you meant your yes. Heartache is a beautiful reminder that you were willing to become more. More open, more loving, more a follower of Christ. This is not the "be more" of Pinterest inspirational quotes. This is the being more that is our invitation to accept God can do anything. We can be more his on this hard path.

God did not intend for your baby to die. Our God is not a cruel God. I think it's important to lay that out there.
The idea that this road has included loss, or losses, that furthers God's grace does not mean that you should not grieve. If anything it means grief will be so much more real.

A pothole in this road is the temptation to what I call the Pain Olympics. Comparing our pain to be greater than or less than the pain of others, and using that comparison to justify harmful behavior. This is not a healing strategy. The Pain Olympics only hands out loser awards. Even if you "win" it just means you are still hurting. We can do that without belittling the pain of others.

What I don't want to become is bitter on this road. Which does not mean I accept that the people who have reacted hurtfully in this process haven't hurt me. It's right to be hurt by hurtful things. It just means that instead of pretending these awful months didn't happen, I can use this experience to push for change. To allow the next woman walking her sudden wrong road to have someone next to her. To do the little things I can do. Cooperating with God's grace does not have to die with my babies. It can be the ultimate sign of their life.

Was this road worth it? 100% yes. Does it hurt? 100% yes.

Yes is a super power if we allow it to be.

What have been some of your unexpected "wrong roads"? How have you cooperated with Grace?

A Grief Continued - Back to Back Miscarriages and Taking Space

It happened again. For the third time we have lost another pregnancy.

This makes two just this summer.

When I had our first miscarriage in between our second and third born children, I believed the whole song and dance of how this is common but it probably won't happen again. I am very good at winning all the wrong lotteries, so leave it to me to beat the odds here.

Grief is a long process, but it is nearly impossible to heal when the traumas keep coming. Factors are different with these two losses that pose their own challenges for healing. A key difference between our first loss and these last two is we are now part of an extremely fertile parish. It's babies and pregnant women everywhere and all the time - including many who share(d) my due window.

When we had our house fire in the early Spring, no one would have put me in a position of having to talk about fires and house renovations at every gathering. Certainly no one would have decided other fire victims would be best to facilitate our healing. Because that's tacky, insensitive, and, to a great extent, illogical.
But that's what we do around pregnancy loss.

When you are living a nightmare, it's extremely hard to relate.
Right now, I don't want to hear your complaints about your perfectly healthy pregnancy when my babies are dead.
I'm not ready to push through my grief for the sake of your joy.
I don't want to see the growing bellies of all the women who would have been pregnant with me. There are zero ways for that to not make me flashback to the losses.

If this is sounding like trauma and raw wounds - it's because it is. This entire summer I have been a living breathing war zone and burial ground.
I wish wearing morning dress was still a thing. At least then I would have a way to externally signal to the world that I'm not ok, handle with care. Instead I look like a mom with three young kids who can totally handle one more thing.

To a great extent, I am bearing it well. I'm getting up every morning. I show up when scheduled. I smile. I joke. I talk about other things. I teach my kids. I handle new projects. I go where I am needed.
But I'm not ok.

"Just because you carry it all so well, doesn't mean it's not heavy."

This is heavy. This has been going on since June 1st, y'all. Yet I, and many of the other people around you silently suffering losses, feel intense pressure to be fine. To be normal. To be recovered.

I don't know about everyone, but I don't recover well without space. Space is something I haven't had much of over the past four months.

This past week, my husband and I took a couples getaway to the North Shore on Lake Superior. This trip had been planned since July, when it became apparent that we needed something to look forward to in this summer of grief. I had no idea it would end up being the week after yet another loss.

It was three days of extremely limited internet and phone access. Spending nearly all day outside. Having time and space with just our marriage.

I came home feeling much more connected with my husband, but so much more averse to pretending with everyone else. Instead of feeling like I could take on reconnecting to the level I was pre-back to back losses, I feel the need to reclaim space.
Grief makes you feel small and insignificant. It makes you recoil and shy away from being "too" anything. It leads you to act like your person is less than everyone else. Not in a virtuous humble way, in a way that doesn't acknowledge your own dignity.

So for at least the next 4 months, the rough amount of time I have spent miscarrying just this year, I am going to reclaim my space. It's time to acknowledge that while my pregnant friends do not mean to make things hard for me, it is hard to be around right now. They didn't ask for that anymore than I asked to be a multiple loss mom, but here we are regardless. I have come to realize it's more spiritually expensive to pretend fine and let resentment build up. Sometimes taking a pause is the option of minimal harm.

Here are the 7 things I wish people knew in this time of prolonged loss and grief.

1. Communication is key. It's a lot of mental and emotional bandwidth to do all the communication from my end. It's incredibly helpful when people reach out and check in, or check their perceptions, without me having to initiate everything myself.

2. Silence isn't a rebuff, it might be a pause. I'm still homeschooling and juggling all kinds of things on my end. I often don't get the time or energy to respond to communications until a break in the day or the week. Be patient with me.

3. See the whole person. I love going to young adult events right now. Not just because they tend to be attended by people unlikely to spring a surprise pregnancy announcement. With young adults, I get asked about myself as a person. Not solely as a mom. It's a blessed break to talk about history, current events, hobbies, or all the many things that are a part of me.

4. I'm still postpartum. There is, rightfully, a huge amount of grace extended to women in the months after giving birth. My body has gone through massive hormonal shifts, surgery, stress, and a whole pile of struggles just like any other postpartum mom. But because I don't have a cute baby to show for it, it is very easy to forget I'm still a person going through a postpartum recovery.

5. Having first trimester losses carries it's own kind of trauma. I have no grave to visit. There are no sonogram pictures of my living babies. The lack of closure there is something that doesn't go away.

6. Grief and loss impacts every part of my life right now. I don't have the reserves to deal with people reacting badly. I have barely written because I can't deal with the trolls and people just having a bad day at me.

7. This isn't forever, but it is my now. I couldn't tell you when it won't physically hurt to be around pregnant women. I wish I knew too.

_________________________

Linking up with This Ain't the Lyceum for 7QT.  

When Your Body Has Betrayed You

"This is not the way it was supposed to be."

"This" could be anything. Infertility, disease, difficulty losing weight, or gaining it. The result is the same - your body has betrayed you. It's not functioning as it should or how you hoped. It does not seem to get better quickly, despite your efforts. Maybe it never will.

The temptation to despair is strong. It is decidedly hard to love your cross.

What gets me out of the rut of trying, and failing, to love a body that has failed to function properly is to stop focusing on loving myself harder. Common advice says to focuses on loving yourself, but it is a solitary love. A weak love.
I cannot love myself out of this trial, but I can allow myself to be loved through it. That love can be the balm that makes the blisters of cross bearable.

This means talking to others about the ugly in our lives, not holding onto our dirty laundry for fear someone might show us how to clean the stain.
It means accepting help - allowing others to be the hands of Christ.

I am still struggling along this road. I still say "This shouldn't be happening" multiple times a week. But then I text a friend, write a quick email to let my husband know my headspace, or prayer journal out my mental mud.
It does not cure anything bodily, but it does provide an antidote to the despair.

It is ok to grieve. It is normal to feel hurt and angry, but don't stay there and certainly don't walk this road alone.
Know that your body is not your punishment.
Know that you are not the only person carrying this particular cross.
Know that God still loves you and wants good things for you.
Know these things, even if you can't believe them yet.

The Hidden Scars - Dealing with Miscarriage and Secondary Infertility

I am told I am lucky.
I got my boy and my girl right off the bat.
"You're so lucky!," say strangers on the street. "Now you're done!"

Ummmm, why? I always wanted to finally turn around and ask, "What makes you say that?"

Because I didn't feel lucky.

When we had an early miscarriage after our second child was born, it was much more heart wrenching than it had to be due to social pressure to fall within certain reproductive expectations.

The following are real quotes real people have really said to me.
Like to my face.
And meant them.

Once you have a boy and a girl it's "so nice you're done!" It's a statement, not a question.

Any pregnancy less than two years after the last child was born must have been an accident. Because "why would you even want that?"

DEFINITELY never tell anyone about a pregnancy before 12 weeks. Because "what if something happens?!"

Well something did happen, and, ya know, it was not helped by keeping my child some deep secret.

Following our miscarriage it took a lot longer to get pregnant with our next baby than expected.
It's impossible to convey, without living through it, just what it's like to hope so hard every month.... and then see that tell-tale temperature drop on the chart and know that it wouldn't be this month.

Or the next.

Or the next.

But from the outside looking in everything looked perfect!
We're very healthy and active people. We have two cool kids who fill our days with antics and adventures.
But people are not Legos. You can't just swap out one kid for another, and my heart longed for the baby we lost and the ones I was no longer sure would ever be coming.

Sometimes it seemed like no one else even remembered that baby happened.

I entered a weird twilight zone where I would hope against hope that friends would make their pregnancy announcements on Facebook instead of insisting on telling me face to face. IKEA and Target on the weekends was like walking into a maternity catalog. It felt like every other woman in a 50 miles radius could get pregnant but me.

I faced the possibility that we might end up as a two child family.
With our boy and our girl. Socially approved.

I recoiled from the social approval. It felt backhanded. "Good job meeting the Orwellian ideal!" No room for difference. No room for growth. No room for humanity or empathy in there.

I am currently pregnant with our "rainbow baby" who is due to arrive at the end of September. This was a pregnancy announced right away. This child will not be hidden, her birth order will not be excused, and I sincerely hope she's not the last.

I hope for a society that is less focused on a reproductive ideal, and solely focused on the gift of humanity present in each child. I hope for there to be love and understanding for mothers like me who are suddenly staring at a battle with infertility. I hope for a first child and an eleventh child to be equally welcomed. I hope for the silent struggles and wounds of our hearts to speak.

Emotional and spiritual healing from my miscarriage is an ongoing process, so I was thrilled to see Peanut Butter & Grace was publishing a book focused on miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss - Blessed Is The Fruit of Thy Womb by Heidi Indahl. 

What saint better understands what it is like to lose a child than Mary? The book prays through the rosary using meditations from Scripture, reflections, and prayer intentions. What I find most valuable are the questions and journal space within the book to write down the emotions and thoughts that arise from our prayer. 

The book does a great job of grounding the reader in the guidance of Mary and Scripture while consciously allowing the reader to process her own grief and experience. That processing is always followed up with a prayer intention for the larger world. 

Our grief is not unique. So many mother's hearts all over the world and throughout history bear the scars of child loss. Own your story, write it down, talk about it, don't forget your children, but also remember that others are with you bearing the same grief. Bearing the same wounds. Reaching out to each other, beginning through prayer, can be the first fruit that reconnects us back to each other.

Blessed Is The Fruit of Thy Womb is available on Amazon. You can follow more from the author, Heidi Indahl, on her blog Work and Play, Day by Day and on Facebook and Instagram. I received access to a free digital preview copy of the book for review, but all opinions and commentary is my own.

What I Wish People Knew About Being Pro-life

It's Thursday, so link up time with The Zelie Group! 

It's JEI (Just Enough Info) but I'm digging pretty deep today. As always, if you want to talk more, comment or hit up one of my contact methods on the sidebar. 

Does your family or parish mark the month in a special way?

October is a bittersweet month for our family. The one year anniversary of our miscarriage is in a little less than two weeks from today. 

We have a small family altar, and I like to put particular holy cards or mementos on the altar in memory of those who are no longer with us.

I do wish our parish would mark this month. This is not the year for me to be in charge of it, but memorial masses for lost children, additional outreach to the ill and homebound, or special rosaries would mean a lot.

Do you have any books or resources to recommend on the Respect Life theme?

Honestly, there are so many good resources out there and they're so easy to find on the internet. What is tricky to finding out where we each need to grow.

I think we all have some growing to do in order to work towards creating a society where all humans are seen and valued as persons.

One of our great faults as a society, in my experience, is we don't know how to be there for someone who is grieving or struggling. Their hurt seems big and scary, and we're often so terrified of doing the wrong thing we do nothing.

We try and force "moving on" by acting like things are fine or that the hurting will be over soon.
I'll let you in on a little secret - it's never "fine". It will never be the same once a person has gone through something that hard.

What every grieving, hurting, person needs is someone to reach in, see their humanity, and be there.
How you do that varies drastically from person to person.

I know a lot of women who do that by feeding people. They are the ones who will show up with full, hot, meals on your doorstep plus a little extra to "eat on later". It doesn't matter if a new baby was born, someone just had surgery, or a loved one died. These ladies will make sure you don't starve.
Food can be a beautiful love language.

Plenty others have a gift for listening. They can listen to you ramble and struggle to put your conflicting thoughts and emotions into words and never feel the need to shut you down.

Keep inviting those people into the community and to do fun stuff. Even if they don't go, being asked means you still wanted them to be a part of your life and that they still matter.

Don't be afraid to embrace another person. Sometimes a hug is all it takes for some of that emotional healing movement to happen.

Don't wait to be asked. Step into any needs you see. Sometimes the best thing you can do is help the ones who are supporting those who are grieving.

What do you wish others understood about the Respect Life message?

The biggest thing is that it is a whole person idea. If you're pro-life you have to be pro-ALL human life.

It's a pretty simple bar: we don't kill people, and we don't decide which humans are people. Boom.

It's not a hard concept, yet we, as a society, struggle to accept it.

Just stop and think about how much time we, as a society, have WASTED arguing about who counts as human. How much of a narcissistic God-complex must one have to think we can decide who should count as human?!

Yet our society does it every day.

It's really easy y'all. Everybody counts.
Even criminals.
Even the smallest clump of a human blastocyst.
Even the insane.
Even the terminally ill.
Even those in such physical pain they are suicidal.

*************************

If you have more questions about some of the topics I've touched on here, feel free to leave a comment or email me (underthyroof@gmail.com). I'm happy to talk more, and I'll help as much as I can. If I don't know the answer, I (probably) know where to find it!

Leave your answers to this week's questions in the comments or link up if you've got a blog!

Make sure you read the rules of the link up, and follow each of your hosts in some way!

Jessica – Pinot Noir and Prayers | Instagram | Facebook

Alicia – Sweeping Up Joy | Pinterest | Facebook
Kirby (me!)  – Under Thy Roof | Instagram | Facebook
Kerry - Fishbowl Fortune | Instagram | Facebook

Next week's questions are on Autumn/Fall Fun!

Best fall flavor:  apple or pumpkin?

The leaves are changing colors, and the air is crisp.  What are you looking forward to about fall?

Do you decorate for the season (and which is it: fall or autumn?)

A Bittersweet Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving is really bittersweet. We heard yesterday that a dear friend to many, Justin Schaefer, collapsed on his run and died on Sunday. He was 26, and an absolutely beautiful soul. 

A strong Catholic man and complete geology nerd (with the degree to prove it.)  

I'm glad to have known him for a brief time. 

I'm glad that we shared such similar taste in pizza toppings he stole my pizza out of the oven. 

I wish we had gotten that coffee.

A friend posted this poem that Justin wrote with the note that it was more appropriate than anything he could think of to say. I think he's right.

Faith Tectonics

Give me faith to move mountains,
I gave fire to move mountains.
Give me wisdom to straighten the path.
I gave water to carve out the path.
Give me love that erupts into the earth.
I gave volcanoes to transform the world.

A voice cries out the wilderness:
_____Make low the mountains;
__________I will erode injustices.
_____Make full the valleys;
 __________I will deposit compassion.

O Divine Dynamo, the mover of movers.
I have mapped my faults.
Shear them together,
That I may know perseverance.

Subduct my soul, you who are beyond all things,
As I dive into this baptism of fire and water,
Let me be transformed.
Give me a heart of stone,
Not of the cold, dead, static, stone;
But of the warm, dynamic, life bearing earth.
The rock on which you will build your Church.

For the repose of the soul of Justin Schaefer. May God grant him eternal rest, and let perpetual light shine upon him.

A Catholic Grief

Our family has gone through some very tough moments since October 19, 2015. That is the day we gained a very little saint in heaven.

We named her Mary Bernadette, even though there is no way to know for sure her gender. I like to think she is the official patron saint of the Hoberg family.

It is an odd thing to mourn someone you have never seen face to face. There are no pictures, no momentos, no favorite objects to cling to.

Instead, I've found pictures of her patrons, St. Bernadette and Our Lady of Guadalupe, and placed them on our family altar in her honor.

This is a particularly raw time in which to experience a miscarriage. October is the national month for pregnancy and infant loss, and November is the month Catholics remember the dead. Nothing like the rest of the world hitting you over the head with reminders for remembering how much this hurts.

I generally do not feel helped by national months/days for categories I represent. It feels like, because we have designed a time to talk and feel about this issue, everyone is off the hook the rest of the year.

But I don't get a day off. It's my every moment.

I'm not at a place yet where I can write things like "what to do to help your friend going through miscarriage". I don't know what I'll need tomorrow and I barely know what I need today.
All I really want to do is pray, and all I really need to your prayers right now.

Our little family is hurting right now, but we're doing our best to incorporate our little saint into our lives.
We will be a having a Blessing for the Parents of Miscarried Children, and evening prayer from the Office of the Dead. We will be adding her to our family altar, which I always build in remembrance of our dead loved ones during the month of November.

If you are currently experiencing a miscarriage, I would love to hear from you. If nothing else, we can pray for each other.

Other bloggers have been able to write far more on this topic. Mandi at A Blog About Miscarriage is amazingly thorough, loving, and real in her writing. Her resource lists are worth linking to in of themselves.