Today is the tenth anniversary of the day our third child, Jackson James Breakall, entered the world, too small to join it, and so, also the day we said goodbye, without ever really meeting him.

I will almost certainly write, later today, about his brief life, and what it gave us, but, right now, what is on my heart is the story of the people, three in particular, who showed me what it looks like when you “weep with those who weep”, because it was a gift that began to change me, and both my ability to receive love and my belief that I was worthy of it, and that that my grief was worth not only acknowledging, but sharing.

I want to do this without pointing a finger or laying blame on the people/family who were not there for me, or whose words were less than helpful when I lost our first and third babies, because this really is about going positive and thanking these friends who are family to me, but, there is such a strong contrast between the experiences I had with biological family and our church family, that makes it necessary to mention. I hold nothing against them, because I know that our shortcomings in relationships are often so much more about what is going on in our own minds and hearts, than about how much we love people. But, since the both/and is an important part of healing in both hearts and relationships, it’s fair for me to acknowledge that it is true both that these folks (our families) did what they could/believed was right in the moment, *and* that they let me/us down in devastating ways at the time. there may be more about this in Jack’s story, but for now…

When we lost Jack, we had known about him for about two weeks, though I had known in my heart that he was there from almost the first moment. The first week, we’d only told maybe my mother and two or three of our closest friends, and then, week two, when we knew there was only a tiny chance that he would meet us in September, fully formed and healthy, I asked those friends and also my Facebook circle to pray for a miracle, but without details as to what the miracle was. The day we lost him, I didn’t post anything, and I think we only told one person, our dearest friend and, at the time, one of our pastors, Chip. He’d been the second person we told Lexi existed, 26 months before, and was, as far as I can remember, the first person we told when Jack was gone.

The next morning, our dear friend Sheryl texted me to ask how I was doing and let me know she was still praying for our miracle, and I told her that I was so thankful for that, and that we had lost our baby the day before. Immediately, she asked what she could bring us for lunch- springing into action and love. She didn’t ask how far along I was, or try to qualify our loss in any way, she just responded with intention and care. This woman (and her son, who is beyond precious to us!) were the first non-biological family to come visit when Lexi was born (and later Declan too!), and so, the immediate beauty of having our mourning shared as readily as our celebration had been, was so powerful to me, and something I’d never experienced in my life, to that point. She brought us Chipotle, and sat and ate with us, and my stars was it precious. I type all this through tears, ten years later, because I still can’t believe how well she loved us that day, and so many other times. If you are fortunate enough to have a friend (or more!) who you get to walk through each other’s peaks and valleys with, who loves you through yours and lets you love them through theirs too, that’s a precious precious gift. We’ve had that with Sheryl, and I hope we always will. She’s such a gift and a faithful friend and sister. (She was also the first person we ever let babysit Lexi!)

The following day was Sunday, and it must have been Saturday night that I posted the news that we were so thankful for all the prayers, but we had lost our beautiful September Baby- I wasn’t ready to share his name yet- on Facebook. I don’t remember the responses (though I will almost certainly tenderly read them tomorrow in my memories), but I know that it was, yet again, a surprising moment of feeling seen and loved in a way I hadn’t the first time, back in October of 06, and didn’t from our families this time either.

I remember waking up that Sunday morning, still in physical pain and with my heart in tatters, and Scott asking if I needed or wanted to just stay home today, and responding, “No. we need to go. I need to be with my people. ” There was never a question in my mind whether I needed to be there. I needed to be surrounded by the people who loved me actively, not passively or with platitudes and minimization. It was a rare Sunday when Scott wasn’t playing in the band, so he would be able to sit with me during the service, and that helped a lot too, to make me feel strong and brave and safe. So, we got up, dressed, got our beautiful newly eighteen month old girl ready, and headed to be with our People.

I walked in the door and made my way with purpose through the lobby, because I knew that the first person I needed to see was in the auditorium. I walked directly down the aisle toward the stage, and before I was halfway there, Chip stepped down in one step and strode to meet me, gathering me in a tight, long, wordless hug. Yep. that’s what I needed, and he knew it. He held me close for a long time, and said nothing, except that he loved me, and, in that moment, gave me comfort, safety, family, and God’s love for me in the flesh. Hugs are so powerful to me, and this wordless one from the closest thing I’ve ever had to an older brother, and my mentor spoke volumes and went a long way to salve my broken mama heart. I love that guy so much.

Later, maybe during the music (I widh I remembered more clearly, but so much about the day is a blur, ten years later), I felt arms around me again, from behind, and I leaned into the love that Laura Branch was pouring into me from her mama heart to mine. Laura and I were not super close then (though now, I feel we become closer by the day!), but she was one of only a handful of other mamas of littles around at that time, and was someone who knew infertility and other struggles we had in common well. She didn’t say anything, she just held me close, and I let myself cry. I’m crying again now. Laura, thank you. For that moment, for that hug, for being the first “fellow mama of littles” to comfort me, for all our friendship has become. It’s not easy for me to let other women in, but every time I share more of myself with you, I am surprised by the safety I find in our friendship. I think that started on this day. I love you.

Everyone at church that day who knew what was going on (I didn’t go around telling everyone) was incredibly sweet and supportive, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the active intentional love I was shown- and continue to be- by this church family.

I’m doing a chronological reading/study of the Bible this year, and right now I’m in Job. I had never really read through Job before, because I thought it would be hard on me, emotionally, but, so far, it’s been the opposite. It’s been encouraging and healing. One thing that seems particularly timely for me right now is the clear picture that is painted of Job’s friends and how *not* to be a good friend to someone who is suffering. The insensitivity, the judgement, the blame- it’s all very familiar to the experience I had with suffering before I found my People, and, if I’m honest, the experience I continued to have with many people even since then. Maybe it makes some people more comfortable to minimize others’ suffering, so they don’t have to see or experience it, or maybe they think just accepting one’s circumstances without negative emotion is more godly, or maybe there are hundreds of other reasons that most responses I’ve experienced to my suffering ( and, I’ll be honest, I’ve suffered a lot- no self pity, just a fact, and something that is true of many of us!) have been minimization, blame, dismissal, or just straight up silence/ ignoring. Through reading this first half or so of Job so far, though, I see God saying clearly that this is not His way, and that it’s more than okay, it’s *holy* to lament to Him, the way we would want our children to lament to us if they were suffering, and not only that, it’s pretty clear that Job’s friends, with all their speeches that seem like truth on the surface, are BAD FRIENDS, and the villains of the story.

The responses I received from biological family that same weekend were mostly silence, Bible verses about God’s plan being better than ours, encouragement to get over it asap, and a lot of nothing. Responses that left me feeling very confused, ashamed, and alone for “allowing myself” to hurt and grieve. I even was shamed a few months later for not wanting to attend a family Mother’s Day gathering because there would be another mother there whose due date was the same as I’d have had with Jackson and I didn’t need to see her bump. I was told that by now I should be over it, and I was selfish, and that essentially I owed it to the family to be there. I don’t share this out of anger or anything, and to be honest, one of the family members who was less present seemed to not have actually understood the situation, because a few months later they asked me if i’d actually had a miscarriage or had just thought I was pregnant. I’m still befuddled by that, but it’s proof we are all doing the best we can, and that sometimes we miss the mark because of other factors. I only share these things to show the contrast between different responses to my suffering.

They’re thrown into even sharper relief when I remember the love of these three friends on these days when I was suffering, and I am filled with comfort, joy, and gratitude when I remember their love, today, ten years later.

Thank you, Sheryl, Chip, and Laura, for being Jesus to me, that weekend, and always. I love you so very much.