Reflections: My Children Are Angels

When my niece was born twenty-some years ago, I distinctly remember how the waiting room was set up. I also recall watching my brother periodically look at me with one eye when he woke up momentarily from his catnap as he awaited the arrival of his first child. Although the birth of Miss Morgan was monumental, something else occurred in that hospital waiting room that made a profound impact on my psyche. I had no idea the event would hit me personally seven years later.

On the night my beautiful niece came into this world, there was another person who made an unexpected mark in my mind. She was dark-skinned, slim, and relatively tall, compared to me, but what I remember the most was the fact that she was crying. I watched her sit down as she was handed a photo, and she said, “He looks like me.” Her baby died.

Over the past twenty-some years the activity I just described has replayed in my mind. I could hear and see the pain she was experiencing, but I had no idea I would have a connection with that stranger years later. I believe that encounter happened for a reason and I think of her often. And as I am writing this I realize I should have prayed for her in those moments she visited my mind, so I will pray for her now.

I know how it feels to have all your hopes you have for your child’s life to vanish within seconds. It is a pain I lack the words to describe. It is also a feeling that visits me sometimes. In full transparency, it almost overtook me yesterday during a conversation with two of my coworkers.

One of the members of my team is expecting her second child. She is due to deliver in a few weeks and she was sharing all of the things she is preparing and the things she is worried about. As she was talking, my mind drifted back to 2011 and 2013, and I replayed the moments when I lost my sons.

When the conversation ended and I was by myself, sadness started to grow within me, but I was able to counter it when I remembered God’s will is perfect, even if I don’t understand it.

“In every thing give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” -I Thessalonians 5:18 KJV

I decided to give God thanks instead of being sad and I was uplifted. By no means am I saying one shouldn’t grieve. On the contrary, grief is natural and can be beneficial when it is processed healthily. With this in mind, today, 15 October, is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. it is my hope and prayer that those of us who have experienced infant and pregnancy loss find comfort and healing today and every day.

Are Regrets Good or Bad?

By definition, the word regret is a feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or been done. In spite of this, there is a difference of opinion when it comes to having them. I’ve heard some people describe regrets as a form of immaturity, and I totally disagree.

A couple of days ago I read a post on social media that raised a question I found interesting: “Have you ever regretted a decision you made that haunts you even today?” Unfortunately, my answer is yes. In all honesty, there are several decisions I made that I regret. There are moments that stand out in my mind where I wish I had been more vocal about my thoughts and feelings instead of going along with what was happening. In retrospect, those particular regrets pale in comparison to the one that haunts me the most.

On Thursday, July 7, 2011, I went into premature labor and deliver my son, Xavier William. Moments before he entered the world, my doctor told my then-husband and me that our son was going to die. The doctor asked if we wanted to hold him once he was born and he explained that the staff would honor the decision we made at that moment. In other words, I couldn’t change my mind later. I said no, and it is one of the biggest regrets I have, which haunts me to this day.

I don’t consider having regrets as an act of immaturity—I see it as the complete opposite. When we experience feelings of regret, we are recognizing we could have done things differently, which aligns with accountability. Additionally, having regrets can potentially enable us to make better decisions in the future. The feelings of disappointment, sadness, or repentance can remind us of what we don’t want to experience again, which is something I encountered two years after Xavier died.

On Sunday, January 13, 2013, I went into premature labor again and delivered my second son, Elijah Thomas. History repeated itself and my doctor told my then-husband and me our son was going to die, but when I was asked if I wanted to hold him, I said yes with no hesitation. I recalled the feelings of emptiness and remorse that overwhelmed me when I chose not to hold Xavier—I didn’t want to feel that again. I believe regretting the decision I made in 2011 made me more conscious of my actions and their consequences.

We are all entitled to our opinions, and our views are typically based on our biases, experiences, and perspectives. I choose to embrace my regrets and use them to make more calculated and intelligent choices in the future. I respect those who believe regrets are immature, but I still humbly disagree.

The Sky is the Limit to What I Can Have; but, Does that Include a Child?

“Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them. ”

— Mark 11:24 KJV

When I started blogging five years ago, I planned to share my sense of style and information related to where I like to shop. That is what I was encouraged to do. It wasn’t my original plan to create a second blog focused on my life and relationships, but when I sat down to write, I was driven to share my experiences, and quite frankly, my innermost hurts. But today I contemplated writing about my seemingly suppressed desire for a child. I questioned whether or not I would be exposing too much of myself. But I remembered something I read and shared a few months ago.

“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary.”

— Fred Rogers

This past October, I met with one of my friends to record an episode about pregnancy and infant loss awareness for my podcast. During our discussion, my longing for a baby rose to the forefront of my mind and touched the very core of my heart. Prior to this conversation, I thought I had closed the door on the possibility of ever birthing another human. I also believed I had moved past wanting a baby. But the conversation I had on that Sunday morning in October let me see I had been deceiving myself.

I told my mother about it later that day, and in her usual fashion, she encouraged me to pray about it. She reminded me that God can do anything.

“Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us,”

— Ephesians 3:20 KJV

I haven’t shied away from expressing the feelings I experienced—and still bear—because of the loss of my babies. To date, losing my children is the most painful experience of my life. So, I think it is understandable that I am hesitant about entertaining the idea of becoming pregnant again—there’s so much to consider. I thought about my age and the fact that I miscarried twice. Not to mention, I am unmarried—and I just recently reopened my mind to dating again. But in the midst of my whirlwind of reasons not to give in to the yearning within me, an old song by The Clark Sisters, “Expect Your Miracle,” popped in my head.

The words of the song are fairly simple and the message is direct and clear.

“Just beleive and receive it,

God will perform it today…

I expect a miracle every day,

God will make a way out of no way…”

- Expect Your Miracle, the Clark Sisters

And as I sit here writing the thoughts of my intimate desires, I recognize what I must do. I need to follow the advice I immediately give to my friends whenever they come to me for encouragement or direction—pray about it. Because the fact of the matter is, the sky is the limit to what I can have.