Mourning Into Gladness

Something I never expected to say to a stranger over the phone is, “I’m calling to find out if my son’s remains are ready.” It sounded strange coming out of my mouth. I had this moment where I couldn’t believe I actually said those words. Dan and I kept forgetting to call the funeral home to find out. I think subconsciously neither of us wanted to call. Who wants to make that call? It’s uncomfortable and it brings it all up once again.

We went to pick up Ethan’s ashes today. They are in a nice, weighty, brass urn. Granted it’s only two inches high, but it’s actually a nice urn. We couldn’t believe how small it is. They put the urn in a purple, velvety, heart-shaped box. Um, thanks but maybe not. We may get a nice wooden box of our own. We haven’t decided. But all in all we thought it was a nice thing they did. They also gave us a certificate of cremation. So strange.




Friday, September 21, 2007

And speaking of certificates, we got a birth registration notice from the Maryland Department of Health and Mental Hygiene for Ethan. That’s the notice you mail back in order to get the birth certificate. I remember doing it for Jaden and being so excited because it was this feeling of he’s official. He was born and the state is recognizing his existence. It’s a different feeling this time of course. The excitement is replaced with sadness. Another little pull at the wound that is trying to heal. But we do want Ethan’s birth certificate. He was born after all. Not to take away from Jaden, but it’s even more necessary to acknowledge Ethan’s existence and have that feeling of validation. He was born, he lived, he was our son. It’s all just so surreal. I still can’t believe this is something we are living through.


Sunday, September 23, 2007

Today Dan and I spoke to some friends after church and we asked them to pray for us. We didn’t feel like having them pray, we just knew we needed it. We made a conscious decision. I want to stay connected and fully grieve and part of that is asking for help. I can go a few days without crying and getting on with things and I reach this place of I’m just done with that. I don’t want to revisit it. It’s been a few days and it’s too much to drag it up again. I’m only moving forward, not back. I just get so tired and it’s so much effort to pay attention to how I’m dealing with it. It’s a lot of effort to make sure my marriage is doing ok – that we are communicating with one another. It takes a lot of effort to make sure I’m connecting with the pain. It takes a lot of effort to balance allowing myself to feel sad and not allowing myself to stay there. You reach a point where you’re just tired. You want to be done. Done with the hurting, done with the crying, done with the bad days, the sorrow. Just done.

The thing is that is when I can decide to handle it all in my own strength. I start to pull away from God and others and I’m going to take it on with shear will power. It’s easy to feel that God carried us through these weeks and has comforted us and now it’s like “Thanks God, see ya later, I’m going to get on with my life now.” Nope, it doesn’t work that way. That leads to being more tired. I need to continue to reach out to Him and to others. If I get lazy about it it will lead me to a dark place. On my own sorrow begets sorrow. But when I cry out to God and reach out to friends and family my sorrow becomes lighter. When I lean on Him in faith my hope is born again.

I will turn their mourning into gladness;
I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.
-Jeremiah 31:13

It’s tough because I know I have put myself out there. Even in sharing this I am letting you all in. I am in a way preventing myself from being able to hide. For me that’s a good thing. Those who know me well know what I am talking about. But I am holding myself and us accountable. And that can suck sometimes because you don’t feel like it. But I am thankful because I want to grow from this. I want good to come of all of this. I don’t want to run away – even though I do sometimes.

So we went to our friends and asked for prayer, asked for support, asked for help. It was such a deliberate decision and went against everything we “felt” like doing. But they were there for us and cried with us and helped carry us. Isn’t that what it’s all about – friendship yes, but also being part of the body of Christ - God’s hands and feet. Lifting others up when they can’t stand on their own. Dan and I cried a lot and we were exhausted afterwards but we felt better, lighter. I am learning to ask for help. Ultimately we all really grieve alone because it is so personal and we have our individual, unique experiences. But you don’t have to walk alone while you’re going through it. Sometimes you don’t have to walk at all. You just need to let yourself be carried.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
- Matthew 5:4

More Reflections

Thursday, September 13, 2007

I went to the doctor today for a post partum visit mostly to talk about how I am doing emotionally. I was doing pretty well until I went for my doctor’s appointment. I have been told by a few people that grief is a funny thing in that it can hit you when you least expect it. For example you could be in the grocery store and suddenly start bawling. So I have been sort of wondering when I may have those moments and then today came. Even though my mom and Dan were at the house I decided to go by myself – big mistake. It’s right down the road and I knew it would be quick and I just didn’t think it through. I felt fine even walking toward the office door. Then I stepped inside and it began to hit me. It was a major trigger for me to be back in that kind of environment. I sat in the waiting room and I began to feel nervous and anxious. My heart began to race and I was suddenly short of breath. I was wondering what was happening to me. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack and suddenly I wanted to bawl. I just thought – Is this is what those people meant? Not here, I can’t cry here. Get a grip Jen. I took deep breaths, composed myself, and waited.

I entered the examining room and waited for the doctor. It started again. Seeing the sonogram machine and the examining table brought it all back to me. Knowing I would see the doctor who delivered Ethan compounded it even more. I was a wreck. Again I thought, Get a grip Jen. Wait until you’re in the car. You can handle this. Why was I so obsessed with not crying? It hasn’t been an issue thus far. I’ve cried about it any time it’s hit me. I know I am often in control of my emotions and don’t like to show them especially in public. I really need to be in a safe place to just let go and be vulnerable. I guess it surprised me because since Ethan died I haven’t thought much about that. I haven’t had the need to control my emotions. I’ve just let them come. Or they’ve just come and I didn’t have much choice – I’m not sure which. Like I said I haven’t thought about it.

I think a few things were taking place. When you encounter a loss like this, at first all your time and life becomes about is thinking of and mourning the loss of your baby. So you expect to be hit with emotion at any time. You’re sort of ready for it. But after a little time goes by you’re back to doing “normal” things again. I mean Dan’s back at work, I’m taking care of Jaden, we are getting out and about -sort of moving forward with life. So perhaps it’s just that – you have these moments of feeling “normal” like you almost forget for a second that you lost your child. Then it hits you again and it catches you off guard.

The second thing is I thought if the doctor walks in here and I’m hysterical crying he’s going to put me on medication. Sounds crazy to worry about such a thing I know but I really don’t believe I need medication. I mean I know I am grieving but I am coping and I am living life too. I am not stuck. At least not right now. I don’t want that to be confused with severe post partum depression. I mean if that becomes an issue I’ll certainly address it. I told the doctor if a few weeks from now I can’t get out of bed or lift my head I won’t hesitate to call and he can hook me up with some Zoloft. But for now I know it’s normal to have these moments. So, OCD Jen took over and thought I can’t let him see me this way. So I stuffed it. I mean sometimes I think you need to NOT go there- for your own sanity. At least that’s how I see it when I’m in a public place with no one I know around for support. I’m a little wacky like that though. So I waited until I got in the car and let it out a little then.

Monday, September 17, 2007

It’s hard to be around people who don’t know what has happened. I mean it can be hard to be around a lot of people at once who do know, but at least they know what’s going on. With someone who doesn’t know me or the situation there’s this nervous feeling inside that they might ask something I’m not prepared to answer. For example, how many kids do you have? Is Jaden your only boy? Things like that. It’s nerve-wracking because I don’t know how I may react. Will I cry and make the person extremely uncomfortable? Will I be awkward and unable to articulate myself making the person extremely uncomfortable? Do I tell them or don’t I? I don’t want to lie because it feels like I’m negating Ethan if I don’t tell people about him. But it’s not something you want to explain to EVERYONE who asks. As a friend of mine told me, the girl at the grocery store check-out counter doesn’t necessarily need to know. It’s something I will have to handle as it comes up.

On Sunday it did come up actually and I don’t know if I handled it well, but it’s what I needed to do. At church in the nursery a woman I didn’t know was asking some of us moms our names and our kids’ names. She introduced herself and her son. It was all good until she asked one of the moms how many kids she had. Then she got to the next mom. Suddenly I realized I was next. I didn’t know what to do so I got up and walked over to Jaden to sort of pretend to see what he was doing. I came back into the conversation when I thought all was safe. A little while later the line of questioning was heading down an unwanted path again so I left the conversation again. This time I noticed church was over and I left. I didn’t know if the woman noticed or thought I was rude. Of course I hope not, but I wasn’t prepared to go there. I panicked and had to get out. I’m sure it will get easier and in time I will learn how to handle these situations. But wow – it’s very uncomfortable at times for me right now. It’s all uncharted waters.

Some Reflections

Saturday, September 8, 2007

It has been a week since Ethan passed away and it’s hard not to think about the possibility of him surviving if he would have only waited one more week to be born. I can go so far as to wonder what difference just a few days would have made. But then I must move on and not allow my mind stay in a place of what ifs. It does no good to wonder. The reality is he is gone from this world, but never from our hearts. He will always be a part of us and a part of our family- our second born son.

It is hard to move on without him because at times I can feel I’ll be alright one day and that in itself feels wrong because in some way I feel we are leaving him out. If we go on without him it seems we are forgetting about him. I know that is not really the case but the feelings still come. It’s all a part of the journey of grief I suppose.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

We went to the park today. It was a beautifully clear day- lots of sunshine and blue skies. Jaden slept in his stroller while Dan and I ate subs at a picnic table. I watched the children in the playground and I became saddened. I grieved the loss of a dream I had; A dream of my boys playing together- best friends, buds- chasing each other down the slide and swinging side by side. I grieved the absence of Ethan, but I was also saddened because it felt like a rejection of Jaden. It seemed wrong to feel he is not enough – that I want more. I felt like Jaden was getting gypped. It feels wrong to grieve the son I no longer have because it seems to negate the son I do have. I know better. But that is just how it feels. Jaden needs his mom and dad. He needs to just be a child and be free of the weight of life’s burdens. He needs to feel our joy in seeing him play and know that he is enough. That is one focus of my heart right now.


Wednesday, September 12, 2007

There was as passage of scripture I was reflecting on when I first went into the hospital. It is Romans 5:1-5:

Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,

through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God.

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance;

and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope;

and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

This is the attitude I wanted to enter this situation with. I know from experience that all the difficulty and pain in my life has changed me for the better and though this was the most personal and deepest pain I’ve experienced thus far I still want my faith to grow, my heart to soften, and my understanding of God to deepen. So I prayed then (and now still) that I would endure and grow in character and hope in God.

I’m learning about the dichotomy between heaven and earth in a whole new way; how the two are so separate and yet coexist at the same time. It doesn’t seem possible and yet there it is. There’s the earthly, human experience, which has been so hard at times. I’ve had so much pain in my heart. I never knew my physical heart could actually ache the way that it does, but that’s the only way to describe it – almost like my chest is being constricted and I’m slowly suffocating. It hurts – a lot. I can feel so deeply saddened, lonely, and empty at times. I can wake up and before a thought enters my head tears can begin to fall down my cheek. Grief gets us at the core.

But then there’s this other aspect to the whole experience. I feel as though I am physically being carried along, comforted, cared for. I feel it is God’s grace on me. He shows His love for me through the caring hands of others, their kind words, acts, thoughts, and prayers. And I can’t really explain it but to say I physically feel His peace around me, around us, and in our home.

So there is it. This world is full of death and sorrow. That is a part of the human experience. But there is a hope in something greater than this world; in something eternal. Revelation 21:4 says:

“and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away."

One day, we will truly be in the complete presence of God and all suffering will end. So as a Christian I believe in those things to come; that is my faith. Hope is what allows for much joy in the midst of pain. I can't imagine my life without it.

Ethan James

This is our little boy, Ethan James Ghiringhelli - born Saturday, September 1st at 11:24am and living for only a short time until 12:36pm. He was born just under 25 weeks, on the cusp of "viability" as they call it.

It began Friday night when Jen started having painful contractions. We initially weren't too concerned, but by midnight, Jen was realizing they were more than just braxton-hicks. We called our friends by 1:30am and dropped Jaden off before heading to the hospital.

I ran many red lights :)

Around 2:30 am, Jen was administered some muscle relaxants in hopes of stopping the contractions. Initially, it looked like they were subsiding, but just half an hour later, they started up again. By 3:30 they decided to admit her into the maternity ward. Around 4:00am they started an IV and began heavy doses of magnesium sulfate - a seriously nasty drug. Jen felt like she was on fire inside and it made her quite sick. Again, this drug was intended to delay/stop the contractions. I literally took ice-soaked rags and put them on Jen's neck, face and arm-pits without her so much as flinching - she said the heat was beyond anything she had ever experienced before. The thermostat in the room was at 62º!

By 8:30am, the new doctor on shift saw Jen and said "we are fighting a loosing battle here" - this news hit us pretty hard. With that, they took Jen off the magnesium, and she was 8cm dilated by 11:00am.

We called our family, to let them know that our little man was coming! We were all hopeful. The Lord had brought us this far and while we expected a long road ahead, we also expected that Ethan would one day be healthy and whole.

At 11:30, Jen delivered with one small push and the NICU folks immediately went to work. I watched as they tried to intubate Ethan and after a few minutes, it started to hit me that it wasn't going well. They tried diligently for 20 minutes, but his mouth and windpipe would prove too small and fragile for a breathing tube. At that point, Jen and I made the difficult decision that it was time to stop.



His heart still beating, we held him for the next 40 minutes until he passed. He occasionally took small breaths, but was otherwise very still. Needless to say, there were a lot of tears - but what amazed us was how perfectly formed he was. All his little fingers and toes were unique and soft, nostrils so tiny, ears so cute! The bottom of his feet had little wrinkles, his rib-cage was incredibly constructed. Arm and leg muscles well defined, knee caps so small and the tiniest little bottom with just a hint of cheeks. He was our little man, knit together in his mother's womb by a loving creator. Psalm 139:13-15 says:

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.

Despite the pain and loss, those 40 minutes we had with Ethan felt like such an incredible blessing. He heard our cries for him, he felt our love, and we experienced the wonder of God's creation - a snapshot into the secret place, where He was performing his handy-work. Some friends and family were able to see Ethan after he died, and we felt such a sense of pride in our son. It meant so much to us to be able to share him with even just a small few.

So where does this leave us in the wake of so much prayer and hope for Ethan's life? We have been talking about it a lot, and we want you to know, that your prayers have been and are continuing to be answered. We are being comforted beyond measure and carried by your love, thoughts and prayers. We are so deeply humbled by the outpouring of support. While we cannot understand why he left us so soon, we know in our hearts there was purpose in his life - even before he was born. We pray that through Ethan's life, hearts would be softened and comfort be found in a loving God and in each other - we are after all His hands and feet, part of His body. Inspired by a reading from Susan Martinez:

Each life comes into this world with a mission,
sometimes the mission or purpose is clear;
Sometimes it is vague and shrouded in misunderstandings.
In time we will see what Ethan's purpose was on earth,
Perhaps just to add a flicker of love that otherwise may never have been lit
or to soften our hearts so that we may in turn comfort others.
Perhaps it was to bring us closer to our God and each other.

These words haven't been empty to us, they have meant everything. Our faith journey has taken us from a place of feeling that God was an angry God, who didn't care for us to now knowing that God is a good God, who comforts us in our pain. Tears are a gift. We learned that our faith is not in what happens, our faith is in God's nature and who he is and what the Bible says he is. When things go well, we thank him - when things go wrong, we thank him, because he is unchanging, his love unfailing. When we hurt, he hurts with us - this has completely transformed our view of God and we don't know how we could do this without him.

We have so much more to share, but this entry is getting really long. We'll continue to post more as we continue to process. Some days have been easier than others and sometimes the grief overtakes us - but this is the journey we are on and the process we are learning. When the sorrow comes, we try to embrace it and let it happen, but we also continue to live and laugh, especially with such an adorable little boy like Jaden.

Thank you for being on this journey with us.