In Depth:  suffering

Rachel Redeemed

Starting an article with a content warning of miscarriage is never a fun opener but here we are all the same. Welcome. I hope this helps you, or a friend you love who is going through something like this as we land Baby Loss Awareness Week for another year.

1. Miscarriage: I’ve learned that there’s a club. There are surprisingly large numbers of members and once you’re in, you’ll be meeting fellow members for the rest of your life. Be gentle and careful if commenting on anyone’s family size.
2. No matter how many stories you hear, everyone’s journey is different. Baby Loss Awareness Week encompasses those who were never able to have biological or adopted children, as well as those who met their children - but not in the way any parent would want to. There are different griefs, pain points, expectations and journeys. I’m part of the miscarriage crew, so not a stillbirth (which is defined as a loss after 20 weeks). We lost our babies Pax and Moses before 12 weeks. They were back-to-back miscarriages.
3. Ours is the story that people often long for, in that we have now been given another little life to steward, by the name of Daniel. But I’ve learned that it’s unbelievably painful for those ‘left behind’ on the struggle bus - comrades in the thick of it, and you leave them for your chaotic and consuming newborn phase. With my longing-for-but-really-won’t-happen-but-for-a-high-grade-miracle friends, it’s easy to get swept up in the intensity of this new season and leave behind those who are still reeling from their ongoing suffering. Try not to leave people behind if you end up in a different season.
4. You don’t know what other people want or need without asking them, so good comms and an open conversation about kids stuff is kind. There is a delicate balance of inviting our longing-to-be-parents-friends to come and enjoy our child and not feel like they need to hide away, while not expecting them to be at every function with a grin plastered on their face. They also might be hurt by deliberately not being invited, so give extra time here for those who might find it difficult being at a first birthday party (for example), but who would want to be invited nonetheless.
5. Baby showers are lovely, but I’d wager that attendees will have at least a small amount of emotional baggage they bring along as well as their ‘photo of them as a baby’. Go gently if you host one.
6. Leaning into the Psalms for this suffering comes highly recommended. As is listening to Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortland on repeat to help you through the dark hours of the night.
7. If you know someone going through this, a quick Google of things that might be helpful or avoided - as well as not just offering general vague support, but a concrete A or B scenario (e.g. offering to cook dinner on Tuesday, or text a Bible verse every day next week). Sometimes it’s nice to not have to answer the question ‘What do you need?’, but just be offered something concrete that can be genuinely declined without upset or modified as appropriate.
8. Acknowledging the personhood of the little one who died is hugely healing, and is a tiny flag on a tiny hill that they matter. For those I’ve spoken with, hands-down the most processed and at-peace are those who named their child (and it’s never too late to do this). You may not have the memories with them, but you still loved them.
9. I am hugely grateful for those who have walked before me and shared their stories, which were very healing for me. It is an honour to step into that gap for other folks experiencing miscarriage. Things will be different for everyone, but stewarding these tiny lives in conversation has been profoundly meaningful. My husband and I shared our news with a friend at Hutchmoot 2022 (a conference for creative Christians), which inspired a sad and beautiful piece of art… I share it with you as it’s just been released. It’s called 'Moses' after our second baby lost to miscarriage. You can hear more from Michael J Tinker here and support his latest crowd funder if you’d like to.

Emily Lucas

How often do we hear these words spoken by those in pain, suffering and anguish?

'I’m sorry, it’s unfair to burden you with this…'

women in mission

Naomi Dawson

For two years, Chloe and I stood in the same playground, at the same time, picking our daughters up from the same class and yet our conversation and friendship never went much further than a brief chat.

At times in those first few years it felt like I was back at school myself, wondering how everyone knew each other and how on earth I could make friends.