Greer

Greer: A watchful, vigilant guardian.

This is for our sweet Greer.

On January 25, 2023 Gage, the kids, and I got the heartbreaking news that we lost our baby. Due to being so far along, I had to go in for a D&C (Dilation and Curettage) to deliver Greer on January 27, 2023. On the morning of the 27th, I was preparing to head to the hospital, but instead of bringing a baby home, I was preparing my home to mourn. Having to deliver Greer that way is something I will never forget. 

The week I lost Greer, something felt off. I remember being so worried. I tried to tell myself it was because my last pregnancy I had ultrasounds every two weeks and was carrying two babies so my tummy felt bigger. I told myself it just felt odd that there were more weeks between my appointments. On January 25^th, I woke up and prayed to the Blessed Mother over Greer that he or she be protected, healthy, and ok. A few hours later I would be laying on the ultrasound table staring at my dead baby in my womb. I knew something was wrong instantly, but I kept saying “Maybe you just can’t see the heart beating, Katie because it’s a weird angle.” I will never forget how lifeless my womb looked. The little black and white flutters of the heart beating, the little arms and legs kicking and wiggling were all gone. Greer just lay there lifeless and unmoving. I rolled to my side and sobbed. I clutched the pillow of the exam table as it felt like the only thing anchoring me to Earth. I happened to have Etta and the twins with me. The excitement to share an ultrasound with one of my children quickly evaporated as all of my hope, my excitement, my joy was sucked out of that room. I will forever be grateful to the sonographer, my nurse, my doctor, and all of the staff at my medical office for watching my kids while my Mom got off work to come over as I laid there in my heartbreak. I prayed and prayed for a miracle before our D&C. I prayed that Greer’s heart would be beating again, and that when we went in for our next ultrasound it would all have been a terrible mistake. I received a final picture of Greer, and while the first ultrasound seemed so sad, this last picture seemed peaceful. Greer looked curled up and sleeping. I hoped and prayed that when Greer passed, he or she went to sleep and woke up with Christ.

I received three wonderful bouquets to honor Greer. Looking at beauty reminded me of Greer, reminded me of Heaven, and helped my heart see light in the extreme dark. It's been sad watching the flowers die as time passes, but I have dried some and will be putting them around the house to remember Greer. I also saw where you can use the petals to make beads for a rosary or jewelry, so I might look into that as well.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with Greer. Every positive pregnancy test I’ve ever received I instantly sent so much thanks up to God for a new life. When I read my positive pregnancy test with Greer, I instantly screamed in prayer , “Please, God don’t let anything happen to this baby.” I was so scared. I was instantly gripped with fear that my body would fail, I was instantly gripped with shame, I was instantly gripped with embarrassment that people would think Gage and I were not monitoring our reproductive health. I remember a random thought of miscarriage popped in my mind. It wasn’t something I premeditated, it wasn’t something I wished for after, or entertained, but there was this little tiny flood of relief. I remember screaming at myself asking, ‘WHY ARE YOU FEELING THIS?!” As I sobbed to Gage when he got home from work I asked, “What type of mother has a thought like that?” I explained to Gage I think in that moment it wasn’t that I consciously wished my baby away, that I wanted my baby to die, that I wanted to have a miscarriage, but the relief came from feeling in control by knowing what an ending would be. I always turned back to God, I always reminded myself in those scary moments that losing the baby would come with its own heartbreak I would carry forever, changes, and uncertainties, and ultimately, that God would take care of the baby and God would take care of me. Also, you learn in therapy, despite what the popular inspirational quotes on social media tell us about 'You are your thoughts', that not all of our thoughts hold weight or mean anything. Having OCD, it makes things extremely difficult and I find myself constantly engaging in mental compulsions reviewing any little thought I had that first week we found out. As I sat slumped in the kitchen one night after I lost Greer because I had no strength to stand and make dinner for my family, I talked to Gage about how much shame and guilt I had when those tiny moments of fear and doubt popped into my mind. Gage gently said, “Katie, it doesn’t sound to me like you wished this, that you wanted this, but like the human you were, you were scared of change, you were scared of not knowing, you were tempted by the thought of not having things change, not tempted by wanting our baby to die.” Words will never do enough to express how thankful I am for the love and support of my husband during this time. He is the reason I can make it out of bed in the morning when I just sob and feel I do not have the strength. He is there reminding me to get up and just do the one next right thing.

The day I found out I was pregnant with Greer and walking through these moments did provide me with some insight into abortion. It dawned on me, especially for women who have no support system, women who are young and facing an unplanned pregnancy, that pregnancy feels just like that: pregnancy. Pregnancy doesn’t feel like a baby, pregnancy doesn’t feel like a soul. If you are reading this and you are afraid, I am sorry. I’m sorry you feel afraid, but this is me reminding you that there is a baby there, there is life there, there is a million moments that will stretch on into the end of time there. I never thought I’d have to learn to be a mother to a child in Heaven. I realized one night that my motherhood doesn’t have to end just because my baby is not on Earth, that I can still be a mother, it will just look differently. I will constantly be learning how to adopt to this new role in my motherhood, but one way I’ve started is sitting with Greer at night and praying for mothers who are experiencing an unplanned pregnancy and asking Greer to intercede on their behalf and on behalf of their babies. Greer's name means vigilant and watchful guardian, and so I approach Greer as a vigilant and watchful saint. Seeing Greer for the first time on ultrasound helped my heart so much, it helped me transition out of staring at this daunting pregnancy and bond with the soul residing within me. Our sonographer, who takes the best pictures of my babies in utero, got the sweetest photo of Greer covering his or her eyes with his or her little nubby hands. I framed the picture and have it on a shelf in our room. It makes me happy to see Greer curled up and content with me.

When I look back at how much time I wasted on fear, how much time I wasted on doubt, how much time I wasted on what others would think, my regret swallows me whole most days. If God would have said, “Katie, you have twelve weeks and three days with this sweet baby,” I would’ve walked through my pregnancy much differently. I try to hold space for my humanity, I try to remind myself that we always turned back to God, we always turned back to our faith, and by the end we were so very excited, but if I had only known how little time I would’ve had, I wouldn’t have wasted any of it. I’m not sure how I will ever forgive myself, but I hope to find healthy ways to heal with Christ at my side. I obsess due to the stress and worry I first felt that first week or two after we found out, that Greer did not have a good home in me. I remember sobbing the day after I lost Greer wondering if Greer felt loved. I told Gage one night I didn’t feel worthy of telling Greer I loved him or her because of how much I struggled at the beginning. Gage told me that’s what the darkness wants, never be afraid to tell Greer you love him or her. Keep telling Greer how much you love him or her. I also try to remember all of the good moments, all of the happy moments, all of the moments I bit into something sweet or chocolatey and instantly knew Greer loved it because of how good it tasted. The darkness and the regret is overwhelming, but I know there were moments of light that Greer and I lived even if it's hard to see right now.

The week I lost Greer, before I found out that he or she had passed, I pictured speaking at her wedding. I pictured Greer as a girl as I just knew God was going to give Etta a sister. I pictured looking at my daughter and telling her how scared I was when I found out I was pregnant with her, but how thankful I am that God made that choice for me as I don’t know what the world would’ve done without her beauty, her kindness, and her grace. When I stared at the ultrasound screen, Gage and I began the terrible journey of mourning moments we would never get to live with our child.  I was told to pick out a gender neutral name as knowing the gender was unlikely. I was looking through a list the night before I delivered Greer and nothing was right. I shut my phone off in frustration. I woke up so sad the next morning that in desperation I got back onto the list. The first or second name that popped up was Greer. Once I read the meaning, I knew it was a sign. It filled me with peace and also filled me with Greer's purpose.

 I found a print on Etsy, it was a prayer written by Mother Angelica about miscarriage. The prayer reads:

“Why my child-Do you ask ‘why’?-Well, I will tell you why. You see the child lives. Instead of wind, he hears the angels singing before my throne. Instead of beauty that passes, he sees ever lasting beauty-he sees my face. He was created and lived a short time so that the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of heaven unknown to men on earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent possess. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for my kingdom and each creature fills a place in that kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for my joy and his parents’ merits. He has never seen pain for sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into a seed, made it grow and called it forth.” – Mother Angelica

When I become disappointed and hopeless about the moments I will never get to live with Greer, I try to remind myself of these words. That Greer is not dead, Greer lives in another place. Greer is happy, Greer is healthy, Greer is whole. Greer is a special soul and Greer has a purpose. Greer was not in vain, Greer has a holy role to play, and he or she is truly home. What more could a parent ask for their child? I told Gage I have a hard time believing that parents who have lost a child, could ever question there being an afterlife. I feel so strongly there is a thread connecting Greer and I. When I tug on that thread it doesn’t feel empty on the other end, Greer is very much there, some place where I cannot yet be.

After I lost Greer, I wondered if it would’ve been better to have Greer as a stillborn so I could’ve held him or her. I had this terribly painful phantom baby feeling after I delivered. I so vividly felt Greer on my chest, wanting to hold Greer, but only clutching air every time I tried. I begged Jesus every night as I cried myself to sleep to be able to see Greer. About five nights after I delivered Greer, my request was granted. I was laying on my side and there was Greer sitting in front of me. Greer was probably 6-8 months old. Greer had a crisp white sheet tucked around him or her and I remember so much golden light behind him or her. Greer was blonde like my youngest boys and had the chubbiest arms of any of my babies. Greer was waving his or her arms at me and we were talking. I wasn’t sad, I felt so much peace, and I got to hug Greer. When I leaned into kiss Greer on the head I woke up. When my pain feels too much to carry, when my grief makes my eyes swell, my head ache, and my muscles sore I cling to the singular truth, the only truth that matters: That no matter what happened on Earth, Greer is home, Greer is healthy, Greer is at peace and God let me see it with my own eyes. During my pregnancy a psalm from my bible study stuck with me and I wrote it down, “The blessing of the Lord makes rich, and he adds no sorrow with it.” It takes on different meaning now that I know how my pregnancy was to end, but I try to see the peace through pain and the healing that is Heaven through the incredible hurt on Earth.

Mornings are the hardest for me. I feel like I hit the reset button on my grief each day when I wake up and remember. I want to be pregnant with Greer again, I want Greer to be safe and healthy and growing again, I want to have a summer baby, I want to see and hold Greer, I didn't want to pack up all of my maternity clothes. I hugged them and cried as I put them away. I miss my child so much that it's a pain I know will not be assuaged until I am in Heaven and that is a heavy feeling. Since Greer has passed, I told Gage I feel like we should be able to hit the pause button on life. It seems odd that a new day starts each morning without our baby. It's the feeling of squeezing sand that just keeps slipping away. The Weepies just kept playing over and over in my mind:

"....I thought of you and where you'd gone, and the world spins madly on."

When I look at the walk I must take ahead, all I feel is exhaustion and overwhelm. It takes a lot to be healthy mentally and spiritually, and it takes a lot to be healthy in our healing. My grief is exhausting and looking down the road at what it’s going to take to heal this chapter in my life in a healthy way is daunting. I have never felt grief like this, I have never felt sorrow like this, I have never felt a yearning like this. This gigantic thing that is bigger than me, this gigantic thing that feels like it will always be this giant hole I walk around with. Gage's Aunt wrote us and shared a beautiful sentiment. She said that mothers who lose children in the womb experience something that most of us only know at the end of our lives, and that is a soul leaving our body. I feel that in every fiber of my being. It is so large when I stare at it, I'm honestly not quite sure what to do with it. Each day is getting better, but even on my better days I feel bad about feeling better. I’m trying not to place myself in black and whites right now. I don’t know if I will have any more children, but to say this was how this particular season of our baby years and parenthood is to end, is too painful for me. I am going to see my therapist, I am going to read some books, I am going to heal my body, and then we will see how we feel when our new season begins. We’ve placed prayers and little olive wood carvings around our home to fill it with Greer. We will plant a tree in our yard this summer, and lovingly sit by it when our heartaches become too heavy. I know our remembering Greer will look different year to year, but Greer will not be whispered about in our home. Greer will be remembered, Greer will be celebrated, Greer will be talked about, and we will always go with Greer in prayer.

 Greer,

I love you. Please forgive me for being human. Know that my longing for you to be healthy and happy inside of my tummy is the strongest yearning I’ve ever felt, but I will not wish you out of heaven. Please keep visiting us, please keep praying for us as the beautiful saint you now are, and know we will carry with you always even if it’s not in the ways we imagined. We love you more than words can express, and will miss your earthly presence every day.

I’ll be home before you know it.

Love,

Mom 

I've been going through the 'Book of Woes' in my Bible study. I had to take a break because I honestly couldn't handle hearing about any more 'woes'. On Monday, God spoke to me and sent me these words. Although my baby did not blossom, I will take refuge in Christ. Christ loves me, Christ walks with me, and Christ will help me heal and my feet light by carrying this cross when I cannot.