*Editors Note: This post is about the author’s struggle with religion, personal beliefs, and religious platitudes after loss. If religion is a triggering subject for you, please proceed with caution, or simply skip this post. Here at Still Mothers, we know the value of spirituality/religion as a means for healing for some, and honor each person’s right to her own beliefs. If you would like to comment with your own beliefs, you are welcome, but this is NOT the place to tell others what they “should” or “should not” believe.
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“Your baby is in heaven now.” “Your baby is with God.” “Your baby is in a better place.” These words are intended to bring comfort. But what happens when they don’t?
It’s assumed by the general population, at least where I’m from, that your beliefs align with the Christian philosophy of life and death. You’re born, live your life, and – if lived properly and in line with the “rules” – when you die you go to heaven, you meet God and become an angel. You get rewarded; forever living your days in wonderful bliss until you are rejoined with the loved ones you left behind on Earth. I don’t find comfort in those words, or in that philosophy.
Since the loss of my baby I find not only am I having days justifying my grief to the outside world, now I am having to define my beliefs. Which is hard, because I don’t even know yet what exactly my beliefs are, I just know what I don’t believe. I know what doesn’t feel right for me. So where is my baby then?
Do you ever have those days when, even if it’s not a “perfect” day, it’s a perfect moment. The air feels fresher than normal, the breeze brings an entrancing scent, the colors around you appear more vibrant, the sun is that much brighter, or the storm more intense. For some reason in that moment, everything aligns, and it really is perfection in every sense. I love those moments. I was leaving the house for work at 6:20 am. This time of year in Calgary is usually guaranteed cold and snowy, but this day it wasn’t. The air was cold, but fresh, no breeze. It was early morning, and the sky was so dark, the sky seems darker here in the winter than summer, but it was so clear. The moon was so perfect, half moon, and the stars surrounding were brilliant. My son is in those moments, he’s the reason I’ll stop and stare just for an extra moment, fill my lungs a little more and just take it in.
I’ve generally identified as agnostic, but since the loss of Levi, I’ve felt this pressure to identify with a certain religious philosophy, not necessarily for myself, but for the comfort of others. I’ve never tried to pressure myself into a certain religion, I identify with different religious philosophies for different reasons. And in my eyes, that’s just perfect. If I can take the positives from a variety of religions and live by that, how can that be bad or wrong? As long as I strive to do better and am trying to make a positive change in my life & the life of others, I’ve done well. I haven’t cause anyone harm. And I strongly believe that whatever afterlife comes next or not, or whatever form of god that takes on, there wouldn’t be concerned with the petty details of what day I prayed, or to whom that was or what that looked like in daily life. As long as I can honestly look in the mirror and be satisfied with my choices. But try explaining that to anyone with any sort of religious conviction, it usually ends up in a debate.
I personally do not believe my baby is curled up in the clouds, with wings and a halo or any variance of that. I don’t think he is sitting on God’s lap hearing stories about me or his dad. I don’t think he is near me, guiding me in life towards better choices or keeping me safe. I wish I could, and some days I’ve tried hard to believe it. Sometimes I wonder if some of my days would easier if I did, but then again I could be full of shit because really, what do I know?
For all of these reasons, I dislike the term “angel baby”, it doesn’t bring me peace. I do however, think a variety of other things about my baby, and they change from day to day, and on some days, from hour to hour. I do believe though that he is the breeze I feel on a calm day, the heat of the sun on my face in the winter, he’s the butterfly that flies by almost unnoticed, the brightest star in the morning sky. To me he is everything, including those gaping empty feelings in the pit of my stomach every day. He’s the strength I find so I can make it through the workday without breaking down.
But then I wonder, maybe his journey, or his purpose, isn’t finished, maybe that was the stepping stone onto something better. Maybe he’ll be back in my life in the form of another child, or family animal, or possibly totally unrelated to us. I don’t know if I believe a spirit is destined to only be human, how would that encompass a full understanding of life? Maybe he’s on another plane of this universe, experiencing life in a form we can only dream of. This doesn’t really bring me comfort either, but only because I want him back. I want him in my arms. But my needs are selfish, not about his journey or needs, but mine. But maybe I’m wrong about it all and maybe he’s nowhere besides his urn in my house. Maybe life is just that, life. And once it ends, and for him didn’t really get to start, it just over. That’s it, the cards you were dealt. For Levi, for myself, and for everyone else.
I envy those who have a solid belief of their philosophy on life and death. It gives them the comfort in knowing where they are, and that one day they will meet again. Maybe I just envy leaving all the pieces to a higher power, without really ever having to question. Because if you don’t question and do as you’re told, you will be rewarded.
I still do not identify with a specific religion or really with being agnostic, I doubt I ever will. And as I continue on I do not feel I will ever have the right way to respond to words of comfort from others, I don’t feel it’s worth bringing up the debate on religion and afterlife. I do not want Levi’s life and death to about religious debate. So for now, I just nod, smile and say “Thank you.”
I know since Levi isn’t with us, I make people uncomfortable, every baby loss mother knows this. I’m the woman whose baby died, I’m the reminder that things don’t turn out as planned. I’ve also chosen not to also be the lady that rejects statements of intended comfort. At the end of the day it’s about what makes you feel comfortable, and I feel like being a part of the baby loss community, there is such little support from the outside world, even less support when you cannot identify with that community; I’m not in a position to turn people away. So for me, I accept the kind words, and continue on my journey.
Shanna Lee lost her son in July 2015 at 26 weeks. He passed away during labour after being induced for placental failure and atypical preeclampsia. She is 28 years old and has been with my husband for 10 years, has an LPN in psychiatry, and is trying to figure out who she is now without Levi.
***this is a guest post. If you are interested in submitting a guest post to Still Mothers, come read the submissions page
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Shanna, your insights should be an inspiration to others. You give hope to others that the meaning to life’s events, tragic or otherwise, doesn’t always come easily if at all. Everyone’s situation is truly different if for no other reason than we are all individuals and unique is many ways. The beliefs you have chosen are right for you. Many others choose differently, often from established belief systems emanating from religions. These are convenient in providing a recognized or easily understood label on them; it’s human nature to want to belong and religions for thousands of years have made that possible. Most people have good intents, regardless of how they may communication in moments of discomfort or unfamiliarity. Your insights will ultimately guide you and only in future may you see what that means. Love Uncle Jerome
Dear Shanna,
You should know that you are not alone. I consider amongst many of my friends, people who are deeply religious, and I respect their right to their beliefs and feel great joy for them that it brings them comfort. I, however, feel very much as you do, not falling into the “believer” or “non-believer” categories. Frankly, I don’t think anyone should ever be anything but unique in their views as we are all individuals and will feel our own emotions at our own pace. When you talk about relating Levi to your natural surroundings, that resonates deeply with me. I was raised in Northern Ontario, running through all of nature’s gifts through my youth. I struggled with the loss of my father in early adulthood and a miscarriage later in life. Whenever I hike in the woods, especially when I am alone, I feel my dad and wonder if he cares for the child I never knew. None of us know what happens after death, and frankly we are all making this up as we go along…so think the thoughts YOU want and get comfort from those. BTW, I too nod and smile and thank people for their “kind thoughts” even when I don’t really want the platitudes…I remind myself they are coming from a place of love, in perhaps the only way my friend or aquaintance can understand :). Enjoy that sunshine on your face and the beautiful breezes!
Me too. I did say it wasn’t helpful when people told me losing my 4 was God’s plan, but otherwise I just take it as it’s meant. I do like the term “stardust baby”
Very nice Shanna,,,well said,,,I think of you and the loss of
Levi often, even lit a candle in his memory when I was in Italy, it was a huge cathedral absolutely beautiful you and Levi came to mind so I left my thoughts of you 2 in an amazing place,,, take care,,.Cindy
Thank you Cindy! <3