Remembering Chloe Bear

A few weeks ago I helped facilitate a Celebration of Life for a baby named Chloe who had multiple health problems for which, unfortunately, there were no adequate solutions.  She lived for one month before her parents sang her to sleep, tucked in with her Princess Leia doll and lamby lovey.

Chloe's mother and I had spoken on the phone about what she and her husband wanted the Celebration to include, and I had planned what I was going to say and written everything out. Everything began smoothly and according to plan, but then partway through the ceremony, Chloe's maternal grandfather suggested that Chloe's parents needed hugs, and so an impromptu hug line was formed. It was really very sweet, but also rather confusing to all the guests, who then thought that the service had concluded. The ceremony was supposed to end with everyone filing out to the front yard for a release of doves. After several minutes of hugging, Chloe's mother broke away from the line and whispered urgently, "Can you get everyone's attention and let them know that this is not the end? We need everyone to go outside. The doves have a tight schedule to keep!"

So, that is what I did. I got everyone's attention and directed them out front, skipping the entirety of the words I had prepared. Reverends and doulas are nothing if not flexible!

Since I didn't get a chance to share what I had prepared to say there that day, I will share with you, dear reader, here and now. I hope reading these words give you comfort in remembering the loss of someone you love. <3

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Gathering

• I invite everyone to find a seat, soon we will begin the more formal aspect of today's gathering.
• When everyone is seated, I introduce myself.

Prepare to watch the DVD of Chloe's life:

• For many of you, this is hello and goodbye. For her parents, time with Chloe was precious. How could we blame them for not wanting to share it?
• We’ll watch the video, followed by an opportunity to share what is on our hearts.

Time of Sharing

{There were quite a few people who shared. Of course, there were lots of tears, as well. And then Chloe's maternal grandfather took us off course, bless his heart. The following is what I skipped.}

Message

When Chloe's mother and I talked about what she wanted today to feel like, she emphasized to me that she wanted the message to be one of hope, comfort, and letting go. Chloe's parents did not want this day to be scary, dark or depressing. They wanted this time to be a gift to family and friends, a chance to express grief, but also to celebrate baby Chloe, whose life was very short, but who is so very loved.

On reflection, I kept thinking of a passage normally read at weddings, but which came to my mind and heart for Chloe and her family.

1 Corinthians 13

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

We don’t know why Chloe died. I mean, yes, we know the physical reasons why her body could not support life, but as the scripture said, we now know only in part. We don’t know why she was born into that body, why her time on earth with her parents was so short. We trust in God, who is Love, that she knows she is loved, and that she is at peace. Now we see in a mirror, dimly. But we trust in God, we trust in Love, that one day we will see fully and know fully.

Until then, all we have is love. The love we have for Chloe, the love we have for her parents and extended family.  The love they have for each other. Death - particularly an infant's death - defies easy explanation. Death is a mystery. Chloe's parents wanted me to focus on the here and now.

And now faith, hope, and love abide: and the greatest of these is love.

This love, which bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Yes, even this, the most tragic of all things: the death of an infant - can be endured because of the power of love.

Chloe's parents wanted to give this ceremony as a gift to you, their friends and family. But I want to give a gift to you, as well:

In situations like this, we often wonder: What can I say? What can I do? Well, I'll tell you:

• Say her name. Chloe.
• Listen.
• Bring food, send cards, ask how her parents are doing
  • in 2 days
  • in 2 weeks
  • in 2 months
  • in 2 years
  • and beyond.

Sometimes we mistakenly think that bringing up the subject of a person’s loss will bring fresh hurt, but actually the opposite is true. Bereaved people are always thinking of the person they lost. And they are often so glad to know that someone else remembers them, too.

So, this is my advice to you: don’t give advice. Don’t offer your thoughts on how Chloe's parents should feel, don’t offer explanations as to why any of this has happened.

• Just, say her name. Chloe.
• And, listen, in love.

Amen.

{And this is the point to which I skipped, after disrupting the hug line. I was sorry to do it, but the doves had a schedule to keep! I had to no choice but to interrupt.}

Prepare to move to backyard: 

• Her parents have chosen to have doves released as symbol of letting Chloe go. We recognize that she is free of her earthly body. She is at peace. And in letting her go, may we find peace.
• The song they have chosen to play during the release has a special meaning for them. It is sung by Israël Kamakawiwo'ole, and is a Hawaiian ukulele version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Chloe's parents went to Hawaii for their babymoon, and it is where they plan to scatter her ashes.
• After the doves are released and the song has concluded, we will observe a moment of silence.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow, sung by Israel "Iz" Ka'ano'i Kamakawiwo'Ole. (Sorry about the ad at the beginning of the video.)

Before releasing the doves, the dove-lady walked around the circle of guests and invited each of us to touch one of them and say goodbye to Chloe.

Then she released 3 additional doves who represented the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and who reminded us that Chloe is not alone.

For thus says the Lord:

 As a mother comforts her child,
   so I will comfort you;
   you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.
You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
   your bodies shall flourish like the grass;
and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants.

(Isaiah 66:12a, 13-14a)

Thank you for being here today and being here for this family in the days, months, and years to come.

If you have not already done so, you are invited to take a rose from the vase by the front door, carry it upstairs to Chloe's nursery, and leave it in her crib.

May the Lord bless you and keep you; 
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;

and give you peace.

Amen.

When birth meets death

Usually there is not a lot of overlap in the two halves of my professional life. 

Well, in a sense there always is: the skills I use as a chaplain are nearly identical to those I use as a doula. I support not just the person, but the whole family as they adjust to a major life transition. I help people navigate the complicated and overwhelming experience of being in a hospital. I listen, sometimes I cry, often I laugh. I carve out space in a hectic time and place for people to identify and express their feelings. I once described to a chaplain colleague what it looks like for me to support a family in birth, and she said, with comprehension and amazement dawning on her face, "Oh! So, it's like a 13 hour patient visit!" Yes. It is exactly like that.

The skills I use are the same whether it is a birth, or a death. Usually there is a clear line dividing the two events. But not always.

Last year I went to the funeral of a mom whom I had supported in giving birth. This woman had been a delightful combination of fierce warrior mama and tender-hearted girl. She brought her beloved teddy bear to the hospital to cuddle in labor, and then pushed her baby out without an epidural in front of a gaggle of nursing students who had never seen anything so beautiful and raw. Several months later, she died suddenly and unexpectedly. I sat in the pew and looked at her baby sitting in her uncle's lap and cried my heart out.

Last week one of our doula clients let us know that there was nothing more that could be done to save her baby's life, and they sang their baby to sleep later that day. Her baby had lived for just a month. The mother told me that day by day, week by week, she had held out hope that her baby could somehow thrive. She also said that her own physical recovery from birth has been very easy, with her body quickly returning to its pre-pregnancy state, and now she finds herself wondering, "Did I really have a baby?" Sometimes she goes into her baby's nursery to remind herself that her baby existed, that it all really happened.

I offered, and she gladly accepted, to facilitate the celebration of life they will host in their home for close family and friends on Sunday. That is how I have come to be here, pondering, wondering how to strike the balance between the deep joy the parents feel over having been gifted with their baby's life, however brief, and the deep sadness they feel, knowing that their baby is now gone from their arms. Because there was so little time and the parents wanted to soak in every precious moment of their baby's life, their extended family never met the baby. For them, this will be both hello and goodbye.

I am so honored to be able to cross over from supporting this family in birth to supporting them in death. But this is some of the heaviest work I have ever done.

For thus says the Lord:
As a mother comforts her child,
   so I will comfort you;
   you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.

You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
   your bodies shall flourish like the grass;
and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants.

-Isaiah 66:12a, 13-14a

Rest in peace, Lisa and Chloe. You are loved and remembered. <3

Pregnant in Worship: Thoughts on Liturgy and Birth

I was SO going to post this week on the Curse of Eve (doesn’t that sound like a B-list horror film? spoiler: It’s not.), but then another idea came crashing in. Maybe next week I’ll take us back to the Garden of Eden, but today I want to go inside Christian worship and look for birtheology there.

Note the preggo belly--I was determined to get this one sprinkled before the next one came along.

It seems to me that the church doesn’t offer much in the way of ritual or spiritual support for families in the childbearing year. It seems that most churches do a really good job of helping with the practical considerations of having a baby–chiefly, organizing a baby shower before birth and a care calendar afterward.  And when my church did these things for me, I felt loved and knew that this was a way for people to show that they care about me and my family. But, I wanted more. I wanted ritual–words and symbol used as a way for my church to acknowledge and support the spiritual journey my growing little family was on.

Of course, there is baptism (or baby dedication, depending on one’s tradition), but this happens well after the birth (and if you are like me, you don’t get around to doing this until your baby is a toddler (note the photos of my own family’s experiences) and MUCH less open to the idea of a semi-stranger coming at them with wet fingers). Plus, the baptism or baby dedication ritual is much more about starting the baby off on a solid theological grounding in life than about acknowledging what the parents and older siblings have just experienced.

Clearly I did not learn from my experience the first time around. My apologies to Ken White, the pastor who had to chase after my son’s head as he did his best to duck and dodge.

Credit to Barb Nunn, a wonderful Dallas-based photographer and friend

This kind of ritual acknowledgement of the incredibly transformative spiritual experience of pregnancy and birth was something I actively searched for when I was pregnant. There are two moments when I felt my pregnancy acknowledged in church that stand out in my memory. One was at my friend and colleague Chantel’s ordination. During the celebration of Communion, I walked up the aisle to her beaming face, and as she offered the bread to me she gestured to my belly and said, “May this nourish both you and your baby.”  I returned to my pew with tears in my eyes.

My other moment came a bit later in my first pregnancy, at Holy Trinity, the Anglican church I attended in Utrecht, the Netherlands.  They hold a healing service every few months in which people are invited to come forward to the altar rail and receive a blessing. I went forward as I approached the end of my pregnancy in order to have the minister pray over me and my baby for a healthy birth. That moment of having hands laid on my shoulders, oil anointing my forehead, and words of blessing spoken over me as I kneeled in church did much to allay some of my anxiety and to remind me that God would be with me in the physical act of delivering my child.

While I treasure both these memories, I did sort of happen upon them by accident. Neither communion nor a healing service are particularly designed to support pregnancy. So where are the rituals for pregnancy and birth? Why does the church, and its vast store of language and symbol regarding advent, and hope, and fear, and creation, and journey, and, well–LOTS of themes which easily relate to pregnancy and birth, remain silent?

I can’t answer that one. I have lots of thoughts, but of course no real answers.

But if the church, or even a church, (hey, what about your church?) wanted to start acknowledging and supporting the spiritual journey expecting families are on, here are some ideas:

• A blessing for a pregnant woman, as well as for her partner and other children. What I’m suggesting is something that would happen within the context of worship, with the whole congregation present and participating. (As opposed to what is known as a “blessing way“, or “mother blessing”: a home-based ritual meant to provide emotional and spiritual support for a woman in her pregnancy. This is fodder for a whole other post entirely. Stay tuned.) This blessing could be short and simple, but the pledge of spiritual support from her congregation would be quite meaningful to a woman and her family journeying through pregnancy.

I love this image, but I think it is sad that this woman is all alone. Where is her community?

• A blessing for the mother and her family after the birth. There used to be such a ritual, and it still survives in some Christian traditions. It is known as the “Churching of Women“, and for many people it carries negative connotations about the impurity of women following childbirth. However, I am proposing that we move beyond any such connotation, reformulating and reclaiming this ritual as needed in order to focus on welcoming a new mother back into worship, acknowledging the enormity of what she has just done, and lending support to her and her family as they move into a new way of being.
• Always in the back of my mind when I am working with this concept of birtheology is the knowledge that pregnancy and birth are not always simple or even accessible to all. Of course, considerable discretion would need to be used, but I believe that offering a means of acknowledging the loss of a child through miscarriage or stillbirth and praying for and with the parents who have experienced this within the context of their community of faith could be a powerful means of supporting their grief.
• Along these same lines, there are those in the pews who silently struggle with infertility.  I have no idea what this might look like, but perhaps there is a way to break the silence and shame on this subject as well. What is the church for, anyway, but to support one another in faith through life’s journey, whatever that journey might hold?

These are just preliminary ideas, and I could write a whole post on any of the points above. What I would really love is to hear your thoughts and experience. Is there a way in which you found spiritual support in the childbearing year within the context of worship, or do you have suggestions for how that could happen? Or have you felt excluded within worship as one who has struggled with fertility issues? How would you suggest the church address people in this situation?