Service for Faith

Tuesday our pastor came and held a mini "service" for Faith. Really "mini", lasted all of 30 minutes. Speaking with our pastor, I learnt something - that the "service" was more meant to be held at the hospital or the burial/cremation.

When we were admitted for termination, we did not know this, but again, complying with the "conservative-asian-mentality", we had the hospital "dispose" of her body. The social stigma of our conservative society, finds it taboo to have parents bury/cremate their children, much less to talk about it. Of course, there is no point in me regretting the decision that I made. It's too late to say I want her body back now. But now I know and I understand.

When ET and I decided to name her, as all expectant parents do before their children are born, what we had not considered, was that we were giving her a personality, an affirmation of her presence in our family, in our very lives. She was as real as my son is. She deserved a birth registration, a baptism, a death registration, and a proper "final arrangement" for her short, albeit precious life. She had been, in all words, alive (in my womb) for a whole 21 weeks. That's more than 5 months, a month short of half a year. That's a lot, for a baby with anencephaly.

We were reminded that since she had been named, she was and still is a part of our family, deserving to be remembered, to be spoken of - not to be forgotten or shut far behind in our heart/mind's closet, never spoken of.

What I also realised during the service, was that I had gained an immense amount of strength to talk about the sad parts of my children's lives. When I talked about Faith a week back, I would most likely burst into tears, which would likely progress into uncontrollable sobs. On Tuesday when I spoke about Faith and how I weathered that horrible week, my voice faltered, and my eyes watered a tiny bit, but that was about it. No uncontrollable sobs nor teary and uncomfortable conversations. Even when I think back on last Sunday where Lucas went into fits, I was frightened, but I kept my wits about me. I didn't cry, didn't tear. It was until he was safely asleep back at home, and I sat down in the living area, that I cried, releasing all the fear and trepidation I had held inside the entire evening. But I know, this strength didn't come from me, it was more than me.

Perhaps one of the life lessons He wanted me to learn through the past 3 weeks was immense strength and courage. Strength and courage to support my family, for my children. I had always been a teary emotional gob before all this. Maybe, this the lesson I needed to learn.

But then again, maybe, I'll never find out what the lesson was, if He doesn't will it.