Letting Go

Something must be festering inside of me if I am writing on the blog in the middle of the year!  I usually save blog posts for Luke's birthday and angel day.  But yes, something is tugging at my heart.  And it has been tugging at my heart for over five years.

Today after Mass, I met with a woman who is starting a ministry called Embrace (http://www.embracefamilies.com/).  Embrace is a loving ministry that offers support to families who are facing grief after miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death.  Tommy and I have offered to be support for others (and we will also gain support from others) and are anxious to get started.  I was involved in Griefshare at our parish in Tennessee and I was so thankful that there were other people who were grieving, although the losses were all different.

As I was talking with the woman who is bringing Embrace to our parish, those feelings flooded back.

The bitterness.

The anger.

The questioning.

I bet you're wondering who caused these feelings?  Who made me feel bitter?  Who caused anger and questioning?  Why would I even allow someone to make me feel this way?

It's simple, really.  It is because when we lost Luke, the only thing I had to rely on was my faith.  My family and many of my friends were amazing.  They were there when I needed them the most. 

But my faith.  My faith was the only thing that got me through.  I was carried because I couldn't walk on my own.

So...who do you turn to when you want to talk about faith?  When you want to hear about faith?  When you want to grow in your faith?  Most people turn to their pastor. 

You see, I worked at our parish.  I worked there until I was about 38 weeks along with Luke.  Before I knew he was sick.  Before I knew he may die.  Back when I was the old, fun Bernie.  The pastor was, for all intents and purposes, my boss.

When Luke was born, everyone scrambled, especially my work family.  They worked to get meals together and to help get Em and Matt where they needed to be.  They were there when we needed them.  I received phone calls and emails from many of them.

So many of them.  Except for one. 

The pastor.

I never heard a thing from him.  Not when Luke was airlifted on the night he was born.  Not when Luke was baptized on St. Patrick's Day.  Not when he had his Norwood.  Not on the night that he died.  Not on the day of his funeral.  Not on the unimaginable days following.

Thankfully, our previous pastor was there to baptize him.  He was there to say the funeral Mass.  He was there when we said our last goodbyes.  He was there.  For all of this, I will be forever grateful (and the fact that he is now a bishop is pretty cool). 

Why do I care?  Why does this still bother me after all these years? 

Because of faith.  Because I believe that he should have been there.  Tommy and I were broken and needed guidance.  He was not there.  It doesn't matter that there were hundreds of other people who were there for us.  At that time, we needed him.

A few weeks after we lost Luke, I went to pick Em and Matt up from school (which was a chore in and of itself--seriously, I have never felt so out of place as I did when I went back to my beloved school without my baby).  I saw the pastor in the office and he asked (in a very flippant way) how I was (I truly believe he had no idea who I was nor wanted to know how I was). 

So I looked at him.  I felt the tears building up.  I said "you know that my baby died?".

"Oh yes" he said.  I think we made some small talk and he said a prayer with me. 

And while I appreciated the prayer, it just wasn't enough to make up for when he wasn't there to say a prayer.  When he wasn't there to pray over our baby as he lay helpless in a hospital bed.  When he wasn't there to comfort us as we held our baby after he had left this world.  When he wasn't there to say a funeral Mass.  When he wasn't there when our lives had to go on without our boy.

We needed our pastor and he sent his vicar (who did an amazing job) to do his "dirty work".  I felt (and still feel) jaded.  Was our baby not important enough for him to care?  Did we not give enough money to the parish to earn his support? 

I have seen him give other families this support, why not us?

OK, I think I have said enough.  I am sorry if I have offended anyone.  But priests, preachers, rabbis, etc. are all human.  They all make mistakes.  Maybe someone will read this and will remind his/her spiritual leader what is important.

We are all important. 

We are all His chosen ones.

I pray that our former pastor will realize that each and every life matters. 

And I pray that this post will help me release some of the bitterness.  The anger.  The questioning.

May God bless you all!

PS  Emily, Matthew, and James are growing so much.  Em will be 11 next month and Matthew will be 9.  James is 4 1/2, but always tells people that he "just turned 4".  They keep us busy and they really keep us laughing.  We are blessed with them and I am sure that their brother is proud of who they are becoming.