Trigger warning: child loss
My entire upbringing revolved around the church. Family dinners began with bowed heads, Sundays were reserved for our best attire, and I can’t recall a moment when my grandmother didn’t have her vibrant floral Bible on her nightstand. Christianity was woven into my identity, and when my daughter passed away, that connection remained. I organized a traditional Christian viewing and funeral, and in that moment, it felt just right. I shared how deeply I missed her, fantasized about her playing Mozart on the piano while seated on my grandma’s lap, and envisioned Jesus guiding her through the parted seas.
However, the alternative thoughts that surfaced were starkly painful: the reality that she was truly gone, that I would soon lay her to rest after less than 24 hours apart, and that this was our final farewell. I forced myself to suppress these invasive thoughts, cloaking them with more comforting illusions. I needed to envision her in a sunny, joyful place, believing she was at peace and not wholly lost as she was the last time I saw her. In hindsight, it’s clear I used my faith as a shield against the harshness of reality.
In my community, it seems customary to assume that everyone shares a Christian belief system. Obituaries often feature phrases like “fly high” or “in the arms of our Lord,” meant to provide solace to those grieving. I still encounter such comments, with well-meaning individuals sharing their visions of my daughter’s afterlife, expressing how happy she must be and suggesting she’s “watching over me from heaven.” I appreciate their intentions, but these comments increasingly feel like hollow reassurances lacking genuine depth.
Over the years, my beliefs have shifted. While I still acknowledge a higher power, my unwavering faith is no longer the same. I can articulate what I hope happens after death and what I wish for my daughter, but I also accept that I could be mistaken. Many Christians, deep down, might recognize this uncertainty too, but they hesitate to voice it, fearing it might equate to a denial of God. They often find their thoughts at odds with their feelings, conditioned to believe that questioning divine teachings is tantamount to rejecting them.
In the past, I dismissed my doubts, viewing them as unworthy thoughts. However, when I finally confronted those uncertainties, I realized they carried weight. Now, I find myself reevaluating everything I once held as truth about Christianity.
My grief has evolved alongside my spiritual journey. Where I once found comfort in thoughts of my daughter engaging in “heavenly” activities, they now evoke discomfort and sadness. Acknowledging my uncertainty about the afterlife for my daughter and others has become one of the most challenging aspects of my mourning. Embracing a more realistic perspective has replaced the comforting ideas surrounding her death, which I once held so dearly.
This process is far from easy. The hardest part may be knowing that even after expressing my truths, many Christians may not respect my viewpoint. Instead, they might frame my experience as a tale of a grieving mother whose faith was lost in anger towards God. However, those who truly know me understand that this stereotype does not apply to my situation.
I wish more believers recognized that I can carry my pain and anger without being a broken person. I can approach my grief realistically without my views being seen as blasphemous. I reserve the right to navigate this loss in the way that best supports my healing process because, ultimately, it is my loss to bear.
It has taken me years to discover what truly helps, and I’ve found that the traditional Christian perspective on death offers me little comfort. I choose to remember my daughter for who she was and make no apologies for that. I hold onto the hope of a heaven where I might one day reunite with her, but until then, I refuse to get lost in endless possibilities. Being realistic about my grief allows me to confront it head-on, as imagining a different reality only prolongs my pain.
For more insights on navigating grief and the complexities of loss, you can read more in this blog post or explore excellent resources on pregnancy and fertility treatment.
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