Rosary Babies
“How are you feeling? Is there another one on the way?” our Deacon’s wife asked me one Sunday after Mass. I just smiled and shrugged. I held back the urge to tell her I had taken a pregnancy test the day before and the result was positive. I was already six weeks along.
The following Monday, however, I began spotting. And by the middle of the night it was bright red bleeding. I started to worry, but I was so exhausted that I fell back asleep. When I woke the next morning, the flow was steady and I feared the worst. I called my mom and we cried together on the phone. She encouraged me to call the doctor and be seen right away; that maybe there was hope.
When I called the doctor’s office, the lady who answered was anything but reassuring. She told me that based on my bleeding, I had probably already passed the baby, but she would get me in to see the doctor anyway.
The appointment is forever burned into my brain. The midwife said my uterus was empty and sent me for labs to confirm a miscarriage. My heart was heavy and I went numb. We had to go home and explain to our four kids that we had been expecting but lost the baby–all at once. I didn’t move. I just watched as my husband tried to answer their questions. We decided to name the baby Luca.
In February 2019, we had another miscarriage. I was nine weeks along when I began bleeding. Again we raced to the doctor’s office, praying for a sign of hope. The doctor could see the baby, but no heartbeat. Why was this happening? What was wrong with me? How could I trust my body again?
How am I supposed to trust God when He keeps taking away the children whom He had just entrusted to me? I knew I needed my faith to pull me through, but how?
I wanted to wait for the baby to be delivered naturally. When I called my parents, my mom said she would come to be with us and help with the kids while we waited for the baby to arrive. On February 17, 2019, I delivered baby Zephaniah at home.
The Mass readings that day gave me a glimmer of hope but not in the way I had anticipated. They told me to trust in God; that this life is not all we have because Jesus rose from the dead; and that those who mourn will laugh again. The Scriptures reassured me when I felt swallowed up by tears and grief:
Blessed are those who trust in the LORD; the LORD will be their trust. - Jeremiah 17:7
But if Christ is preached as raised from the dead, how can some among you say there is no resurrection of the dead? For if the dead are not raised, neither has Christ been raised, and if Christ has not been raised, your faith is vain; you are still in your sins. Then those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are the most pitiable people of all. - 1 Cor 15:12, 16-20
And raising his eyes toward his disciples he said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours. Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh. - Luke 6:20-21
I was in shock that God was so clearly speaking to my heart. It helped me to move forward in planning the funeral and burial. It even gave me strength enough to take pictures of our baby, who was small enough to fit inside my husband’s wedding ring, but big enough to see hands and fingers.
The next day, my dad came for the funeral. He had to drive through the night just to make it on time. We all drove together. On the 1.5 hour drive, my mom carefully sewed a tiny blanket to bury Zephaniah with. I was so grateful for the family support.
As we got out of the car, the day was beautiful and warm; that felt like a cruel mockery of my grief. I fought back tears, trying to be strong for everyone, but when my husband laid the tiny box in the ground, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be left alone to just sit there with my baby. But I was too numb to say anything.
When we got home, my parents watched our kids so my husband and I could go out to talk. I remember getting into the car with him and falling apart. I felt like we had left our baby, the way a parent feels when they forget a child somewhere. I felt cruel and panicked. I wanted to bring our baby back home. I didn’t know how to detach myself, and I didn’t want to.
The significance of the rosary was heavy on my heart. With Luca, Saturdays and Tuesdays were painful reminders. But somehow, I started thinking about how the mysteries of the rosary have assigned days of the week. We found out we were pregnant with Luca on a Saturday (Joyful Mysteries) and lost Luca on a Tuesday (Sorrowful Mysteries). We learned Zephaniah no longer had a heartbeat on a Thursday (the Luminous Mysteries) and Zephaniah was delivered on a Sunday (the Glorious Mysteries).
Suddenly I could relate to the Blessed Virgin Mary. I felt eager to pray the rosary and ask her to be with me in my deepest wounds. I needed someone who could understand how my heart was breaking, who could hold me through my suffering, and who had never given up on God because of it. I needed someone to show me how to trust God when I didn’t understand why something like this could happen to us twice, and in just a matter of months.
The mysteries of the rosary bind me to the heart of Mary where I can embrace the joy of motherhood. I bring my pierced heart to God and trust His plan. I delight in being with my departed children in the Eucharist at every Mass and have hope in the resurrection.
Just recently I learned about the Seven Sorrows Rosary. In this beautiful prayer we can carry each other’s burdens. Abby Fredrickson on the Hallow App blog states:
“We pray this Rosary to learn to suffer with love, as Mary, the Mother of Jesus, did. The 7 Sorrows Rosary leads us to understand our suffering, sins, and sorrows. Doing so helps us better live a life of joy in the Lord so that we can serve others like St. Bridget and Marie-Claire did. As we pray with Mary through her seven sorrows, we begin to feel empathy for her suffering, the suffering of her Son, our Savior, our neighbors, and our own.”
Luca and Zephaniah’s brief lives on earth continually urge me to pick up the rosary and find Mary as a source of strength and comfort, leading me to Christ. It’s been a hard journey, and I still get caught up in the waves of emotion. I still have really low days that leave me too frozen to function well, but I’m also eager to ease the suffering of other mothers going through this. I want them to know they aren’t alone.
Since my miscarriages, I’ve met so many women who have experienced child loss. And I deeply desire to bring them with me to Mary. The precious lives of my little ones are a constant reminder that God wants to be intimately close to me at every moment. As stated by St. Pope John Paul II: