My story of Tate

5.4.14

     That Sunday was a typical Sunday: Alex and I got up and went to early church at 9:30, went and grabbed something to eat, and then came home. Being in that first trimester, I took a lot of naps, but Alex is very much a go-getter and doesn't tend to nap that much.
      Alex left to go run some errands, and I had decided to lay down on the couch with the dogs close by. I had barely shut my eyes when my phone dinged that I had a text message. I laid there for a minute, seriously debating whether it was worth getting up or not, but finally decided that I would see what my mom (who I assumed was texting me) wanted.
      My phone has a lock on it so when I get a text I only see the name of the person but not the body of the text on the screen. The alert hadn't been caused by my mom, but instead my friend Kristen, which was a little strange because just honestly didn't text that much.

Kristen: I felt you would want to know that my sweet friend Allison's son Tate passed away this morning.

       I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. What? I read that text twice before I was just overcome with grief for her. I immediately started crying hysterically because this just didn't make any sense.

Me: OH MY GOSH WHAT HAPPENED?!
       I can't stop crying. I don't know what to do- I am so heartbroken
       I can not imagine her pain
Kristen: I know I'm beyond sick...
       He fell off his top bunk and somehow got stuck between the bunk and the wall. Poor Allison          found him.

      I felt completely sick. I sat on the couch in the silence of the house and just wailed for Allison. How could this have happened? This is a mistake. This is a huge mistake. Not that woman that sat across from me and shared her pain of losing her firstborn so suddenly. Not the family that had been so active in our church and loving on other people's kids. Not the woman that had been my inspiration in my grief.
      Surely, surely, surely... This was a mistake. I texted Alex and asked him to hurry home, that I had gotten some bad news about a friend. I didn't even wait for him to make it into the house from our attached garage, but met him as he got out of the car and just sobbed on him. I have no idea what he thought, but I told him the story of what had happened to Tate.
       I was out of it the rest of the day. I could NOT stop crying thinking about my sweet friend and the horror that she was living in... again. I tried to lay down to calm down, but I couldn't rest. We went to our couple's Bible study that afternoon and I sat there and cried, telling the group the story of who Allison is and what had happened. I admitted that I was not going to be able to contribute that day because I just felt empty.
       I never met Tate, but I loved him through loving Allison. There's a term for the baby that comes after a loss that Hope Mommies use: its called a "rainbow baby." My current baby that is steadily growing in my tummy is our rainbow baby, and Tate was Allison's rainbow baby. Its the child that comes after the worst loss you could imagine. Its the sign that God is faithful. Its the promise that God is with us.

       As a mom of stillbirth, there's a part of me that thinks that surely that is the worst of it. If I can say hello and goodbye to my daughter in the same breath, surely, I can survive anything. Health issues don't scare me. Saying goodbye to those who have lived on this earth any significant amount of time doesn't scare me. I thought that there was nothing left that could scare me.
       But I was wrong, so wrong... In those few days immediately after Tate passed away, I cried spontaneously, mourning along with my friend. I cried for Tate's short life (he was only 4, about to turn 5), I cried for his sister, who was 3. I cried for his mom and dad, for the grandparents saying goodbye to another grandson. I cried for his school friends, his teachers. The loss of life that was so unexpected and so dark.
       I cried for the loss of innocence of anyone that knew the family. There's such an illusion around our lives that we control so many things: how we drive, what roads we take, what alarm system we have on our house. But this loss... This loss that happened in the heart of a home surrounded so much by love and outlined with the grace of a previous loss. I know how much Allison had to have loved both her kids because she knew what it was like to say goodbye too early. I knew that she and her husband had rejoiced so much when Tate took his first breath on this earth: the restoration of a family that had been too long in the making. I anticipate the joys that I will be able to relate with her with as we watch our second child take their first steps, say their first words, and develop their personality.

       It was also strange for me to be on this side of the grief. With all the other Hope Moms, I felt empowered to at least know what do to. I've been blessed to be able to give nearly ever mom I've heard about a Hope Box, and its something tangible for me to do in that moment of grief. It makes me feel better, like I can ease their pain somehow just by giving them a simple gift and connecting them to others.
       With Allison, I felt loss. I could in no way console her. I couldn't relate to her loss. I have no idea what it is like to love and protect a life for a period of time only to have it ripped from you unexpectedly.
        I didn't know what to say.

        So instead, I let God do the talking.