Kissed by Jesus

The loss of our son felt like an earthquake, and it shook the world of our entire family.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." -- Psalm 23

October 15th is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I want to take a break from politics and share with you something deeply personal instead.

People often ask me: “Do you have any children?” It is usually a good conversation starter. Either an answer of “Yes” or “No” will open many new topics. Yet, until recently, I found it very difficult to answer this perfectly normal and straightforward question.

Three years ago, I lost my son Lucas four days before the scheduled delivery. He was stillborn. No one warned us that this could happen. The hospital’s delivery wing was full of pictures of cute and smiling babies staring back at us. We naively thought every couple would walk out of the hospital with a happy ending because anything else is unthinkable and a violation of natural order.

The loss of our son felt like an earthquake, and it shook the world of our entire family.

For my parents, Lucas was their first and only grandson. When they knew I was pregnant, they were ecstatic. They gave Lucas the nickname “little cutie” in Chinese before they even met him. Whenever I Skyped them during my pregnancy, their first question was always: “How’s our little cutie today?” Later, when we buried Lucas, we made sure to carve “little cutie” in Chinese on his tombstone.

A traditional Chinese belief is that a pregnant woman should eat walnuts to ensure her baby has good hair. My parents believed that off-the-shelf walnuts were not fresh enough, so mom bought fresh walnuts in shells from the farmer’s market. My dad cracked open each one, and mom peeled them by hand. They had sent me bags of freshly peeled walnuts along with other goodies in care packages. During my nine months of pregnancy, I received many such care packages. Lucas was indeed born with a full head of thick and dark hair.

Besides care packages, my mom made Lucas many different things: outfits, blankets, hats, crocheted sweaters, and several pairs of delicate shoes. Lucas would have enough wear from the time he was born to two years old.

The first and the last time Lucas wore anything his grandmother made was at his funeral. Before Lucas’s burial, the funeral home asked us to pick out an outfit for him. My sister and I thought it would be too cruel to ask my mother to select something, so we tried to do it ourselves. But we were so grief-stricken that we both sat on the floor in Lucas’ room, unable to do anything other than crying. So my mom had to take over.

Her hands were shaking as she was searching for the perfect outfit she had made for her grandson. Then she came across a tiny quilt she had made. According to Chinese tradition, a quilt made from various old clothes would protect the newborn from any evil spirits so he/she would live a long life. Mom had been the strong one in the family to hold us together ever since we lost Lucas. But she could no longer contain herself at the sight of the quilt. She fell on the floor, holding the quilt, and screamed: “My little cutie, nainai (Chinese for “grandma”) made this for you to protect you so you would live to a hundred, not to bury you in it.”

My father experienced many pains and sufferings in his life, but I had never seen him cry. After Lucas’s death, my father cried twice. The first time was at the hospital. My father held Lucas in his arms for a long time, and he wouldn’t let go. By the time he had to leave, my father had cried. He told Lucas how sorry grandpa was for not being able to protect him. The second time I saw my father cry was at Lucas’ funeral. My father put his hands on the tiny coffin and tried to say a Chinese prayer for Lucas. But he couldn’t complete his sentences without breaking down in tears.

My father-in-law was one of the pallbearers to carry Lucas’ tiny coffin to the burial site. My father and father-in-law, two grey-haired gentlemen in their late 70s and both walking with canes, one from China, one from the United States, stood side-by-side and buried their newborn grandson together. 

My husband is a quiet man, so he expressed his love for his son through actions. He spent four months building Lucas a beautiful crib from scratch. He meticulously measured, cut, shaped, sanded, painted each piece, and assembled all 117 pieces right before the baby shower. The crib is the centerpiece in Lucas’ nursery, a nursery we decorated together with so much joy. We have kept the nursery unchanged even to this day.

As for me, everyone close to me knows how much I want to become a mother. When I knew I became pregnant, I told Lucas that “mommy has been waiting her whole life for you.” His every little move and every tiny hiccup had brought me endless excitement and elation. I followed the doctor’s orders and ensured that I ate the best and most nutritious food and had plenty of rest. Then on that fateful night three years ago, I went to the hospital to give birth, full of hope and anticipation. A few days later, I left the hospital with empty arms and a broken heart.

Even though three years have gone by, it still seems only yesterday that I held him in my arms and covered his tiny body with tears and kisses. I still count every milestone Lucas should reach by now, when he started talking, walking, and running. On any given day, I know exactly how old he should have been.

Early this year, I had a miscarriage. My husband and I believe that we had a girl. We named her Allie.

Only after we experienced losses did we learn that pregnancy loss and infant death happen more often than people realized. Here are some shocking statistics: one in four U.S. pregnancies ends in miscarriage, and about 24,000 babies are stillborn in the United States each year. Unfortunately, we live in a culture where pregnancy loss and infant death are taboo subjects that few, including medical professionals, want to or are willing to talk about openly and honestly. Parents who experience these kinds of losses feel lonely and isolated, and they struggle to answer simple questions such as “How many children do you have?”

As Christians, my husband and I are held together by our faith. We believe our Lucas and Allie are in the arms of Jesus, and we will see them again someday. Still, we initially wrestled to answer questions such as “Do you have any children?” or “How many children do you have?” We didn’t want to make other people feel uncomfortable by sharing our vulnerability and faith.

After many prayers, we concluded that the only way to break the cultural taboo and raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss is to talk about it. When asked, we must acknowledge our children’s existence and experiences, even if it means sharing our vulnerability and faith and making others feel uncomfortable. Only by talking about our experiences openly we can help raise awareness. Only after we raise awareness can we draw more attention and resources to both bereavement care for families who experienced pregnancy and infant loss and, more importantly, loss prevention — according to the World Health Organization, stillbirths are largely preventable.

Nowadays, when people ask me if I have any children, my answer is always: “Yes. I have two kids, and they are in heaven.” Sometimes my answer made people feel uncomfortable. I often end up comforting them and letting them know that I’m glad they asked, and their question allows me to talk about my children, an opportunity I rarely have. Usually, after I finished speaking, the person I spoke to was so touched by my story that they thanked me for educating them on an issue they weren’t aware of.

Sometimes my answer prompted the other person to share their stories of loss, be it a child, sibling, niece, nephew, or grandchild. They often told me they had buried the story of their loss and their pain deep down in their hearts because they were afraid that few would be interested in listening. They felt relieved to share their experiences with someone who finally got it.

In 1988, President Reagan declared October as the Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Since his declaration, October 15th has evolved to be the International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, and families and friends will commemorate this day with a beautiful tradition. It is called the global Wave of Light: simply light a candle at 7 pm local time and leave it burning for at least one hour, in memory of all the babies we love dearly and who departed from this world too soon.

By sharing our loss publicly on this occasion, we hope to help raise awareness of pregnancy and infant loss, encourage more families to share stories of their losses. Hopefully, more attention will result in better preventive measures and minimize future pregnancy and infant losses.

Mother Theresa said: “Pain and suffering have come into your life. But remember, pain, sorrow, and suffering are but the kiss of Jesus, a sign that you have come so close to Him that He can kiss you.”

To all the families who lost their precious babies, we send you our prayers and love. Please know that you are not alone. We are all being kissed by Jesus.