The Missing Name

I recently signed a card for my mom and stepdad to celebrate their anniversary. I wrote them a little message and then proceeded to sign our family’s names:

“Mace, Jennifer, Bernard…(long pause)…and Haven...(another long pause).”

I then closed the card, stuck it in the envelope, and sealed it.

My heart remained heavy and lingered for a moment in the thick sadness that had suddenly rushed upon me.

“Do I sign my deceased daughter’s name?”

Mace, Jennifer, Bernard,…

My thoughts started racing, “Hannah’s name should be next, but is it weird if I put it? I mean, she is a member of our family. Even though she’s not presently here with us signing this card, I’m sure she is wishing them a Happy Anniversary from Heaven. So do I sign her name? What do I do?  I just don’t know.”

Moments later I finish the string of names:

and Haven

I paused again as I looked at the line of names at the bottom of the card. “Those aren’t all the members of our family,” I thought. One name is missing. One name that I don’t get to sign on every birthday, anniversary, and Christmas card. One name that I long to not only write again but say again often.

The grief of the loss of my first daughter is something I’ve learned to live daily with, but it’s moments like these that shine a bright, ugly light on that Hannah-sized hole in my heart that can never be whole again.

The pain then gives way to guilt. Guilt that I didn’t write her name down. If Hannah knew that I hadn’t written her name down, would she be upset? Would she feel like we don’t love her anymore?

I’m not sure any recipient of one of our cards even has a second thought about it when they see only four names signed at the bottom. But it is something that is causing me great anguish every single time I get out my pen and start signing a card.

Maybe I’m alone in this. Maybe no momma who has lost a baby has experienced this. And that’s okay, and it’s okay that I have.

For me, this is a trigger that reminds me (as if I needed a reminder) that a part of me is missing. A part of me that I can never have back.

It would be a lie to say that I turn to the Lord in those moments and give Him my grief. But that is exactly what I should do. I should readily turn to Him, express all of my hardest feelings, knowing that He would not reject me or cast me out. Instead, He would draw me to Himself with His everlasting love.

If you are walking through the loss of a child or another loved one and this experience of grief is all too familiar to you, pray with me. Pray with me to the God of all comfort that in those moments when our grief is triggered, we would turn to Him:

“Lord, I turn to you in my grief. I turn to you knowing that you yourself know the pain of losing a child. You have experienced that separation and that loss firsthand. I pray in each moment when the waves of grief wash over my heart that you would remind me that you are with me, that you love me, and that you will help me through my hardest moments. I am reminded in Scripture that you will turn my sorrow into joy. I know I have eternal joy with you. Would you take my sorrow now and give me a joy and peace that transcends all understanding? Thank You for loving me more than I will ever know. In Jesus’ Name, amen.”

Pressing on in faith, Jennifer

Scripture references:

John 16:20b-“‘You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy.'”

Philippians 4:7-““And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”