The article I wrote for Hope Mommies about the incredible experience I had at their retreat in March...
A few months after Abby died, I received a Hope Box in the mail. It was my first introduction to Hope Mommies. I was intrigued. Their annual retreat was something that caught my eye, and soon enough, I had convinced another Hope Mom to go to this retreat with me in Texas.
It all sounded like a great idea at the time, but as the weekend of the retreat drew near, it sounded like a terrible, anxiety-ridden, I-think-I’m-gonna-pass-out kind of idea. I mean, lots of talking with people I don’t know? PANIC. Bunking with roommates? NOPE. Before Abby died, I would have loved a weekend away, but now my anxiety made it difficult to venture far from home. And Texas is not a skip or a jump from Philadelphia. So, I stewed in my anxiety the whole long plane ride to Texas.
My friend, Alina, and I met at the Austin airport, hopped in the car with three other mamas, and made our way to Giddings. We stopped for tacos along the way, and what more did we have to talk about than our babies? Soon enough, five strangers were crying heartbreaking tears into the salsa.
As we drove up the dusty path to the retreat center, the volunteers in their cute, matching shirts were waving at the cars pulling up. They looked so happy; I felt nervous. As we pulled in, I composed myself to say to one of the smiley volunteers, “I’m Kristin.” Without much hesitation she responded, “Oh, you’re Abby’s mom!”
All weekend I was known as Abby’s mom. I’m called Isaac’s mom at his school and Eli’s mom around his friends. My boys are often in plain sight, dangling from my arms. But not everyone knows I am Abby’s mom too. Even though my daughter is not strapped in her Ergo or snoozing in her carseat, she’s a huge part of my heart. At the retreat everyone wanted to know Abby and Abby’s mom, and I had no idea how meaningful that would be to me.
We sang, we ate, we did yoga, we relaxed. We listened to the speaker, Tova Sido. I was awkward through all of it. Anxious, unsocial, nervous—check, check, check. But no one cared. In fact, they expected it. It would almost have been strange if I wasn’t. The “regular” world can be a difficult place for a griever. They want us to wear masks and pretend we’re ok so they don’t have to deal with our pain. The “normal” world doesn’t see my baby. Back at home, it is hard to reconcile with people who want me to be who I used to be. But in this beautiful place, they loved me for who I am now. Abby, and Abby’s mama, were seen and known at the Hope Mommies Retreat.
I took from that weekend encouraging words that will shape my thoughts all the days of my life as I walk the road of grief.
Tova, our speaker for the weekend, had lost one baby to miscarriage, one to stillbirth, and two before their first birthdays. Unimaginable loss, even for a Hope Mom. When Tova first stood in front of us—so many red, teary eyes in a roomful of pain—she took a big breath and said, “I’ve told my story to many people, but never to people who share my story.” I took notes furiously.
I came to the retreat asking God to put my shattered pieces back together. I almost demanded it of Him, asking, “Who am I now, God?” Tova had been so faithful to give God all of her shattered pieces, and He put them back together in a beautiful way. Not the way they were before. Not without pain. But, He had done a new thing.
While God did not put all my sad, shattered pieces back together fully that weekend, or reveal to me who I am, this is what He did do: He reminded me who He is. He’s the one that can love me even when my pain is divisive and ugly. He’s the one that brings purpose out of utter madness. He’s the one that doesn’t leave me, even when my grief lingers on and on and on. He is the one that is able to put a thousand sad, little pieces back together into something new. It is something He desires to do for us, and He is the one that will do it. God will put my pieces back together again one day in a new way. He’s in the business of doing that.
If you’ve lost a baby and are considering the retreat, I’ll say this: the Hope Mommies Retreat was a transformational experience for my grief. It’s impact on my life didn’t just last those three days. I took from that weekend encouraging words that will shape my thoughts all the days of my life as I walk the road of grief. I met friends who have suffered unimaginable losses and are seeking to bring their grief before Christ, fellow warriors who “get it” more than most. As I continue down this grief road, I look forward to returning to a retreat again in order to seek respite in this beautiful place where Abby and her mama are fully known and loved, where grief is completely acceptable, and where I listen even more carefully for how God wants to shape me along this difficult journey.
