Shickel Family

 As time goes on it feels easier to share our story. I still get a little pit in my stomach when I meet new people - I know they will inevitably ask or find out about our Jack and our story and navigating that is hard. But it is getting easier to share as time goes on and our wounds heal into scars.  Another piece to this season is that we often feel like the outlier. We are rare in a way that isn't desirable. It is not common in this country to meet a couple who has lost a child. Miscarriage is common, yes. But it is also not really talked about openly in most circles understandably because it is a source of real stinging pain and it often occurs without most people knowing. Our story is so public. Child loss is so public.  Often we feel excluded from conversations because of our unique situation. Of course not in an intentional way, it just happens. The conversation might start about pregnancy or child birth but shortly after our ability to relate to another new mom and...

We were warned and prepared that people will say things that will be painful after Jack died. Things like "God needed another angel." Etc etc.  But honestly, I can ignore those cheesy cards or comments. I honestly don't remember them or who said what and there haven't been that many that struck a nerve. The more painful thing is to hear nothing. To hear nothing from people we love, who prayed, who carried us when Jack was alive. But silence now. Silence feels like it never happened. Silence feels like they think we are the same people we were July 11th.  I don't want to ignore that it is hard to know what to say. I get it. I am sure I have said nothing when I should have at least said "I'm sorry. And I love you." But the kids discipline line "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all" does not apply here. There are no "nice" words when a life has ended far too early.  It is Pregnancy and Infant...

Grief - Sept 13 It’s been 4 weeks (tomorrow) since Jack passed away, and 9 weeks since he was born. There is an itch inside me to write down how I am feeling. At the same time there are ugly feelings about writing. Just with every other part of grief - it feels like a “both and neither” situation. Writing would help me process. But writing also makes it real. Makes it stick. Makes it feel permanent in a way I don’t want.  In an effort to step into grief, actively, I am writing. But be warned - this is not sugar coated, I am not yet to the place of being able to say "God did so much good from such a hard thing..."  I recently was gifted and read the first chapter of “A Grief Observed” from CS Lewis. He wrote this after his wife passed away from cancer - a wife he married when she was admitted to the hospital, a wife he knew would likely succumb to the terrible disease soon. And he hits the nail on the head SO. MANY. TIMES. when he describes what he is feeling.  I lost my s...

I have heard many times that if something doesn’t sit right with you, you need to dig in further and figure out why. I think that’s how I felt as a high schooler who felt uncomfortable when I saw displaced people living in a community called Nuevo Vida in Nicaragua who were just barely surviving and their kids really did survive on the lunches provided daily by the local church. The lunches changed the community. Kept kids in school, kept families together, brought down teen pregnancy rates (as an adult now realizing the relationship between young girls in need and the ugly truth that they do what they have to in order to survive), it sustained people and gave them glimpses of hope. The lunches didn’t fix every single problem, they still struggled with sickness due to lack of public health and hygienic services, still struggled for jobs. But the simple fact that a meal a day made an impact was obvious. The meals were supplied by Rise Against Hunger (then called Stop Hunger Now) and ser...