Release the Doves: Journaling and Journeying Through Stillbirth and Miscarriage

By Jessica Dorrington

One Hope. One Dream. One Story. We all had a hope for our child, the same hopes of becoming a family, and the same dreams of the future to come. We are searching for answers when we lose a child through miscarriage and stillbirth. These times can seem unfathomable and overwhelming. Reflection gives space for change and true inward transformation. Release the Doves is an interactive journal that creates a space for you to grieve, frees you of timeframes of your grief process, and guides you to search for the deeper understanding of your trials, fears, and struggles to bring you complete peace and contentment. Each chapter guides you to discover and write your own story of your loss through engaging questions, helps you contemplate the future decisions and yet binds you in unity with a relatable and compelling story. It will help you to discover the blessings your child's short presence can have on your presence. Release the Doves will guide you from outward experiences to inward transformation as you contemplate faith, trust, peace, and hope. Give yourself grace through this process. Be gentle with yourself. And know that you are loved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098039387

Book preview

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Release the Doves

Journaling and Journeying through Stillbirth and Miscarriage

Jessica Dorrington

Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Dorrington

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

One Hope, One Dream, One Story

Someone Else Please Take the Wheel

Neon Signs in the Rearview Mirror

Neon Signs in the Night

Beach Bound and a Little Lowly Shell

Rawness in the Hustle and Bustle

Release the Doves

The Lord’s Prayer at Heart

Humility: Down on My Knees

Mosaicism

It All Boils Down to Relationships

Raw and Grounded

Snow-Laden Sorrows

A Grief-Broken Heart

New Year, New Hearts

Places of Remembrance

Sons and Daughters

Reflecting on Stories around You

Bearing Fruit

A Test of Faith

Healing by Looking Up

Angel-versary

Faith…Trust…Peace…Hope

A Home Built on Solid Ground

Common Threads Binding Us Together

Release the Doves is more than just a book, it’s an undaunted look into the story of loss, grief and tangible healing that exists for the courageous traveler who dares to meet their pain in the dark night and trust that a good God is waiting to meet you in that very place. Beautifully written, brutally honest, and unflinchingly rooted in faith, Jessica has given the gift of her own grief story to the world to aid us in walking through ours. This is not a trite book of prescriptive banalities that ring hallow, but one person’s honest journey through unimaginable loss and the faithful love of a God who walked her through it. For anyone who is grieving, this book is a welcome companion of hope for your journey.

Rick McKinley

Pastor of Imago Dei

Author of Faith for the Moment

"Wow! The vulnerability and courage that Jessica shows in her story is beyond inspiring. Release the Doves is a page turner, which one wouldn’t normally relate to a story of loss. However, she conveys her emotions and thought process in a way which anyone dealing with grief can relate. The story is very engaging and one not of loss but of hope and faith. I lost my mom 4 years ago and the moments Jessica describes touch my heart in a special way. Grief is an ongoing process that lasts forever, but the lasting message from Release the Doves is that love, strength and joy are also released in the same way from any loss. It helps us overcome grief and ultimately become stronger people.

Jordan Hasay, U.S.A. Pro Athlete

Release the Doves is a beautifully vulnerable story that provides authentic insights and in-depth journaling for anyone that has lost a child and is ready for healing. As a professional counselor, this book is a tremendous resource for any helper, mentor, or friend who is walking alongside grieving parents. Thank you for this sacred and courageous gift!

Terra Mattson, MA, LMFT, LPC

Author of Courageous: Being Daughters Rooted in Grace, Podcaster, Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist, and Co-Founder of Living Wholehearted

Dedicated to Mary Lewis-Rott, our midwife and friend.

You are the only one to hold Abigail Genevieve on this earth and in heaven. Thank you for teaching us, that Abigail will always be here in our hearts.

You exemplified compassion, empathy, and grace as you walked along side us through a difficult grief process with your heartfelt smile. We can only imagine your arms are full in heaven with all the babies gone much too soon.

Jessica and Mike

One Hope, One Dream, One Story

These times seem insurmountable. We as parents cannot fathom why we should have to go through this at this point and time in life. We all seek to understand. We seek to find the answers to what has happened and why it has happened to us. We yearn for closure of such an open wound in our hearts and in our minds. No matter our background, our religious beliefs, our socioeconomic status, whether our first or fifth child, we all cry the same for the loss of our little babies we didn’t get to hold for long enough.

Whether you are experiencing the loss of a miscarriage, the loss of a stillbirth, or the loss of a child, we are all on the same journey. It’s the loss of the hopes, the loss of the dreams of what would have been. We all had the same hope for our child, the same hopes of becoming a family, the same dreams of the future to come. But you have one story.

The decisions you make through this grieving process will write your one narrative. Each day the little choices you make will compose your story. As the days go on, it seems hard to put life into perspective. It seems as though when you look at nature, your surroundings just don’t have the same beauty and splendor. Your family and relationships just don’t seem to be enough to fill the void in your heart. However, you have a choice to make. In the end, the days and years will go by. You will eventually sum this time in your life up to just a few sentences. When you describe your story to someone in the future, it will be just a few short minutes. While it seems inconceivable at the moment, it will come in time.

My hope and my dream is you might use this book to help write your narrative. I hope our story will help you to see the abounding love and blessings amidst the sorrow. I hope, somehow, our story will resonate in your heart, allowing you to seek to understand and to listen to the messages around you. When you look back in years to come, my desire is you can look back at the blessings, the opportunities for growth personally, spiritually, and in the relationships all around you. If our story helps you to find clarity amidst such tragedy, I would be most grateful.

If you are reading this book and have not suffered such loss, I hope it gives you the tools and questions to ask those near you who may be suffering or grieving. I hope you may be a conduit to help them reach the place where they can write a positive reflection of their trials and truly put it in perspective of the richness it can bring to our lives if we let it.

Our story is of Abigail Genevieve Dorrington and Cecilia Rose Dorrington. I write this book from the same grief, tragedy, and tears you are experiencing. While we have come through this journey with an outlook of blessings, enrichment in life beyond words, I don’t deny the void is still left in our hearts. Its mere existence will always be there as our babies left long before their years, but it has opened a path for a much fuller existence, a deeper relationship with each other and with our God. Our life is fuller, and while Abigail and Cecilia may not be present with us, their presence is within us.

Whether you believe in God, know something exists, or have made a conclusion perhaps no God would be so cruel, I encourage you to read on, connecting to the one common thread binding us together—the hopes and dreams of what was.

Ask yourself what questions are burning in your hearts? Is it to know an answer of why? Around 43 percent of women who have given birth report one miscarriage along the way (J. S. Cohain, et al. 2017. Spontaneous first trimester miscarriage rates per woman among parous women with one or more pregnancies of twenty-four weeks or more. BMC Pregnancy and Childbirth 17 no. 437.) One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most stillbirths happen without an answer.

If you had the answer, would your heart be at ease? Would it fill the void, and would the grief disappear?

Perhaps you are asking, Why me? Will you ever find answers to this question? Can you choose to use this as a time to steer the course of your story? Will each decision you make change how life unfolds in the upcoming years?

What are the chances this will happen again? What does this mean for our future of trying to build our family? Would knowing those chances take away your grief? Would it put your mind at ease during your next pregnancy? What would give you full peace and contentment going into future pregnancies to erase the worry of this happening again?

What else is burning inside your heart?

I urge you to start a journal, reflect on your fears, your struggles, questions, and the one question you need to have answered so you might experience peace as you write your story. As we travel together through this journey, check back to your one question and see if it is fulfilled. I strongly encourage you to also consider your question from different points of view.

My questions?

My fears/struggles?

My heart yearns to _________________________________________to find peace and contentment as I travel through this journey of grief, sorrow, and struggle. I would find complete solace in knowing _________________________________________________________.

What we will do together during this book is listen to our reflection of events. I will share the lessons we, my husband Mike and I, learned each step of the way; and while the process is all your own, my hope is the lessons we encountered will resonant in your hearts. If you are at a different stage in your journey, I hope you have contentment with where you are, where you have come, and realize it is a long and arduous road, one that if truly is given the space and time and small steps forward each day, will find you at a much different place than you started. No one can tell you how fast to recover from grief. Everyone’s experience is different. Everyone’s path of how they come to peace and contentment with what has happened travels a different course and a different road.

Someone Else Please Take the Wheel

Sitting in a dark and cold ultrasound room, I looked up on the screen. I saw no color on the Color Doppler of the heart, just gray fuzz across the screen itself. The ultrasound technician told me she found something concerning to her. She voiced she would be right back as she needed to have someone take another look. Immediately, with the gray fuzz staring at me, I knew we had lost her. Frantically, I started crying all alone in a dark, cold room with the world seemingly halted all around me.

We had planned everything in our control…but this was something I could not control. We had followed a method to conceive both our children. I followed ovulation calendars to plan out our pregnancies. We got exactly what we wanted and thought we had been successful in planning. The first month of trying for both kids was a complete success. We got the assigned sex we were planning for both times. But now, staring at the Doppler, I realized, "You are not in control. There is something far more than my planning can do and achieve." As I sat in the room alone for what seemed like eternity and through some of the hardest and loneliest moments, thoughts kept racing in my mind as to what I had done wrong to have caused this tragedy. Surely, I thought this must be my fault. If only I had worked less, had drunk more water, kept my stress of work and life at bay, and given this baby what it needed, she would still be here with us.

The door opened. The doctor walked in and sat next to me as I was still semi-reclined on the ultrasound table. He spoke in a gentle voice. I’m afraid I have some bad news. He just puckered his lips.

The frantic tears and sobbing cries, which only a parent having lost their child can understand, just uncontrollably bellowed in that small dark and cold room.

Loneliness seemed to engulf in the ultrasound room. The doctor and ultrasound technician closed the door behind them. The emptiness of those walls was creeping in again, and I picked up the phone to dial my husband, Mike.

The phone rang a few short times, and Mike answered, Hi, what did they say? he asked, anxiously awaiting my call.

Between tears and sobs the only response I could muster across the line was, There is no heartbeat.

What did you say?

Silence.

Jessica? What is going on? he inquired again.

They can’t find a heartbeat. We lost her. I can only imagine how heartbreaking it was to get that phone call.

The door opened. In walked Kristin, my centering class midwife from the group I was attending each month. She gave me a long embrace and gave me the space to just vent, cry, express my frustrations, blame myself, and ask questions without answers. Gently and with all the time in the world, she just let me be in the space I needed. Then I asked, What are the next steps? Softly she explained, We will walk up to the hospital to induce you when you are ready. Mary is on call today. I broke down in shear amazement at such comforting news. Mary had been the midwife on call for my first born, Isaac, and, lo and behold, a long distant relative of mine through multiple lines of family heritage. So Kristin opened the door to a world bustling all around. I walked down the hall and out to my car. My tunnel and narrow vision completely encompassed my own thoughts, feelings, and emotions; and yet I was aware of my rawness in the world around me.

I parked the car. I walked over to the hospital, and as the sliding glass doors opened, my eyes looked up to find Mary. She was standing there to meet me in breezeway of the lobby. Immediately, I knew I wasn’t in control. With nine midwives circulating through the on-call status of delivery on any given day, I knew the loneliness I felt in the ultrasound room was completely dissipating and not on my own accord. She embraced me and let me sit on a bench. The uncontrollable wails started to flow in her embrace, and she just let me cry until I was in a space and ready to move to the next step.

Mary walked me right to the nurse’s check-in station, leaned over to the nurse, saying, This is Jessica. I’ll be taking her up to Room 302. She arranged it so I didn’t have to do any preparatory paperwork. I felt completely shielded, under the wing of a guardian angel, and before I knew it, I was up in the room with Mary. She sat ever so present with me. Each moment she seemed completely focused only on me, though I knew I wasn’t the only patient she had in the hospital at the moment. Mike arrived after dropping our son off at daycare and getting a bag of overnight things prepped for him. Mary said, I’ll let the two of you be alone.

We just collapsed on the couch in the embrace of each other’s arms. He remained steadfast, stoic, and so comforting. Mary came back in.

You should get something to eat. Order some lunch and get some rest. Have you thought about if you want to call your family yet?

I replied, I don’t think we want to call our family right now. We will just go through this on our own and call them later. I paused, then, with tears flowing, managed to mutter the words, I don’t want to tell my mom. She has lost the granddaughter she so desperately was excited to welcome into this world.

Mary kindly smiled and said, You should call your family and let them know. I’ll be back in a little while.

I looked at Mike and said, "Why are they dragging this out? Why can’t we just get this process going? When are they going to give me the medication to induce labor so we can be done with this? I don’t want to get something to eat. I just want our baby girl back." I started to sob again in child-lost wails.

We sat and discussed calling our parents and who else we should call. We called downstairs and ordered food. Food we didn’t know we needed. We proceeded to tell our family. They told us they would be praying for us, and we left them in silence and called the next on the list.

The next moment we were lying on the couch together in each other’s embrace, trying to get some rest and realizing Mary knew exactly what she was doing.

I think Mary’s right. I am absolutely exhausted already, and we haven’t even begun. One minute I just wish they would get this nightmare over with, and the next moment, I just don’t want to let go.

Our nurse came in. As gently as possible, she started discussing funeral plans, packets of photograph selections to purchase, and questions of autopsy. Although their spirit was all good intent, going from being blissfully twenty-two weeks pregnant to discussing a multitude of questions was too much to bear. Did we want an individual burial or to do the quarterly service for all the families that recently lost a baby? Did we want an autopsy performed or only heel cord examination? The list went on and on and was just too much to handle in terms of decision-making.

At 2:00 p.m. Mary came in and said, It is time. She gave me misoprostol, a drug to start the labor, and waited for it to take effect. You should get a bit more sleep. My body had already been having some of its own contractions, and my water had already broken. The contractions had started in the morning as I had been standing in line waiting to check into my ultrasound appointment. I could feel the pelvic pressure that had mounted all weekend and had a difficult time standing in line.

Mike and I lay on the couch. I’m not ready to let go, I said under my breath.

The meds at 2:00 p.m. weren’t strong enough, so they doubled it at 6:00 p.m. I mostly just sat and rocked her, still inside my belly, in the rocking chair. I felt guilty. I had never even sat and rocked her in the twenty-two weeks that I had a chance.