The Shred Box

CW: Death of a child, Miscarriage

Recently I was talking with my spouse, and I realized that I had completely erased a traumatic event that happened early in our marriage. We were talking about all of the things that we’ve been through together, and she brought up a particular week very early in our marriage.

Due to social pressure and many quiverfull teachings from our college and (my) family we immediately started trying to have children after we married. Looking back now I wish we would have dealt with our own personal traumas before trying to introduce children, but we were trying to follow the “correct” Christian path for our marriage. And that included having “as many children as god wills (a core quiverfull tenet).” We found out we were pregnant the day I found out I officially got hired on as an emergency room nurse – June 22.

In august much of that initial joy was rapidly ripped out from us. My spouse started having bleeding that increased then eventually cramping. I definitely wanted to believe that this would pass but we were quickly confronted with the fact that this was indeed a true loss of the pregnancy. We took a day away to mourn together and early in the morning after the miscarriage my spouse received a call that my grandfather was having stroke-like symptoms. My father was on the other line (of the phone) panicking and uncertain what to do. I advised him to take grandpa to the closest emergency room for immediate evaluation. We packed up our belongings from our hotel room fresh grief from our miscarriage lingering over our heads.

Parts of the visit to the hospital I’ve completely erased but my spouse reminded me how my family asked me to field the medical questions from the staff (as I worked in the medical field). And how I took turns with my father at my grandpa’s bedside until he was shipped out to a higher level of care (an ICU). All we knew at that time was that he had a severe fever and he was neurologically unwell. He would remain in the ICU for a week or two following this.

After my grandfather was driven by EMS to the closest ICU, me and my spouse returned home. We were still in shock and processing the events that had just occurred the last few days. If I’m honest my memory doesn’t recall what happened the next day or two. Knowing both of our habits at the time we probably didn’t do much the next few days.

Several days after this while I was working I heard my family’s address called over the police scanner. “Ten-year-old child unresponsive, EMS requested.” My coworkers encouraged me to call my family and check in as my younger brother fit both the description of the child and the address. I called and reached said brother only getting a response that “Luke passed out while we were playing.” I was relieved to hear that it was not my brother and dropped the call as he was caught up in the moment and was unable to answer anything more.

All of the previously mentioned memories are present in some way in my mind, but what happened that day after that phone call was absolutely and completely erased from my memory. I’ve joked with my spouse that it must have went “straight into the memory shredder” no recovery available. That afternoon my family deposited my younger siblings at my house. Leaving my spouse to care for a grieving 10, 13, and 15 year old. Mind you we still had not processes ourselves the grief associated with the loss of the pregnancy. After coming home from work, we received news that Luke did not make it. He had died shortly after passing out. My family made no attempt to pick up my siblings, and it was evident that we were going to be caring for my siblings.

My family deals with shit by pretending it never happened. And often children (even older ones) are intentionally kept in the dark as they don’t wish to have painful conversations. And I would have known that. My spouse made dinner, and I broke the news to my siblings. According to my spouse I was clinical and detached but tried to give the necessary information. Conveying that medical professionals had tried everything, but he had remained unresponsive without a heartbeat.

This entire evening is gone. Nothing, zip, zero, completely erased.

While I’ve always had an idea that my memory tends to do this. (My childhood is mostly a giant erased blur.) I’ve truly never been able to confirm it. My parents and siblings will directly and bluntly avoid any discussion of anything that isn’t an overtly pleasant memory. Even just trying to get general times of when things happened is strictly off limits. For instance, I still can’t say for sure what month or year my sister’s traumatic injury occurred on. Collectively and in individual settings my family will all avoid any discussion of negative memories or traumatic events.

This is the first time I’ve been able to confirm, yes, I 100% erased this traumatic event. One where I detailed the death of a ten-year-old to preteen and teenage children. One where I told this dead child’s best friend (my youngest brother) how he was never going to see or talk to his friend ever again.

Honestly, I’m left with a hell of a lot of rage. WERE THE FUCK WERE MY PARENTS Me and my spouse were already emotionally at our max. We should not have had to host my siblings for several days, and to handle this devastating emotional labor. Hell, we weren’t still 100% comfortable just living together (Hello there purity culture). And the advice and comfort we were given ourselves was not helpful. We were told that all of this was in god’s greater plan. “Everything happens for a reason.” “God has a plan to use this pain for his glory.” “God will use your pain to help you better reach out to others going through similar situation.”

Fuck all of that. Sometimes shit happens and we never get an answer to the why. No child needs to die for god’s greater master plan. No one should have to face that pain. No child should have to deal with the loss of their preteen friend.

I have a song I found after the time that I still listen to occasionally.

It’s been a long night, honey
I need to cry but I’m fighting it off
And you’re still shaking from the blood-loss
No good G-d would cause a thing so ugly
It leaves you cursing while you’re trying to pray
This time I think they’re one in the same

I hope you hate it

Come on, it’s good to hate this

We just needed some to tell us it’s okay to be mad, upset, and mourn. And that it’s okay to not have an answer why this happened.

Instead, me and my spouse have continually gotten accusations that we shouldn’t be sad or upset about this. My mom specifically has asked me if this miscarriage was the reason I’m “angry at god.”¹

I recently reached out to others after this realization that I had or was dealing with repressed memories and I receive a bit of assorted advice. One piece of advice I’m trying to currently embody is that I just need to be honest with myself and others that my memories aren’t 100% there. And while from a very medical / intellectual point of view I understand that trauma can fuck with memory that is a hard thing to admit and come to peace with.

Something I’ve been doing over time myself is writing these memories out as they do pop up. And sketching out a bit of a rough timeline of what I can remember of my childhood, slowly piecing together the bits I can.

Music was also recommended as a way to deal with both trying to process these emotions and memories. And I’d highly recommend that as well. Sometimes the emotion of a song can help me find a feeling I’m struggling to identify. For a very long time, I’ve turned to music to help me sit with my emotions whatever they may be.

1. “Just Angry at God” ↩︎