Real Life Mama: Amy Tennant
Before you start reading, I want you to cut off distraction. Put your cell phone to the side, close out all the other tabs on your computer, get your kids busy, and settle in with me for a moment.
My name is Amy. I have two beautiful boys and I’m currently pregnant with twin girls. My life on the outside seems easy, all put together, neat, and tidy. Our family has a cute cottage near downtown Nashville, we attend church, I stay home, my husband works an 8-5 job and my family lives close by.
In October 2010, my first son, Aiden, died in his sleep. Over the last (almost) 3 years, I’ve had to say or type this statement thousands of times.
It still stings just as hard right now as it did the very first time.
I want you to take a moment and put on some reality with me. Imagine your first child. Imagine your pregnancy. All the time and effort you spent dreaming about your baby. Seeing the heart beat, feeling it kick, finding out the gender, registering, having showers, late nights up with insomnia, watching limbs move across your tummy, and the pure bliss of seeing your baby’s face for the first time.
This is true joy. This is true love. This is a miracle.
No words can quite describe what it’s like to witness a miracle come to life when your baby breathes oxygen for the first time after nine long months in the womb.
And then, this blissful event, this miracle turned to darkness for me. Waking up to find my baby not alive anymore. The absolute heart wrenching pain of performing CPR and praying like crazy that God would revive him. Watching the ambulances pull up and driving about 80 mph on public roads following them to the hospital. Getting the most horrible news that my baby was not ever going to live again.
Even writing this brings me to sobs of tears and grief.
Because grief isn’t something you get over.
Grief is a strange, living, breathing, in your face kind of emotion. It doesn’t live in the back of my mind, it lives right at the front -- it affects everything in my life.
I walk with a limp.
My heart has turned from being semi-comatose to fully tender.
Through Aiden’s death, grief, and deep love, my vision has been hijacked by the Creator.
Elohim is the hebrew name for God used only when He is creating something and it means “strong one”.
This name became near and dear to my heart as I sifted through my grief. The Elohim would gently whisper comfort, peace, truth, and love over me. Because death wasn’t His original plan. And God never wanted to see me hurt the way I do. He grieves alongside me. He sees my pain and it moves Him to tears.
Even in times where I swore at God -- I yelled and beat my fits to the ground asking, “How can this happen, God??” When the grief is too much for me to fathom and I literally can’t breathe, He’s still there. When I can’t see Him because grief is so strong, when my hurt is unbearable, when everything in my life is falling apart, God is near.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.” -Proverbs 13:12
“Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him,
for he shields him all day long,
and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders.” -Deuteronomy 33:12
Thank you, Jesus for guiding me through grief that is unimaginable. When I fall deep into doubt and throw my hands in the air saying I can’t do this anymore, You pick me back up and breathe life into me. This is the hardest, most awful thing I’ve ever been through but God, you are faithful. I lean on You not to understand but to see You continue to create in me. God, please surround and wrap Your arms around us mamas as we navigate through grief and learn how to breathe again. Give us peace and respite as we hope in You. Thank you for sticking by our side and loving on us.
"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him." Psalm 62:5
Thrive is committed to this community of moms. Every mom has a story. We are all living a journey with God, all different and all unique. There are many moms who have experienced some type of loss. Whether it be miscarriage, stillbirth, or child loss, grief is a journey all on its own. Please join us as we lift up and pray for these mamas who are walking a difficult road.