artificial insemination kit for humans
By: Mia Thompson
Updated: Sep. 29, 2021
Originally Published: Sep. 29, 2021
Trigger Warning: Loss of a Child
I was raised in a devout family where church was a cornerstone of our lives. We said grace before meals, donned our Sunday best, and I can’t recall a moment when my grandmother wasn’t keeping her floral-printed Bible on her nightstand. Faith was ingrained in me, and even when my daughter passed away, that connection persisted. I organized a traditional Christian service for her, which felt right at the time. I shared my deep sorrow and envisioned her joyfully playing Mozart on the piano in my grandma’s embrace, hoping that Jesus would guide her through the parted seas.
However, the alternative thoughts—gripping and painful—haunted me: the stark reality that she was gone, that I would soon lay her to rest after just a fleeting 24 hours apart, and that this was our final farewell. I buried those harsh thoughts under a more comforting narrative, yearning to picture her in a sunny, peaceful place. In retrospect, I realize that I used my faith to shield myself from the harsh truth of her death.
In my community, it’s common to assume everyone shares the same Christian beliefs. Obituaries often contain phrases like “fly high” or “now you’re in the arms of our Lord,” meant to provide solace to both the bereaved and the sharers. I still hear comments about how my daughter must be happy now, watching over me from above. While I appreciate the sentiment, these Bible Belt clichés increasingly feel hollow.
Over the years, my beliefs have shifted. I still hold onto the idea of a higher power, but my faith has waned. I can articulate what I hope happens after death, both for myself and my daughter, while acknowledging the possibility that I may be mistaken. I sense that many Christians grapple with similar doubts but refrain from admitting them, fearing it might seem like a denial of faith.
I used to dismiss my uncertainties about Christianity as malicious thoughts. But when I bravely examined those doubts, I found them to be valid. This journey has led me to question everything I once believed about my faith.
My grief has evolved alongside my spiritual transformation. What once brought me comfort—visions of my daughter in a heavenly realm—now evokes discomfort. Acknowledging my uncertainty regarding the afterlife for her and others has become one of my greatest challenges. Embracing a realistic perspective about my grief means letting go of the warm fantasies I once held regarding her passing.
This is no easy task. The hardest part is realizing that after expressing my views, many Christians may not honor my perspective, instead framing my journey as a tale of a grieving mother who lost her faith due to anger. However, those who truly know me understand that this stereotype does not resonate.
I wish Christians recognized that I can carry my pain without being consumed by it. I can face harsh realities without my beliefs being labeled as blasphemous. I have the autonomy to navigate this loss in my own way. It has taken years to discover what brings me solace, and I’ve concluded that traditional Christian perspectives on death no longer serve me. I choose to remember my daughter for the incredible person she was, without apology.
I hope for a heaven and the opportunity to reunite with my daughter one day. Until then, I will not dwell on endless speculation. I prefer to approach my grief with realism, as imagining a different scenario does not ease my pain; it only prolongs it.