Coulda, shoulda, woulda

No doubt you've heard the phrase "coulda, shoulda, woulda" when someone is reflecting on an event for which they might feel regret or remorse.

I was thinking of that phrase today as I marked what should have been Jude's first birthday if he'd been born on his due date. Things could have been so much different.

But they weren't.

Deep down, I have great peace in trusting God's will for Jude's life, but that doesn't change the fact that I miss our baby boy who would be smashing cake in his face if things turned out how they should have.

As I attended the mass that we requested be offered for Jude this evening, I confronted the fact that I miss Jude every day and think of him always, but I have stopped walking into the pain of those early days when we lost him. It's no wonder since it took me to a place of being a recluse to every extent possible. There's no way I could exist there all the time and properly tend to the needs of my family. Tangible dates that mark the two significant events of his life—his date of birth and passing and his original due date—take me back. Even though I don't visit that place in my soul as often anymore, the pain is as suffocating and real as it was the day he died.

There are only a handful of people who visited that first day in the hospital and saw Jude's body which lay in a small wicker basket next to my bed. After that, he was taken to the morgue. Those few friends and family members who laid eyes upon our lifeless son hold a very special place in my heart.

One of them is our parish priest. Though we have three priests at our parish, he has celebrated every mass that I've had offered for our departed son. Each time, there is a familiar look from him. I know that he knows my pain in a way that few do. All children who are taken from the womb into eternal life have intrinsic value. But seeing Jude perfectly formed for his stage of development with ten fingers, ten toes, and so many other details of his tiny body, it was profound. It was also pure gift and grace that we had such an encounter with our baby.

When I see our priest and he knows why I am there—to honor my baby that we both met—there is a security that allows me to be as sad as I need to be, and his response is to simply love me, hold me, and understand. And that is all I need. Our priest truly stands in persona Christi and exemplifies the Church's gift of the priesthood.