We call our lost babies by name because they existed and were loved

By Megan LaCourrege, NOLA Catholic Parenting

I walk up the stairs to check on my daughter and brush against a small painting on the way. It is one of the handful of special family photos that hang on the wall along the stairs. I look to see that it hasn’t fallen. I notice the framed photographs of my daughter and son. They are five years apart, but their pictures on that wall were both taken at six months. Their gummy grins tickle me.

But the painting is different. It shows a single dot in the middle of a background of green. “Baby Eden,” I had etched along the bottom. Another painting like this one hangs nearby. The background is blue and the baby’s silhouette is obvious, with long arms and legs curled into the fetal position. “Jessie Dominique.” Eden was lost in a very early miscarriage. Jessie died around three months gestation.

Their names came quickly to me after their deaths. Eden was our first pregnancy. Eden gave me and my husband a glimpse of the paradise that God had bestowed on Adam and Eve. Jessie was unexpectedly discovered to have already died at a routine doctor’s appointment. My husband and I returned home in a state of disbelief. He began flipping through a Bible, trying to find a word of healing, faith, something. Instead, he seemed to keep turning to the pages about Jesus’ genealogy. “Jesse.” It stood out to him. In that moment he stated, “I think we ought to name the baby Jessie.”

The names stuck. “Eden” and “Jessie” became regular names in our household. It felt strangely good to refer to a name and not “the first miscarriage” or “the other miscarriage.” Their names ring with joy at the fact they exist and sorrow that they are not here with us.

Yet, when we chose to name them, I felt some trepidation at the fear of what others would think. I feared others would question the point of it. I knew I didn’t have to name them. Mostly, it is just in the case of a stillbirth – the loss of a baby past 20 weeks of gestation – that giving a name is legally required. Was naming a baby lost sooner just a frivolous gesture?

Yet, I knew that God didn’t think it was frivolous to give Adam the honor of naming the livestock, the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. Instead, God said, “I have called you each by name: you are mine.”

Calling these babies by name has unexpectedly done so much. It has allowed me and my husband to claim them as our own, to feel the depths of our losses, to sort through difficult feelings, and to offer those to God to receive healing. Our babies’ names make them feel more real, more personal. Because they are real and very personal to us. They’re our children.

In 1988, Ronald Reagan declared that October is “Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month” in the U.S., while the Church recognizes it as Respect Life Month. This month gives an opportunity for parents struggling after miscarriage to be affirmed that their babies are not just would-have-beens, but real, deeply loved children.

That desire is something I’ve seen whenever I’ve talked to other couples who have suffered the tragedy of miscarriage. We always seem to savor the moment, one where we can share more freely than usual about our babies. Inevitably, we mention our babies’ names. They pour through our lips as though they are sacred words.

Megan Lacourrege is a wife and mother who resides in Slidell, Louisiana. She is native of St. Bernard and graduated from Tulane University with a double-major in English and musical theater. She serves as youth director at St. Genevieve Catholic Church. Megan is also the author of the children’s book “My Sibling Still,” for children who have lost a sibling to miscarriage, stillbirth or infant death. She aims to provide resources to bereaved parents and siblings on her website www.mysiblingstill.com.