by Allison Brown
My husband, children, and I attended the Easter Vigil together this year. As I have matured in my faith and continued further down the road of healing, I find myself entering deeper into Holy Week and the Easter season. Each Easter, the cross becomes more of a reality, and I find myself at the foot of the cross, filled with sorrow and an immense love for our Lord.
That night, as I sat in the darkness, surrounded by the soothing candlelight, I waited in anticipation for what I knew would come. The candlelight is symbol of Christ’s presence as the Light in the world, and it enveloped my soul with a reassuring promise of hope.
Finally, the lights in the church were slowly turned back on, and joy filled my soul. I felt the sudden urge to run and tell everyone the good news: The Lord has Risen! He conquered death! I thought of Mary Magdalen and wondered if this was how she felt. I pictured her running towards the disciples, shouting joyfully, her arms waving in the air, trying to grab everyone’s attention.
Then, out of nowhere, my joy slowly deflated, and I sat back in the pew as a sudden wave of grief came over me. I watched and listened as the priest blessed the water in the baptismal font, and my heart sank. I sat there longing for things to be different. I longed to be juggling two restless babies throughout the vigil, to be standing next to the priest with my husband and our children and the twin’s godparents. I pictured all of us standing up next to the baptismal font with so much pride and joy. I could see the younger children giddy with excitement and tiredness. I could see myself smiling so much that my face hurt; my husband and I each holding a twin in matching baptismal gowns or outfits. I imagined the following day, we would celebrate with our family, the twins each having a beautiful cake of their own and receiving lots of cuddles from everyone there.
It was a moment of intense emotional conflict.
On the one hand, I was filled with joy because our Lord had risen, and on the other, I was overwhelmed with sorrow for the loss of our twin babies.
It hurt.
The words empty womb, empty tomb echoed in my mind, a poignant reminder of the life that had passed through my womb and the loss it had also held, just as the empty tomb had also held our Lord in His death.
As I reflect on how I held my babies in my womb, my body embracing and carrying them through their short lives and beyond their moment of death, it dawns on me that if there is anyone who can understand the pain of holding one’s child after they have passed through this life, it is our dearly beloved and holy mother, Mary.
The image of the Pietà, depicting Mary holding the lifeless body of her Son, Jesus, evokes an understanding of the sorrow and pain she must have felt at that moment. This powerful image resonates with me as I reflect on my own suffering and the loss of my babies. Mary’s faith and her surrender at that moment, while her heart is full of sorrow, isn’t lost on me. Despite her pain and sorrow, Mary knows this is part of the Lord’s plan and continues to surrender to His will, knowing it will fulfill His plan and bring glory to His kingdom.
Though I do not have the depth of understanding and faith that Mary had, I strive to emulate her, placing my trust in the Lord. I turn to her for guidance and comfort, knowing that when she is near, so is her beloved Son, Jesus. Her faith inspires me and gives me hope in my own journey of grief and healing.
On Easter Sunday, we gathered at my parents’ home for an Easter lunch. My heart was full of many emotions when I held my beautiful 9-week-old niece and cuddled her as she slept peacefully in my arms. As always, I was in awe of this precious life that the Lord had blessed our family with. I watched my youngest, who had never experienced life with a baby sibling, proudly hold his little cousin and announce that he would protect her, utterly in awe and wonder at how tiny her little hands and feet were. My youngest daughter asked me in front of everyone if we could have another baby because she wanted a younger sister; I laughed and gently told her it was up to the Lord. But silently, my heart broke a little as I watched her cuddle her cousin and compare the size of her cousin’s hand to hers.
As the day went on, my cousin, a new mom, arrived with her six-month-old daughter, her first child, whom I had not yet met. My cousin handed her daughter over to me, and as I embraced her, tears started rolling down my face. I wasn’t able to hold back my emotions any longer. And I wasn’t able to hide my tears, either.
Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by family members who noticed my tears. With empathy, they understood that I was feeling sadness for my loss but so much joy for the life of this precious baby girl I was holding in my arms, and especially joy for my cousin, who has been blessed with this new gift of motherhood.
Random crying has become my norm, and I have learnt to embrace it instead of hiding the tears in shame or embarrassment. The Lord wants me to be real and present in the moment. Crying is being present in the moment. It no longer feels so threatening to cry and to allow others to see it. Crying no longer signifies that something bad has occurred but symbolises the healing the Lord is working on inside me and the depths His healing is reaching. The tears wash my invisible wounds, reminding me of humility and surrendering to the Lord, allowing Him to comfort me in my time of need. Tears are essential for healing and serve as a balm for deep wounds.
The tears wash my invisible wounds, reminding me of humility and surrendering to the Lord, allowing Him to comfort me in my time of need.
As a mother, I have wiped away my children’s tears and kissed their tear-stained faces as I tenderly hold them in my arms. My children know they can come to me with all their tears, and I will hold their hands and be their soft landing, comforter, and source of strength.
As our Father in heaven, God desires this same thing of us. He wishes for us to come to Him as we are, tear-stained and red noses, a sobbing mess. God longs to comfort us and to hold our hand through it all. He wants to walk beside us, whispering consolations in our ears to encourage us to keep going. He wants to cradle us in His arms as His little children, just as we cradle our children here on earth. He asks us to allow Him to be the Father we need.
Easter promises new life and new beginnings. Though it may not have been the new life I was initially hoping for, I somehow found myself cradling new life, not only physically in my arms, but also in my heart, as I continued to receive healing from Jesus. Jesus has ignited a new joy in my soul and an eagerness to embrace my identity as His daughter and as an Easter people.
So, alongside my dear friend Mary Magdalen, I will join her in running with fevered joy, joyfully exclaiming, “He has Risen! The Lord has Risen!”
We are the Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!
Allison Brown is an Australian writer, wife, and mother of eight. She brings hope to the suffering through her writing and is actively involved in the Apostoli Viae community. Allison contributes regularly to CatholicMom.com and CatholicExchange.com. She has also contributed to SpiritualDirection.com. Follow her at Because I am His and on Instagram.