My Reversion

I remember this day as if it were yesterday. My husband, son, and I were living in Okinawa, Japan where I was stationed with the U.S. Marine Corps. I was pregnant with our second child. This particular day was already quite stressful as my squadron was preparing to end an era and launch our entire fleet to its final destination – the scrapyard. As I was saying good-bye to my beloved CH-46E helicopter (an aircraft that I had worked and flew on for more than thirteen years), I started to notice potential complications with my pregnancy. As the day progressed, I tried not to worry about what this could mean for the child developing in my womb. By nightfall though, I feared the inevitable. The next day my worst feelings were confirmed - I was having a miscarriage.

For seventeen years I had been away from the Church only to return briefly for our wedding and the baptism of our son. I recall sometimes entering a church, crawling into a pew and crying, but I never faithfully returned. Two tours to Iraq, and countless thoughts of whether or not I would return home, did not bring me back to the Church, but here a little baby - that I would never get to hold - brought me to my knees.

A little baby - that I would never get to hold - brought me to my knees.

The pain of this loss ravaged my whole being. Shortly after my miscarriage, I remember standing on a walking trail with a dear friend. I looked at the winding up and down path ahead of me. Immediately I felt an urging in my heart, and I declared to my friend that I needed to return to church. At that moment it was as if my heart enlarged, and at once I turned around to a smooth path laid before me.

Later that night I told my non-Catholic husband that I needed to go back to church. I was not prepared for his answer - he agreed and said that we would go together.

My husband and I never got the opportunity to know the gender of our baby, but my mind's eye always saw a baby girl with lots of tight blonde curls. Recently I was reflecting on my reversion when I realized that my patron saint for this year, Saint Therese, passed away on September 30th (the same day that I started to notice blood). Her feast day is celebrated on October 1st (the day that my miscarriage was confirmed). Despite my tears this made me smile. Saint Therese is obviously so much more to me than a saint to admire. She is like an older sister who has taken me by the hand and is leading me to the Father.

I now imagine my daughter holding hands with Saint Therese as they pray for our family. It brings me great joy to know that I have my very own Little, Little Flower in heaven who intercedes on behalf of her family here on earth.

Even though we never got to hold our sweet baby or prepare to celebrate her First Communion this next year, she was a gift. Through the work of the Holy Spirit and the grace of God, this baby was not a loss. She was not a gift given and then taken away. She was and always will be a gift of God's love - a gift of self - for our small family.

She was not a gift given and then taken away. She was and always will be a gift of God's love - a gift of self - for our small family.

The journey to this point has been long, but our path has been made smoother because we have allowed the Lord to walk this journey alongside us - allowing him to carry us when needed. "We can do all things in him who strengthens us" (Phil 4:13).

Saint Therese and our Little, Little Flower in Heaven, pray for us that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.