How loss led me to God

As I sit and write this blog, it is on a poignant date. Today marks two years since I brought our identical twin girls into the world, sleeping and silent.

Three days prior, I’d had an ultrasound which confirmed that they had passed away, and I had to wait to be induced. I was fifteen weeks pregnant. We named our daughters Elsie Skye and Daisy Faith, they were so perfect, tiny but so incredibly perfect.

Yesterday, on the eve of their anniversary, I sang in the church choir at our All Souls service. Being relatively new to the church, this was the first time that I had attended an All Souls service, let alone sing in a choir at one.

I knew that the service would feel extremely personal to me, especially taking place on the day before their anniversary, but I wasn’t prepared for the depth of emotion that it brought up.

I’ve never been very good at crying in front of people, I’m not sure why. Even at Elsie and Daisy’s funeral I buried my face into my partner’s shoulder, hoping that no one would see my tears, almost like I was trying to hide from my friends and the world. As if to say “if I close my eyes, it’s not really happening”.

But yesterday in church, I allowed my tears to flow, it was such a beautiful and touching service for everyone that had come to remember their loved ones. I cried for my babies, but I also cried for myself. It wasn’t just tears for the pain and suffering of these past two years, it was also tears of gratitude too. 

Gratitude for how different my life looks now to how it did two years ago, gratitude for having found this wonderful church family and gratitude for finally finding faith at the age of 42.

In Matthew 5:3-4, Jesus says  “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted”. After losing the girls I was deeply “poor in spirit”, my faith was non-existent, and my mourning was not met by comfort.

I poured myself into my writing, which was not only cathartic, but quite often a means of survival. With four living children who needed me, I had no time to properly grieve or even rest, life had to simply carry on.

Insomnia hit hard, and most nights I found myself awake and staring into the darkness, unable to switch my racing mind off. I would still have to drive my children to school the next morning, how I managed it, I will never know.

In much of my writing back then, I would often describe myself as living in a “Godless place”, and that is exactly how it felt in those raw early days which were filled with trauma and confusion. I felt painfully alone, and isolated from any form of spiritual humility or connection. 

It felt as if I was walking through a wild storm in pitch black darkness, and the world was moving on so quickly but I was trapped in time. Where was God in all of this? If God loved me, why would he take my babies? Why would he put me through this? I felt envious of people who had a strong faith.

If dealing with this pain wasn’t bad enough, a few months after our loss we received an eviction letter from our landlord. This was yet another problem to deal with, and my mental health spiralled down even further.

The idea of facing potential homelessness was slowly breaking my spirit, and I started to experience regular anxiety attacks. I knew I was close to rock bottom when I found myself sobbing uncontrollably on the kitchen floor, with my toddler trying to comfort me. Trying to find a new home, in a challenging rental culture was proving fruitless, and I felt hopeless and terrified.

In a bid to try and take some control back over my life, I even asked my hairdresser to cut all of my hair off, but it still didn’t make me feel any better, let alone give me a sense of control! Further eviction letters were coming, and the worry was becoming unbearable.

One day I went for coffee with a friend who happened to be a Christian. I told her how difficult I was finding life at that moment, “this is honestly the worst I have ever felt in my life” I said, fighting back tears. And I truly meant it. I hated being so negative, but I was unable to wear my usual happy mask anymore.

She looked me in the eye, and said “God loves you so much Katie, he loves you more than you can ever know”. I wanted so much to believe her, but I didn’t feel his love, I couldn’t feel his love, and I didn’t even know where to start looking for it. It felt as though life was punishing me.

Finally there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and we eventually found a house. It meant uprooting and moving to a new town. I was sad to leave my home, but I was feeling positive about a fresh start. It was a big change going from living in a noisy, busy inner city neighbourhood to a quiet semi-rural village. 

Even the view from my new bedroom window was a huge contrast, the old view of high-rise flats and rooftops was now replaced by the beautiful Cotswold hills and endless fields. There was no light pollution or even much noise, I should have felt like I’d won the lottery.

But even after we had settled in, my mental health still had not improved. I was still experiencing debilitating anxiety, and it felt like I was stuck in a fight or flight cycle that I was unable to break out of. I felt as if I was being ungrateful for not being able to appreciate what we now had, which just added to my depression.

One day whilst crying heavily and feeling utterly hopeless, I called out desperately to God, “please God, if you are there, please tell me what I have to do!”, and for the very first time I heard him answer clearly with the words which simply said “forgive yourself”.

When I think back to this moment, it makes me think of this particular bible passage from Psalm 55:17. “Morning, noon, and night I cry out in my distress, and the Lord hears my voice”. Even though I had clearly heard God’s voice and message, I still didn’t feel that I was worthy of seeking him any further. 

His message of “forgive yourself” resonated with me deeply, and I knew that they were words meant for me, words that I needed to hear, but how did I begin to learn how to forgive myself?

The next day I contacted a therapist, and began weekly sessions with her. Around the same time, I also saw a Facebook post calling for new members to join the choir of our local village church. 

I was very tempted, I had always enjoyed singing and I needed a new hobby -an outlet. But the evenings that choir practice took place would clash with my therapy sessions, and I had already committed to these sessions both financially and mentally.

I had fourteen weeks of therapy sessions in total, but I felt that I wasn’t getting any further forward in my healing journey, we hardly even touched on the biggest thing that I needed to talk about, which was of course losing Elsie and Daisy.

It was a lot of money to spend on something that didn’t seem to be improving my well-being, so I cancelled the sessions, which then meant I could finally join the church choir.

Walking into church for choir practice that very first time, was a huge step out of my comfort zone, in fact it was more than a step, it was a giant leap! I wasn’t used to churches and I certainly wasn’t confident about singing in front of other people, but the members of the choir were so welcoming and lovely, and it put my nerves at ease straight away.

I went along every week, and I started to notice how uplifted I felt afterwards. It was a feeling that I had not felt for a very long time, and I realised that what I was feeling was joy. It took me months to finally gain the courage to attend a Sunday church service. I figured that there was not much point in practicing with the choir if I wasn’t actually going to sing in the church.

So one Sunday, I decided to go along and sit in the congregation. I was so nervous, I felt like I didn’t deserve to sit in church, imposter syndrome was rearing its ugly head but I pushed through it.

As I walked down the beautiful tree-lined driveway to the church, I noticed identical twin girls in front of me riding their matching bikes, and as I walked past them, they stopped and smiled at me. Normally I find it very difficult seeing identical twins, especially girls, but this particular time actually brought me comfort, and I felt as if it was a sign maybe.

As soon as I stepped into church, and made sure that I sat right at the back (imposter syndrome again), I felt something come over me. It was the most intense feeling of peace, comfort and love. I still get goosebumps when I talk about it, I am even getting them now just writing about it. I struggled to sing along to the first hymn because I was filled with so much emotion.

Our vicar talked about the Lord’s Prayer, and read it out very slowly and with intention, encouraging the congregation to think about each verse and what it meant to us. 

When he read out the line “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”. Something about hearing the word “forgive” hit me like a thunderbolt, and I thought about the message that I had previously heard from God; “forgive yourself”. 

It then occurred to me that maybe what was blocking my happiness and ability to communicate with God was my inability to forgive myself, despite being able to forgive everyone else around me.

The tears came, and I was overcome with such strong emotion, my whole body was shaking as I felt myself receiving the Lord’s forgiveness, love, comfort, peace and joy. I knew that what I was experiencing in that moment was the Holy Spirit itself, and the only way to describe it was as if I was a small child again being held by my mother, being rocked in her arms and being told that everything was going to be okay, that I am okay, and that all is now well.

It was a warm, fuzzy, and truly beautiful experience. I returned home that day a wild ball of emotion, I had so much energy inside of me, that I felt I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I went upstairs to lie down, but all I did was cry. I texted my Christian friend, writing simply  “I’ve finally found Him”.

I was blown away by this experience, and even now I still struggle to put into words how it felt, in fact I don’t think that there are any words to articulate it, it transcends words. I have now been singing in church with the choir every Sunday, and it has become my favourite day of the week.

It is the only time in the week where my mind becomes still, I feel refreshed and renewed, and I feel the stresses and strains of the week being taken out, like driftwood on the tide. I love the community that the church brings, perhaps it is something I have been needing my whole life.

Since opening my heart to Jesus, my life feels so much richer, and joy seems to come in abundance. I have found a sense of peace that I have never known before, and it is almost indescribable.

When I think back to how depressed, anxious and absolutely ‘rock-bottom hopeless’ that I found myself not that long ago, my world has most definitely shifted for the better.

This passage from Psalm 40:1-3 really resonates with me. “I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.

He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the Lord”.

And also this one..

“The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus”. (Philippians 4:5-7 (NIV UK)

The loss of Elsie and Daisy, still hurts tremendously and the grief will never go, but that is because it’s not meant to. But I no longer feel that I am in endless darkness.  From the day of the scan which gave us the devastating news, to the day that I delivered the girls, was a total of three days and three nights.

I carried death for three days and three nights, which is a horrendous and painful reality to bear. But just as Jesus lay in the tomb for three days and three nights, he then rose from the dead and was resurrected into eternal life.  Has losing my babies in some way resurrected me?, have I been rebirthed into this beautiful, rich and abundant life that I now find myself in?.

I am like Rachel who weeped for her dead children in Jeremiah 31:15. “Rachel was weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more”.

They are ‘no more’, and that is what hurts the most. They will never grow up here on this earth, in this life, and that is what the human brain struggles to accept. The emptiness is a space that can never be filled, and the echoes within the silence are sometimes deafening.

My life before loss was very different to what it is now, there is simply only before and after. And along with the loss of my twins, was also the loss of my home, to which there is a deep sense of grief in that too. 

Both losses were out of my control, both caused utter devastation and trauma.  And even though they are incomparable (of course losing the girls was much worse), I still felt my world collapse and felt so terribly lost.

But that eviction letter was the best thing to come through my door, because it lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire, and God called me to this beautiful place to live, and finally set my feet on solid ground.

My healing journey started the day that I first walked into church and felt the Holy Spirit begin to renew and replenish my soul. If someone had told the old atheist me a year ago, that my life would change so radically, I would probably have laughed. 

It is crazy how quickly things can change. I will never know the reason why I was blessed with my beautiful twin girls only for them to then be taken away, but I have surrendered it to God’s mystery. 

I truly believe that one day I will see them again, and that gives me comfort. Finding God has hugely shifted my perspective on life, and I am able to see things with much more clarity. 

Life is so short and so very precious, and I am determined to live the rest of mine with purpose and love. For three days and three nights I carried death, I then held death in my hands and in my soul.

My beautiful girls then turned to ashes, but from those ashes I rose again.

And I forgave myself.

Check out a few more heartfelt stories of loss of twins from Footprints Babyloss community members – loss of twin girls Sophie and Nina, my identical twin girls Lily and Elissa, for Rory and Daniel and twin baby loss as granny.

If you are walking this path, please know you don’t have to walk it alone. Reach out, share your story or simply let us know you are here. Together we can hold space for each other and keep our babies’ memories alive with love.

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