Alison Juarez - RPLA
My husband Jon and I met in the fall of 2018, fell quickly in love, and were married a little over a year later. It’s true what they say, when you know you know!
Just a couple months after our wedding we suffered our first miscarriage. Since 2020, we’ve been losing. Eight pregnancies in total now. Some miscarriages with no medical intervention as well as one D&C and I also gave birth to our daughter at 20 weeks.
We named her Elia Rose. My husband and I were convinced she was our rainbow baby, as no other pregnancy had exceeded 12 weeks. Every successful ultrasound appointment we would buy her a book, we couldn’t wait to read to her. So, in that doctor’s office, when we were told she had no heartbeat, we were completely devastated. Instead of bringing her home like we hoped, her ashes sit on a shelf next to her books, in the room we intended for her.
Life looks very different after a traumatic event like the loss of a baby. I began to experience anxiety for the first time. Trips to the grocery story became overwhelming. After about a month of medical leave I returned to work and suffered anxiety attacks in my workplace. When we went back to our church after Elia’s death, I refused to sing songs of God’s goodness and faithfulness. Instead, I stood there, arms crossed now very critical of the God I believed in.
We prayed our baby girl would live and still she died, so we lost faith in prayer as well. I remember lying in bed for weeks, unable to get the words out for a simple prayer. This is when my husband encouraged me to be honest with my prayers and keep them short. I would say things like, God, I don’t like you right now. I’m confused by you. I’m hurt by you. I don’t want to talk to you. Looking back, it was these prayers that I’m most proud of because instead of running from God, I told him what I thought. Every ugly and brutally honest thought.
Making meaning and finding purpose even in the pain are ways that have helped me move forward on this difficult journey. I have found a lot of satisfaction in dancing. I was a professional modern dancer years ago and my love for dance has carried me through heavy grief days. When I’m experiencing sadness, I will dance to express the pain and release my feelings through movement. Social media has been a beautiful medium to share my grief through dance and dancing continues to be a tool for my survival and a healthy outlet for my sorrow.
In 2022, a few months after Elia died, I partnered with a non-profit Until We Arise to create boxes of hope and healing to women and their families who suffered the loss of a baby. These gifts we called, “Elia’s Gift” and they were donated to two of our local hospitals. We also put on a 5K in Los Angeles, called Elia’s Run/Walk to raise awareness and support bereaved families after pregnancy or infant loss. It was very important for me to provide the opportunity to have their grief witnessed, as many families who experience miscarriage never have a funeral.
Although much healing was happening within me, questions remained. Why did she die? Where is our God in all of this? These questions consumed me. Testimonies on how God had done a miracle and healed others offended me. I took time away from church on a few occasions because just the mention of children in the sermons deeply hurt me. It came to a point in my healing journey that my counselor said to me, “You can always pick up the boxing gloves again but try putting them down for now so that you can rest. Anger is a tool, but it’s not sustainable.” It was at that point I realized my anger was turning my heart hard and bitter towards everyone, even my own husband.
To say this journey hasn’t also affected our marriage would be a lie. Our lives as newlyweds has been overshadowed by death and grief. The loss of a child places so much tension on a relationship, and we’ve lost eight. Jon and I learned early on that we resented one another for how we grieved differently and many times we’ve wanted to give up, the pain of our losses too much for us to bear. Even so, we’ve remained committed to loving each other in the good and the bad times of our lives.
It’s through the loss of our children that we have wrestled with God, and engaged in many hard conversations that led us to take a deep dive into our faith, our identity, and reconstructing everything we believed about suffering. Doing this gave me a lot of peace and freedom. I began to really investigate my purpose. I asked the question, “What was I made for?” Since then, I have begun to believe that my purpose in this life goes far beyond motherhood. My value isn’t tied to if I can produce a child or not. (Although I know this, somedays it’s harder than others to believe)
Coming from someone suffering with RPL and no baby in my arms, I still believe, I am wonderfully made. And there is a good plan and purpose for my life. It’s nice to hear the success stories of a rainbow baby after so much loss but this hasn’t applied to us yet. We are still battling through it and honestly don’t know if we will have children or live childfree. From our point of view, it all looks impossible, but we still choose to believe in miracles and that our story isn’t over yet.
And as much as doctors do know, they are limited in what they understand about RPL. So, with all the testing we’ve completed there remains no answers. We do not feel comfortable pursuing IVF and do not feel called to adoption as of now. So, we wait. We pray honest prayers. We live openly and authentically among our community, and we continue holding both the joy of this life and its sorrow. One day believing we will be reunited with our tribe. Oh, what a glorious day that will be to meet each of our children in all their perfection and enjoy them forever! I cling to this hope of heaven. Some days it’s the only thing that sustains me.
If you are still reading this, please don’t give up!
Love,
Ali 🤍