And just like that… summer is over. I should have written so many times these past months… We look forward to sending out our next newsletter and to sharing about our trip to Asia with our supporters next week…
This morning I’m going to try to get through a post about our miscarriage.
I can count on one hand and remember vividly the moments I have felt a sorrow this deep and this heart wrenching. We hadn’t “planned” for this child, but at first sight of a positive test my heart welled with excitement and anticipation. I began to dream about the new addition and to plan for life with eight.
It feels as if it were a month before Christmas and the tree and decorations were being put up and presents wrapped and preparations underway… and then you’re told that Christmas isn’t going to come… ever.
We believe in the goodness of the Lord’s plan and in his sovereignty. We know that as he determines our steps that it is for our good and his glory.
But this is still really hard.
Are you a boy? Are you another sister? Was there something wrong? Is there something wrong with me? What color are your eyes? I had wondered if you might have blonde hair, we only have one blondie so far you know. I had begun entertaining a list of possible names. What should we call you now…
I didn’t eat or get dressed for the first few days… or do anything much… other than sleep and cry. I had begun rearranging the the house (again) when it all began, so my house was a great disaster; rooms in disarray, furniture and whatever else strung across the living area, the table was covered from one end to the other with heaps of homeschool. I couldn’t find the motivation to finish.
It wasn’t easy letting people see me in such a state. I actually didn’t want to tell a soul. I wanted to hide under my covers and never come out. What a sweet sweet man I married. He knew that what I really needed was to be surrounded by people who loved me. I couldn’t have expressed it, but they have been exactly what I needed… friends who sat in the middle of my messy house and hugged me even though I clearly hadn’t changed my clothes in couple of days… who just let me cry… or talk about anything other… who didn’t try to tell me how I should feel or what this sorrow should look like… who brought my family meals (because for a couple of days everything felt so insignificant, and I love my family… but I wasn’t able to care for them)… who brought or sent flowers (because it’s difficult for people to connect with a life they never met, but so encouraging to us for our baby to be acknowledged and our mourning to be supported)… for the phone calls and messages (that I may still not have responded to because it still isn’t easy to talk about, but that are so sweet and encouraging to me)… for the men who ask how he’s doing too (because this loss was his also).
He’s struggling as well. The first sign we had of anything being wrong was when we were working out together. He know’s that God is so so in control, but thoughts come and we have to battle feelings of guilt or responsibility.
I still have one of the pregnancy tests. And sometimes I walk into my closet when no one is around and I pull it out from under my stack of T-shirts and I hold it, and I cry. And it’s good… because sometimes I have to battle thinking that maybe I wasn’t ever pregnant and this is all just ridiculous. And other times I have to battle dreaming that somewhere my child is tucked safely in my womb, still growing. The loss is real, and facing it is hard, but the pain won’t last forever.
It’s all the things that no one talks about that are super hard.
I understand now why an old friend fell away when she miscarried and I went on to birth baby girl. I have to battle jealousy. I’m supposed to be pregnant too. And it’s not fair. And then I feel guilty… because I have seven beautiful and healthy blessings… and then I remember that It’s NOT fair, and this baby isn’t any less…
I want to put something up in our house. I want the kids to know that we believe that this life is eternal.
I have to remember that people don’t always know how to respond.
If I come out of the restroom a little less peppy, it’s because I am STILL miscarrying and every time I use the bathroom I am reminded that the life I had began preparing for isn’t coming.
I’m emotional. And physically, I just don’t quite feel normal. It makes sense… pregnancy hormones don’t just disappear. A few weeks ago when the hormones were increasing I decided to stop nursing baby girl… now I wish I fought through the discomfort and drank a little more water and Mothers Milk.
It’s in the back of my mind… will this be my last pregnancy? I don’t want this experience to be my last. Am I getting too old? Will I be able to have another? Do we try now, do we prevent? Again, my husband is so incredibly sweet and while I expressed these fears, he assured me that he is open to the conversation, but that right now we need to focus on healing. So, maybe don’t ask me about “trying again.” We’re saving that conversation for another day.
The days are getting easier. I cried only three times yesterday. And we all got out of the house together. And someone brought us a meal, so we spent the evening as a family and played a game together. Life moves on. Sometimes it feels like it’s moving on with out me… but I know that isn’t the case… I’m just moving a little slower right now. And I think that’s ok.
Despite the enormous sadness, we have seen such good from all of this too. It was hard and yet incredibly good to let people into our brokenness and to know that we are loved and not alone. We truly are experiencing the love of God through his saints. My mom and I connected in a beautiful way because she too has known this pain. No matter what the relationship looks like, when something like this happens a girl yearns for the comfort of her mother, and the Lord was so good to give me that gift. In a way, I think I felt exempt from this. I’ve birthed seven children and so we made our announcement to the world… He is near to the brokenhearted and I rejoice in a fuller and deeper hope that is in Christ alone… and I rejoice in my strength that comes from the Lord. When disaster comes, he promises that it will not overtake you… and I am thankful for the shelter of his wings. Some of the saddest most difficult moments were the exact moments that someone would knock on the door or send us a message and I know that the Lord’s timing is perfect and that he has not left us. And I will know so much better how to serve and love anyone else who experiences a loss like this. And… in a way this pregnancy and loss has led me to even greater understanding and thanksgiving of the blessing we have and the legacy we will leave. Every life has a purpose, and every soul we meet is eternal…