((Written on June 16th))
Well it’s been about two years since I last blogged and this certainly isn’t the way I had hoped to break my writing hiatus. There are a lot of words jumbled in my mind and emotions wrestling in my heart, but I thought taking some time to reflect could be both cathartic for me and maybe healing for those of you who have walked this lonely road as well. This is an extremely vulnerable post to share and I hesitate to post it because I don’t like the well-intentioned attention it’s bound to bring. I also hate the reality of saying it out loud. But, I trust and believe God uses our brokenness for His glory and our pain for His purpose, so I’m posting this believing God will use it for our collective good and His glory.
Well it’s been about two years since I last blogged and this certainly isn’t the way I had hoped to break my writing hiatus. There are a lot of words jumbled in my mind and emotions wrestling in my heart, but I thought taking some time to reflect could be both cathartic for me and maybe healing for those of you who have walked this lonely road as well. This is an extremely vulnerable post to share and I hesitate to post it because I don’t like the well-intentioned attention it’s bound to bring. I also hate the reality of saying it out loud. But, I trust and believe God uses our brokenness for His glory and our pain for His purpose, so I’m posting this believing God will use it for our collective good and His glory.
Yesterday (June 15th), we learned I miscarried our second baby. The brother or sister for Levi we had longed to know and love. The baby we had prayed for and dreamed of since the moment we found out about him/her. We found out on Mother’s Day we were adding to our family and were absolutely thrilled and overwhelmed with joy. For about 9 weeks I had the privilege of carrying our baby, knowing about him/her for about 5 of those weeks.
Writing him/her brings tears to my eyes because I wish I had known. I wish I had known if this baby was our son or daughter. In reality, I know the loss would be even greater had we known. More real. But not knowing makes this loss almost feel illegitimate. I've found myself discounting my grief, knowing it fails in comparison to others who have lost the baby/child they knew, who they had named, and loved for days, weeks, months, or years. I know grief can't be compared, but if I’m being completely honest, it's been a weird thing to process.
How can we properly grieve a baby we hardly knew? How can we honor this baby when our only glimpse of life was the heartbeat I saw on the monitor only two weeks ago? I am still wrestling with those answers, but today I’m choosing to remember this baby by introducing him/her to you. I want you to know about our baby and to share in the reality of him/her, even if that reality on Earth was only for 9 weeks.
How can we properly grieve a baby we hardly knew? How can we honor this baby when our only glimpse of life was the heartbeat I saw on the monitor only two weeks ago? I am still wrestling with those answers, but today I’m choosing to remember this baby by introducing him/her to you. I want you to know about our baby and to share in the reality of him/her, even if that reality on Earth was only for 9 weeks.
Out doctor told us yesterday she believes 50% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. 50%. That number is absolutely staggering and means many of you reading this post have walked this road before. Miscarriage is a really lonely and vulnerable loss. With nothing tangible to show for the loss, it feels really raw and personal. So many people share the experience of this kind of loss, but no one can quite share in the loss because they didn’t even know there was a baby to celebrate or lose before he/she was gone.
I cried most of yesterday and am understandably still weepy today. I expect that’ll be the story for the coming days and/or weeks to come and probably in unexpected moments the rest of our lives. Darin and I have both agreed it all feels really surreal. With no evidence of the baby that was or the life that was lost, we’re left trying to process something deeply painful and yet intangible. Since yesterday morning, we’ve grieved and cried over the life that was lost and the dreams that were lost with it. We’ve grieved the baby we had hoped to know and now won’t this side of Heaven.
This experience has been brought with it some warring emotions…both disappointment and gratitude, sadness and joy, frustration and peace. Already we have seen the Lord’s faithfulness and the way He has answered our prayers. On Sunday night, I knew in my spirit we had lost the baby, but prayed anyway for protection over our baby. Yesterday morning when I no longer saw that sweet little fluttering heartbeat, I knew the Lord had answered my prayer. Not the way I had hoped, but He had answered it nonetheless. He protected our baby from a lifetime of physical and/or mental disabilities. He protected me from a potentially dangerous pregnancy. He spared this baby from enduring pain and us losing him/her later on in pregnancy. This baby was not meant for this world and while my heart aches over that reality, I’m grateful. Grateful for a good God who loves us through our grief. Grateful for the hope of Heaven. For the hope of meeting this baby someday, who got to bypass the brokenness of this world and go straight into the loving arms of our Heavenly Father.
Baby, while your life was so short here on Earth, we choose to celebrate and remember you. To use this pain to walk well with others as they navigate this lonely road, and to hold onto the hope of Heaven and the sweet reunion we'll someday have with you.
