Starting to Hurt More

It's getting harder now. I knew it would because I know that grief involves experiencing the full magnitude of the loss a little at a time. I've barely begun that process. I'm starting to remember my anticipation of this baby and how life would change. I'm starting to feel the primal connection I had to this child.

Months into my grief over my first loss I felt empty. My arms almost hurt from the emptiness. I realized that the baby I lost could not be replaced with anyone or anything else including another baby. I was experiencing something that parents have described after having a second child: your heart grows a new place just for that child. I didn't know how I could ever be whole again when the place in my heart reserved for this baby was empty. I needed to be a mommy to my baby and I couldn't. I was made to nurture and protect my children and not being able to feels so unnatural. I had come to a place of hopelessness, but this is where God met me to teach me something new. He's the best parent there is!

Meredith had just started Kindergarten. This was especially difficult for me while grieving my miscarriage because her baby traits were disappearing rapidly. She was growing up so fast and now it would go even faster. I wanted her to be dependent on me a little longer. Of course I know it's in her best interests to become increasingly independent, so I encourage her and praise her efforts to be a big girl. God showed me some parallels to Meredith and the baby I lost. With Meredith, I get to love her and enjoy every stage, but it was always intended that I let her go a little at a time. I hope she'll be an important part of my life for the rest of my life, but my role as her mother is gradually getting smaller to suit her needs. My baby stopped needing me long before I was ready to stop being needed. With Meredith, the withdrawal is very gradual; with my baby it was all too sudden. Just like I hope to enjoy an adult relationship with Meredith someday when I am wanted but no longer needed, I know I will have a fulfilling relationship with both of my babies someday.

A final piece of the puzzle came when God showed me I didn't need to feel anxious or guilty about not being able to nurture and protect my baby because He had taken over that role for me. Words from Selah's "I Will Carry You" spoke to me. The song is about a baby who was not expected to live after birth. (You can read their story in the book I Will Carry You.) I will highlight the verses that spoke to me most during the time I was struggling:

There were photographs I wanted to take

Things I wanted to show you

Sing sweet lullabies

Wipe your teary eyes

Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I'm not
Truth is I`m barely hanging on
But there`s a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the one who`s chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness
But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says:

I`ve shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies 
No more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the one who`s chosen me
To carry you

I know my third child is in the best hands too. Having that conviction from my first loss has made this one easier so far. Knowing all this helps most of the time, but sometimes I still feel empty. My parenting instincts are still there and they haven't gotten the message to stand down. It still feels like a nightmare whenever reality hits that I won't see my baby in this life. I mourn for all the stages I will miss. I grieve because I won't even know my baby's gender in this life, much less everything that makes him/her unique. But I get to visit my pain and then leave it behind again because I do not grieve like those who have no hope. I know my story has a happy ending.

My Big Girl

I want to take a break from writing about myself and tell you about my daughter Meredith. If you know her, you might be wondering how she's adjusting to the news. I think she's doing about as well as any five year old could with this information. We didn't tell her about the pregnancy until five days before I found out about the miscarriage. For some reason it felt like the right time to tell her. We were so excited and we wanted to share it with her and we didn't think there was any reason to keep it from her after we heard the heartbeat.

She was more cautious about getting excited this time, but she eventually warmed up to the idea and started fretting about sharing her toys and whether or not she would get enough attention. One day she said "I hope this one gets to be born and doesn't go to heaven first." I told her I really hoped so too. I told her I thought this one will probably be fine and that we were praying every day. I also talked about how Jesus loves us and always does the right thing for everyone and if this baby does go to heaven, He will help us heal. She didn't like hearing that. She wanted to hear that the baby would definitely be born healthy. That's when I wished we hadn't told her. I started to pray more earnestly that the baby would be okay for her sake. I rested in knowing that God works all things for good, even potential parenting mistakes.

On Friday when we found out we had lost the baby, Meredith was the first thought that came to mind. I prayed, "LORD, give her wisdom beyond her years to make sense of this." Jeremy and I decided to tell her right away in the car and then take her out for ice cream. We wanted her to feel reassured that we were going to be supportive of each other and there are better days to come. She spotted the cooler with her non-dairy "ice cream" right away which put her in a good mood. I savored the last few moments before I had to break the news. We told her we had an ultrasound which told us the baby is in heaven already. She got a far off look in her eyes. I asked if she had any questions or wanted to talk about it. She shifted her attention back to the toy puppies she was playing with, so we played with puppies and read Doctor Seuss on the way to get ice cream.

When we got home, Meredith got out her two baby dolls which she rarely plays with. She fed, changed and rocked her babies. The rest of the night she was just a little extra hyper and silly. I knew her confusion was coming out as nervous energy. At bedtime Meredith asked if I would rest with her for awhile. I love snuggling with her at bedtime. We talk about whatever is on her mind. She tells me funny things that happened through the day or things she learned in school. Sometimes she has serious questions about life. That night, I asked if she wanted to talk about anything. She cried into my shirt, "At first I was happy we were going to get ice cream, but now I'm sad that the baby died and I didn't get very much juice today." (She tends to lump negative experiences together). I told her I was sad too. I told her it is normal to be sad when something sad happens and crying helps to get the sadness out. She cried a little longer and then said something that caught me off guard. "I think the next baby will go to heaven before it's born too." I wondered the same thing, but I wasn't ready to think about it. I reminded her that she was born healthy and I told her about some other women I knew who had healthy babies after miscarriages. She cried again and I asked her what was wrong. She said "Now I'm sad that the other mommies lost their babies too". This was not going as well as I'd hoped. I was trying to encourage her and I ended up burdening her tender heart even more. I paused to pray and shifted gears a little. I talked to her about empathy. I explained how Jesus feels our pain just like she is feeling others' pain. I reminded her that the other babies are in heaven too and Jesus is healing their mommies. This helped her feel better. I told her I believed that some day she will have a brother or sister either from my body or through adoption, I just didn't know when or how. Next she tried to figure out how this baby died. She said "Maybe the baby was too old and it was time to go to heaven or maybe its heart just stopped beating." I told her I didn't know. She said "I think only the doctors know". I told her they didn't know either. She said, "I wish the doctors knew what happened so they could tell us what will happen next." "Me too!" Then she said, "I wish the babies could have seen me and not just heard me. They only saw the inside of your body." I knew God was setting me up. I could feel it. I said, "That's true. That's all they got to see in this life. But you can't even imagine what they are seeing now!" The mood shifted in the room as we let our imaginations run wild with everything we thought they are seeing in heaven. I started by telling Meredith the things the Bible tells us about. That heaven is like a golden city with mansions and beautiful gem stones everywhere. She thought of all the things that would be made of gold, like golden cars, the kind with gold paint, not real gold because they would be too heavy (She discussed this with Daddy earlier). We talked about the beautiful landscapes and sunsets and all the animals that let you pet and ride them. I told her that the best thing about heaven is that we get to be with Jesus and talk to him just like we were talking. She said, "When I get to talk to Jesus like we're talking now, I'm going to tell Him that I'm sad the babies went to heaven before they were born." I told her that He would give her a big hug, tell her He knows and wipe away all her tears. And when she gets to heaven she will know why they went to heaven and she'll be with them. By this time we had been talking for about an hour and Jeremy came in because he thought I fell asleep. I told him we were talking about heaven and he joined in imagining with us. Meredith and I talked a few more minutes and then I said, "Sad things like this remind us that heaven is our home. There is no sadness there. We're just here for a time to enjoy God's blessings and tell people about Jesus." She thought a moment and responded, "So heaven is our home and we're just living here now?" She had it. I knew she was feeling better and so was I. She snuggled in for sleep and I kissed her "good night."

I thanked God for His reassuring presence with us. He showed me that He is perfectly capable of guiding Meredith through this messed up world we live in. I felt angry and incompetent to help her navigate these big issues at such a young age, but God reminded me that He has His hand on her and I'm so thankful for that. When I first struggled with my insecurities as a parent, I stumbled upon Isaiah 40:11: "He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young." This passage takes on new meaning for me as my role as a mother continues to be redefined. He understands a mother's heart. He knows the pain of letting go. He knows about loving in best interests even when it hurts. I need His gentle leading now more than ever.

Change

I can feel the joy of the LORD most acutely when I am faced with extreme emotional pain. Maybe you've experienced the same thing. These are the times that remind me that Jesus is the desire of my heart and He can never be taken from me. I felt that right away and through the past week and a half, but as my grief has been clamoring for my attention, Satan has used it as an opportunity to plant doubts about God's ability and willingness to let me keep the joy of His presence as I prepare to feel pain again. My first loss is so fresh in my mind that I don't want to go there again. Yesterday I confessed to God that I have been trying to take it upon myself to avoid "going there" my own way. I reasoned that I could avoid falling into a pit of despair and anger if I could maintain enough control of my environment. I decided to take the good feelings I had from the grace I've been given and pour all that energy into becoming the kind of wife and mother and practitioner I always wanted to be. Messages of inadequacy have haunted me for years. I must have figured that I could silence the self condemnation by becoming my ideal and then my grief would be more manageable. Makes perfect sense right?

That would have been a hard fall, but the Holy Spirit gave me a heart check yesterday. I noticed I was short with my family and feeling overwhelmed with little things. I also hadn't spent much time in the Word lately because seeking God would expose my plan to become self sufficient. After Meredith went to bed I told God all about my fears. I acknowledged my sin and that I wanted a change. I didn't want to relive all the grief from my first miscarriage and I didn't want to lose the lessons I've learned about God's trustworthiness as I face my doubts. My reading last night was from Ezekiel's vision of ideal temple worship. Part of it spoke to me: " 'When the people of the land come before the LORD at the appointed feasts, whoever enters by the north gate to worship is to go out the south gate; and whoever enters by the south gate is to go out the north gate. No one is to return through the gate by which he entered, but each is to go out the opposite gate.' " (Ezekiel 46:9 emphasis mine) My study Bible says that this is for crowd control, but I'm not so sure. In any case, I thought it was a good analogy for my situation. I don't want to go out the way I came in. This passage reminded me that God doesn't want that for me either. He's the one working on my heart. He's the one with the plans to turn pain into blessings. I can't help but be changed from spending time in His presence. He changed me as He has been healing me from my first miscarriage. All that time spent with Him in brokenness proved to me that His power is made perfect in my weakness. When I would drop the ball on something, He proved that His grace is enough by either sparing me from the consequences I was expecting or turning it into a greater blessing. 

I get to commend myself into His capable hands and be broken again. My concern about losing ground has kept me from this, but I don't need to worry about going backwards. I need to let go of my need to control things again, but that's okay. I forgot there is no better way to live than to commend myself into God's hands. It's where I have found healing and rest before and where I'll find it again. I just needed to get it straight in my mind that brokenness isn't backwards, it's how I am being transformed.

quick update

I just wanted to check in. I wish I could post more and I hope to in the near future, but daily things take more energy lately. Today was a good day. I feel surprisingly normal. My grief is there, but not unmanagable. I volunteered at Meredith's school this morning and actually had the energy to get some things checked off my to do list at home. I don't know why I feel so good today, but I'll take it. The only explaination I can come up with is grace. I feel lifted up in your prayers. I want to thank each of you who have been praying for me and encouraging me. It means so much!

I do have another specific prayer request. I am starting to have physical signs that the miscarriage is coming soon. I ask that you pray for my physical safety.

Thanks again for your support. Blessings on your week.

Here I go again

The numbness is wearing off. I am starting to remember the terrain of grief from last time. It was like going mountain climbing blindfolded; I never knew what was coming next. Last time I went through deep valleys followed by greater acceptance and even joy. Each low was paired with an equal but opposite peak. Each time I would think "I'm almost done." I finally decided to stop trying to predict what was coming next.

This time is starting out a little different. At first I told myself "I know how to do this. This will be easy." My defenses are up, but they are starting to crumble. I came to church late today and snuck out early because I am not ready to hug and cry with my friends. The dam would break and that's just too much too soon.

Eventually I will have to come face to face with my pain. I will painstakingly uncover all the facets of my loss and bring to light all of my accusations against God's character. I know a little about what's coming. I know there are great blessings waiting for me on the other side and along the way, but I'm fighting it. Grief involves letting go of control. Something happens out of your control that you never would have chosen and the only choice you're left with is how you will respond. I have to admit that right now I'm leaning toward wallowing in resentment. That feels like the most natural thing to do. But I'll choose to trust that God really does work all things for my good. Eventually this will feel right. When I've poured out my anger to the One who can take it and find that He's still there, I will have made it through my first valley. Here I go again. 

Another Loss (first post)

I've decided to start this blog as a way to chronicle my grief and healing from pregnancy loss. Maybe someone can find comfort in what I write. If nothing else, they say it's helpful to put thoughts into words through journaling. I had my first miscarriage in May at nine and a half weeks. Yesterday my OB told me I was going to have another one.

Last Tuesday, I got up the nerve to obtain a copy of my ultrasound report from my first miscarriage. I had unanswered questions and I needed some confirmation that this pregnancy was going to be different. It don't know what I was expecting to see, but I learned that the baby measured six weeks and six days; exactly how far along I was that day. Whatever peace I had before was gone and I went into panic mode. I called the Birth Center because I hadn't heard back from the day before about scheduling an ultrasound. When the receptionist grilled me about why I needed an ultrasound so early, I lost it. I couldn't get the words out. She immediately put me on with the midwife who set me up for an ultrasound the next day. That night I dreamed of worst case scenarios, but actually woke up feeling positive. This ultrasound was a big deal because the last time I had one it was eerily silent. I had trouble imagining a good outcome. I wrestled with God in prayer until I felt the peace of His presence. I prayed specifically for a skilled and sensitive tech and that we would hear a heartbeat. Our tech was very nice and I could tell she knew what she was doing. When she told us the baby was measuring at six weeks and one day (I was seven weeks), I prepared for the worst. But then I heard it: boom, boom, boom, boom. 120 bpm! I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The next week and a half were more peaceful than the first few weeks. I had learned to silence most of Satan's invitations to fear. I learned that I need to seek to trust God. Period. Not trust God to..., but trust Him because He is faithful to me. My flesh would protest, "But last time He took my baby from me." I would have to remember that only He knows why that is. I know He cried with me and had in mind how He would comfort me. I won't know why either of my babies were taken from me until I get to meet them, but if my trust in God is based on circumstances, I'm in trouble.

Yesterday morning I went to my OB appointment. I had decided to keep this appointment that I had made before deciding on the Birth Center because I wanted a follow up ultrasound to see if the baby was growing normally. I had read that ultrasounds can be up to 7 days off in date measurements, but I still wanted to make sure everything was okay. About 10 seconds into the ultrasound the doctor said, "Still measuring 6 weeks." Just like that it was time to shift gears from hoping to grieving. I tried to listen to what the doctor was saying, but it was hard to concentrate. I didn't want to have this conversation again.

After the appointment we went through a range of emotions together. I'm sure I will be attempting to untangle these in the coming weeks and months, but I think I've written enough for now. We are already feeling God's comforting presence and the hope of better days to come. "Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5) I've been down this road before; I know it can be bumpy and unpredictable. I ask for your prayers for our family's healing. I know your prayers will be answered; I am eager to see how. Thanks for reading.