I can’t unhear the silence and I can’t unsee the emptiness.
Sitting. Waiting. Wondering.
What could’ve have been. What should’ve been.
My baby is gone. The sadness that comes over me as I write that is almost unbearable. It’s a weird mix of emptiness and sadness. At the same time I am not empty. The pieces are all still there. For some reason, clinging to my body. As if some sick, twisted sense of hope and longing will bring them back into life.
For now we wait. And grieve. Tomorrow we’ll say goodbye to what is left. To the shell and hope of what could’ve been.
I started writing this a little over seven weeks ago. Thanksgiving weekend I took a pregnancy test that turned out to be positive. Early in January I started having some spotting and went in for an ultrasound. Immediately I could tell that something wasn’t right. The ultrasound tech asked if my dates could be off (I was pretty sure that they weren’t.) An internal ultrasound confirmed my worst fear.
There was not a heartbeat.
By the time we had started telling our families around Christmas, the baby was gone. For reasons that I’ll never understand, my body held on to what was left. I walked around thinking I was still pregnant for another 6 or 7 weeks after the baby had passed.
I opted to go the route of a D&C as my body was not making much work of purging the tissue that was left. Two days after the initial ultrasound we went in for the out-patient procedure. It was scary and emotional. We are so thankful for the skilled hands of my doctor and the care from the nurses that helped this process go smoothly and without any issue.
While this has been hard and painful, it has been bearable. I firmly believe that we would not have felt the peace that we did without the prayers of so many friends and family. God’s grace pours out in our lives at the most unexpected times. The child that we were not able to hold in this world will always have a special place in our hearts, but we rest in the comfort that we will see him someday and that God can and will work through our lives and the lives of those around us in spite of difficult circumstances.
2 Corinthians 1:3-7
3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 5 For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. 6 If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. 7 And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.
I have struggled with just how much of our story I want to share. In telling friends and members of our church I have learned that miscarriage is common. Too common. And no one really talks about it. There is no shame in miscarrying. We didn’t do anything wrong. God isn’t punishing us or trying to teach us a lesson. There is pain, suffering and sadness in this world. There is pain in childbearing. Life is hard. But we are not alone.
We are not the first people to endure these circumstances. We are not alone in our sorrow or suffering. Not only do we have friends and family to lean on, but we also have a loving God whom we can turn to. We will come through this with a changed perspective and with an empathy for others who have experienced loss in pregnancy.