I have never felt quite so conflicted in my life. I have been called to tell a story that I didn't want to tell. I know how I've reacted in the past to others - with sighs and eye rolls - thinking they must be telling this story for attention and pity. If you find yourself thinking those things of me while reading this entry, then I beg you to stop reading. I do not desire your pity nor do I want your attention. I also pray for your grace and forgiveness, knowing that my prior responses were not kind in spirit, nor what I am called to do as a Christian.
My purpose in sharing this story is multifaceted. If you've been through a similar experience, it's to let you know that you are not alone. If you've met someone going through this experience, I hope my words can lead you into productive, uplifting conversation with that person. I pray it helps me heal a little, too.
You see, my dear husband and I have been carrying around this weight of pain for months. Some of you know, some of you don't. If you don't know, it's not because we don't love you or because you're not "close enough" to us. If you don't know, it's because we didn't have the energy to weather the emotional hurricane that often comes when sharing this story. It's easier for us, especially me, to pretend that everything is normal and fine than to admit the reality of hurt that we've experienced. We are blessed with a very active little boy - he is what us southerners refer to as "a handful." :) He fills our days with joy and laughter. My husband, Shannon, and I decided that our family was not quite complete and we felt that the time was right for us to begin trying to have another child.
However, on August 5, 2015, Shannon and I lost our baby to miscarriage. I was a little over 10 weeks along. No, I had not met my baby. No, I had not held my baby. But, that doesn't diminish the bond of this child's existence within me. Prior to this loss, I minimized miscarriage. It couldn't be that bad, right? You never hear that child cry, held that child in your arms, or even knew what gender the child was. I was so clueless. I reprimanded myself for reacting so strongly to this loss, thinking I should be completely resilient to this loss and unaffected beyond a couple of days of heartbreak. I was so, so wrong. It's been 6 months and my heart still aches. That date is burned within my brain. I'll never forget where I was, what I was doing, even the movie I was watching.
We've heard every explanation. Some people said that something must have been wrong with the baby. The doctor said something was not "perfect." Maybe so, but I won't know. And, unfortunately, those little nuggets never provided the intended comfort and solace. We even had someone say, "that sucks." No, losing your keys and getting locked out of your house on a rainy day sucks. I *wish* this just sucked.
In the tidal wave that followed, I felt shameful that my body failed me. I had some jacked up vision that I was immune to this. I found comfort from so many friends telling me stories of their "Rainbow Babies" who followed immediately after their miscarriages. My naivete convinced me that I would have a similar experience to comfort someone else with in the future. However, it hasn't happened for us. I'm sure there's a greater purpose than what I immediately realize, but the waiting is unbelievably frustrating and another painful reminder of what we've lost.
Yet, in all the hopeless sorrow we have been swimming in, we find hope. We may never have the blessing of another child in our family, but I have learned such tremendous lessons and drawn closer to our heavenly Father than ever before. I believe that what happened was not a mistake. I can't believe that my God is as amazing as He is and also believe that he might have screwed this instance up. It isn't possible. Sometimes mercy is severe, but it is mercy nonetheless. Psalms 145: 8-9 says, "The Lord is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and great in mercy. The Lord is good to all, and His tender mercies are over all His works." I cling to this truth. We don't deserve the beautiful life that we live with love and grace abounding.
There's a song sung by Kristene Dimarco, "It Is Well," and it truly depicts the journey we've been through. Through this journey, our eyes have been on Him, and it is well with our souls. We don't get it. We may never get it. But, we are coming to peace with this experience. Ultimately, we are not in control of our story - and that's okay. The inner control freak inside of me has to be reminded that if I were in control, I would mess up so much. My perspective is but one narrow viewpoint of the greater story being carried out.
What I have learned in all of this is that there is so much more to life than this short story of pain and hurt. We rejoice in our amazing gifts and blessings, knowing that our story will continue to blossom. Psalms 27:13-14 says it perfectly, "I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord."
