I found out I was pregnant on Mr. Right’s birthday. It was something we had been hoping for, but still, it was such a wonderful surprise. I wrapped this and gave it to him as a birthday present.
He was so happy! We ended up telling our families that night, because we were SO excited. And also because we knew that we were already at a very high risk for miscarriage and needed our prayer warriors. I had some complications during the first trimester of my first pregnancy and at one point, my doctor told me that the odds were stacked against Wrenn, but through a miracle from God, Wrenn beat those odds.
I was having those same complications with this second pregnancy, so the doctor pulled me in for some testing. It took a week of monitoring my hormone levels, with many long waits between test results. Oh, how I hate the waiting for test results.
I got the news one week after I found out I was pregnant, that we had an indeed lost our precious baby. By that time, I already knew that in my gut, although I was still clinging to the hope that I was wrong. All of those pregnancy symptoms were gone, and my soul just knew that our precious baby was no longer with me.
I’ve had friends and family members who have lost a baby. When I started to share our news with those around us, I was amazed at how many people have been carrying that same secret around. That same pain. I feel like I have joined a club that I didn’t want to be a member of. A club where I will meet my child for the first time in heaven instead of here on earth.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
Grief is a strange thing. I only knew I was pregnant for a week, so I only had those hopes and dreams of what my child would be like for such a short time. Just seven days. Other than a tiny bit of nausea, I never felt this baby. And yet, when I found out he was gone, it was devastating. It was a life lost. A future gone. A part of our family that would be missing forever. The emotions have hit me in waves. I am totally fine, and then the grief hits me and I cry and cry and cry. One minute my heart is so heavy, and the next I am experiencing joy. Regular joy. I’m fine. And then not fine. And then fine… back and forth. Back and forth.
I took off a few days from work and decided to just be. To experience the grief, to give myself margin to feel and to mourn. I didn’t want to be around people, to spend the energy talking about regular things when MY BABY HAD JUST DIED. My friends and family were so wonderful to both of us, sending us flowers and chocolates and calling and texting and saying so many prayers on our behalf. I was too sad to respond to most of them, but they were so special to me. I spent about two weeks quilting and gardening and playing with Wrenn, taking long naps and crying in my car and avoiding people whenever possible.
Here is what I know:
1. God is still good. He was good when he did a miracle and saved Wrenn despite the odds, and he is still good, even though this precious child passed. My God is sovereign, and just, and loves my babies more than I do. I will continue to praise him even on days that my heart hurts. Please know that, my friends.
2. We’re going to be okay. Things are already better. It has been a month now, and I honestly feel like my old self again. Most of the time. That awful cloak of sadness seems lighter. I have been warned that it will hit me at weird times, but for today, I feel better than I did yesterday. I know that one day I will get to hold my child in heaven, to introduce him to Wrenn and my other future kiddos and smother him in kisses.
In the meantime, I wanted to share my story with you, my dear readers, because the stories others have shared with me have been so comforting. Many people choose not to speak of a miscarriage, and I completely understand. But I also have always found that the most comforting words to hear are, “Me too.” Those words bring me hope – that God can redeem hurt and loss by giving me a “Me too” when someone else is hurting. To be able to empathize with their pain and let them know that they will be okay.
So here I am… me too.