Redeeming Miscarriage: Part 1 – 53 days
Redeeming Miscarriage: Part 2 – The Calling
It’s been a little over 2 months.
It’s been a little over 2 months since I became a mother to a child I’ll never mother here on Earth. It’s been a little over 2 months since part of my heart went to be with Jesus. Some days that 2 months feels like it’s been 2 years, other days like it’s been 2 minutes.
That being said, it would be an understatement to say the emotions surrounding the miscarriage are still raw. Honestly, I think they always will be, at least in a way. No, I don’t cry every day anymore, but that doesn’t mean all is forgotten. Call me crazy (I’m used to it), but I am so very thankful for that fact. I am so very thankful the Lord hasn’t forgotten about our child and I don’t have to, either.
Though I try not to dwell, I still find myself thinking about our baby quite frequently throughout my day. Some days I think about how I would have already been in my second trimester. I wonder how much weight I would have gained at this point, if I would have been carrying high or low, and if I would have actually looked pregnant at this point or instead been in that awkward-in-between stage when people are hesitant to ask if you are with child. I think about how beautiful John would have found me pregnant and the special time we would have had together waiting for, and experiencing firsthand, our child’s birth. I daydream about the time we would have spent corporately feeling the baby kick, going hand-in-hand to ultrasound appointments, and making memories I will never get to experience. I wonder if the baby would have had to be taken early and/or if they would have had a rough start to life. I think about our first Christmas photo (with the baby only a few weeks old) and how proud I would have been to introduce our blessing to the world through a card similar to ones we’ve received from other friends and family who have had recent additions.
Other days I think about our child, whether they are a boy or a girl (we both think boy), what their personality would have been like (outgoing and visionary like me or reserved and task-oriented like John), who they would have looked like (our body types are polar opposites), what their calling in life would have been, etc. I think about all the precious little people already in our circle of friends, and how our child would have had such great playmates. I think about how awesome of a dad John would have been, and how much I long to see him in that privileged role.
Most importantly, I think about how much I long to mother my child and help them grow in all senses of the word. I think about rocking them to sleep in their room in the middle of the night, praying over them and dedicating them to the Lord in front of hundreds of witnesses. I think about the love I feel for my child already and how consuming it would have been had I ever gotten the chance to meet them. I contemplate the awesome privilege and responsibility of motherhood, the lessons I would have learned from parenting my son or daughter and how the Lord would have used them in my life to make me more like Him.
Each time I let my mind wander, I am quickly brought back to my current reality:
Having our child here with us on Earth just wasn’t meant to be. God in His sovereignty and goodness allowed it, and I am called to accept it. No matter how much I wish they could, they aren’t coming back.
Life has moved on and so must I.
I don’t have to forget, but I do have to live in the present and not the past. I do a better job of embracing my circumstances some times more so than others. Thankfully, as time passes, most of the time it is getting easier to accept what has happened.
Some days, though, the emotions I have felt since the miscarriage still overwhelm me. There are still occasional times I will sit in our empty nursery and cry. There are still times I struggle with seeing on Facebook another pregnancy announcement via ultrasound picture with the child’s due date right around – or even on – my estimated one. There are times I struggle with not being jealous as I see our friends’ families expanding and have no idea when, or how, our time as parents will even begin. There are times, like earlier this week after being at a cook-out with several incredible women who are either already mothers, pregnant or hoping to be pregnant soon, I still snuggle up next to my husband and cry silent tears as I pray myself to sleep. There are still times I repeatedly ask the Lord, “Why?” and swear I cannot bear more heartache in this life.
In those moments of weakness, though, when I struggle with my humanity and long to remain stoic and unaffected by my loss, it is then I remember something – His power is perfected in my weakness (2 Cor 12:9-10). In this time that I feel the most weak, He is doing a great work in – and through – me for His glory. I can forsake that calling, or I can embrace it and all the emotions that come with it. For me, there is no other choice but to embrace my humanity; after all, in doing so, I am reminded of just how desperately I need Him.
I am so thankful I don’t have to be ashamed of the sadness I still sometimes feel. I don’t have to hide behind a facade that says my miscarriage didn’t deeply impact me and didn’t leave a lasting impact on the very core of my soul. I don’t have to have man’s understanding when it comes to how I view myself as a mother, because the way I feel isn’t going to change with or without it. I don’t have to act as if losing our baby wasn’t the hardest thing I have ever endured, just because some may find that statement melodramatic in light of everything else that has gone in my 27 years of life. I don’t have to downplay the grief I feel, just because I was only around 5 weeks pregnant when I lost our baby.
I don’t have to justify the intense loss I feel to anyone. Neither do you, if you are in my shoes. Never forget that.
As for me, as with every other life-altering event in my life, I just have to embrace the hurt, allow Him to heal it and use it, and allow Him to leave the scars as a constant reminder of His grace in my life.
Thank you, Lord, for the scars.