I’ll just come out and say it. We’ve just experienced our 5th loss. Another miscarriage. I continue to shake my head in disbelief that this is happening again. Can this really be my life? This has to be someone else’s story. It just has to be.
But it’s not. It’s ours. And it’s real.
I feel so brokenly-numb this time around. Could it be that I am not allowing myself to grieve? Could it be that I am simply tired of grieving? Maybe it’s because I dared to get excited in the first place. And then maybe I feel some guilt over that? Could it be that this hurt feels more tolerable than going through the trauma of experiencing a still birth again? Because it does. And then more guilt. Can it really be that we have had so much loss that an early miscarriage now feels like a gift? Because when I awoke to the reality of my fears coming true all over again, I thanked God for taking this baby so early. When did I end up in a world that I thanked anyone for taking my baby at all?
I reacted very differently this time. I didn’t try to urgently track my husband down at work when the nurse called to confirm that my lab work was proving everything I already knew. I wanted to spare him another few hours of this mess. I waited until he got home. I didn’t even leave work early myself. He took one look at me. I shook my head no to signify everything he knew that I couldn’t say out-loud. I cried in his familiar arms. The arms that allow my heart to break so safely. And then I did some laundry. I wanted to plunge forward. Whatever that means anymore.
I worked everyday through the entire physical loss. I refused to call out of work. I refused to let any more loss or grief steal my control. I wanted to go to work, or maybe I just didn’t want to sit home and give myself the time and space to fall apart. So as I was losing my baby, I carried on and hid it from the world. When people would ask, “How are you?” I would reply with a smile, “I’m good, how are you?” But I really wanted to scream. I wanted to scream that I was dying on the inside right before their eyes. I wanted to scream that I have nowhere to run anymore. I wanted to scream that I am stuck in this body, in this heartache…and I don’t want to be.
I wanted to scream that I want to be somebody else for a day. I want to be the woman who is 38 weeks pregnant and is about to give birth to a perfect healthy baby. I want to be the woman who gets to choose when she is going to have a baby, or her next baby, or the one after that. I want to be the woman who doesn’t have to think about cycle dates, freezing sperm, deployments, follicle sizes, injections, baby making funds, loss, loss, loss. I don’t want to be the woman who has an empty nursery in her home for years. I don’t want to be her. But I am her.
And then I remember that while I am her, more importantly, I am His.
And He is with me through it all. He is carrying me. And I know it’s Him, because this woman, well she has absolutely run out of all strength. Yet she is still standing. Amen to the God who loves me enough to give me the courage to put these feet on the ground everyday and keep.on.going. Amen to the God who gives me the strength of a warrior, to keep fighting, even when I feel nothing but defeat. Because it is not me. When I say I have nothing left, I mean it. It is He. It is only He. And a piece of me wonders if he has allowed it to get to this point because at my very weakest, I can allow him to be my only strength. And then finally give him all of the glory for it.
People have run out of comforting words to say at this point. People have even run out of the wrong things to say. So there is a lot of nothing. A lot of emoji hearts and sad faces in the place of encouragement. I know people want to have something helpful to say but what can they possibly say at this point? Is anyone really sure this will ever end the way we desire? I am not sure anyone has this confidence in our dream anymore .
So I am pointing to Jesus only. It’s just us now. As it always should have been. And for the first time in this six year journey, my heart feels completely understood. Without all of the other voices offering me humanly advice and condolences, I can hear His more clearly. I can feel Him guiding me. I can hear Him whispering that He is the kind who always stays. He will always be right here leading me to a path that He has chosen and that path is formed in His perfect, loving plan for good. I can feel his sadness for us this time. There is no energy left for any anger with Him. I just love him and am thankful that every morning, every night and every single second of my life…I can rely on his love.
Because with His love I am strong. With His love I am brave. With His love I can withstand any pain this world throws my way. So praise the One for this.
Praise the One.
And remember that behind some smiles, lives a tragedy that is left unspoken for the moment, the day or maybe even a lifetime. So pour out as much as you can into this world, because this world could always use more love.