Love Will Get Us Through

A couple weeks ago -- just a few days after our miscarriage happened -- Brett came in from working, opened his computer, and said he had a song playing in his head that he wanted to listen to. He found it saved on his hard drive, a song from an obscure singer from Canada named Dan Powers. I'd never heard of him or the song, "Love Will Get Us Through," but as we listened to it, the words of the chorus wrapped around my heart.

It's not enough to love you

Oh I wanna hold you

Yes. Yes, those were the words my heart wanted to say to my unborn baby, my baby whom I love but never got a chance to hold. It's not enough.

~   ~   ~

These days -- nearly a month past the loss -- I'm doing much better. Most of the time I feel pretty much like myself. But going back to normal is kinda scary, and at times I almost feel guilty for feeling better. I don't want to just move on and forget about the baby. I don't want other people to think that's the case.

But I know the Scripture, "Can a mother forget her child?" (Isaiah 49:15, paraphrased) is a rhetorical question. I won't forget. But I also don't have to dwell in continual sadness for the sake of remembering. I am free to laugh with my friends and participate in life and embrace the joy of the Lord...while accepting the pangs of grief that arise at unexpected moments...and knowing that I will never lose the love I have for my unborn little one. It's okay to move forward. God's Word instructs me to:

"We do not want you to...grieve as others do who have no hope." (1 Thessalonians 4:13)

"Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on..." (Philippians 3:13-14)

"Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it?" (Isaiah 43:19)

"Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy." (Psalm 126:5)

Sadness With Joy

First off, I want to say how grateful I am for the outpouring of love, support, and prayers from so many people, following my first blog post about our miscarriage. God has absolutely used all of your comments, messages, emails, and texts -- and for the ones here with me at camp, your daily hugs and check-ins -- to wrap His love around me and hold me up in this time of grief. Thank you for caring. Thank you for speaking kind words. Thank you for acknowledging the legitimacy of our loss. Thank you for praying. Thank you, those of you who have shared YOUR stories of miscarriage and infertility -- you remind me that this is a shared grief and I am not alone in it. Thank you all.

It has been 2 1/2 weeks since we lost our baby, and those days have been nothing short of a roller coaster. The physical after-effects and the insane hormones can drive a person crazy, if the actual grief wasn't enough. For several long days, I struggled with depression -- unable to get out of bed in the mornings, and a lack of desire or motivation to do anything except sleep and eat cereal (yes, I wanted cereal all the time, go figure). Thank God, that heaviness has lifted. Smiles and laughter are starting to come back, sometimes forced, sometimes genuine. I'm slowly easing back into "normal life."

"Normal life"...with an ever-present sadness. 

God is using this hurt for His good purpose and His glory. I can already see that, and I rejoice in it. This has opened up doors for wonderful conversations, opportunities to share both sorrows and comforts with others who are grieving, and chances to "give a reason for the hope that is in" me (1 Peter 3:15). If Brett and I had to endure this loss, then I'm incredibly thankful to see God using it for good, to know that it's not being wasted. 

photo from Etsy

At the same time, we still have to wake up every day and remember that our baby died. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I will never know my first child. I still have to see pictures of women with their pregnant bellies and newborn babies, and fight the awful feelings of jealousy, because I really am happy for them, deep down. I still wrestle with the fear of having another miscarriage. And I still wonder, every day, what our little one would have been like if he or she was able to be born.

Yes, there's a sadness that remains, but there's a peace and a quiet joy in the midst of it. God has a hope and a good future for us. I rest in believing our baby is in His arms. We are not of those who "grieve with no hope" (1 Thess 4:13). God is pulling us closer to Him and closer to each other as a couple. He has surrounded us with people who care. He is good, and we're going to be okay.

Held for a Moment, Loved Forever - Our Miscarriage Story

This is a difficult post to write.

Because miscarriage is a sensitive subject. People don't talk about it much. And honestly, there's part of me that really doesn't want the whole world to know it happened to me. But God has been teaching me this year about being real and vulnerable, and this situation should be no exception.  There's also a part of me that feels our story needs to be told; that believes that somehow, in sharing this, I'll do my part in breaking the awkward, painful silence that surrounds the subject of miscarriage in our culture.

I knew I was pregnant within a few days after it happened. We weren't trying to get pregnant, but we hadn't been very diligent in preventing it that month, either. Obviously, there were no definitive physical signs yet, but I just had that intuitive feeling. Before it was possible to know...I knew.

For a week and a half, I meticulously recorded all my little symptoms and counted the days until I could take a home pregnancy test. Sometime during those 12 days, a friend came out to visit for an afternoon with her 6-week-old son. I cuddled baby Elias, mesmerized by his tiny handsome features, and was in awe of the two babies I held at that moment. It was like a sweet secret between God, baby Elias, my baby, and me. No one else knew yet.

Finally, the day came, and there were two pink lines on the test -- positive! My heart pounded with adrenaline, excitement, and joy as I tiptoed back into the bedroom, woke my husband, and told him the news. We laughed, cried, hugged, prayed, and laughed some more. What a surprise blessing from God! For the next few days, we tried to let this big life change sink in and become real to us. One of my favorite memories from that week is lying on our bed one afternoon during our off time, talking about what we would name our baby. That weekend, we called our parents and siblings to share the news with them, and the following week, we announced our pregnancy at the weekly camp staff meeting.

The announcement photo we made to tell my family about our baby.

On Friday, June 26th, we went for my first prenatal appointment. I was six weeks pregnant, so it was too early for an ultrasound, but the midwife talked to me about how I was feeling, gave me advice about my diet, and took blood for the standard prenatal blood testing. We were given a due date of February 18th. We scheduled a physical and another meeting with the midwife, and planned for the first ultrasound in mid-July.

And then Saturday came. I was bleeding when I got up that morning, and the cramps began soon after. Realizing what was happening, I stood over the bathroom sink, forehead against the mirror, and sobbed. I told Brett, and he prayed with me. I called the midwife. By 1:00 that afternoon, all the horror was over. My baby was gone, and I was left physically and emotionally empty.

In the days since then, I have experienced a full range of emotions, from overwhelming sadness to anger to hopelessness, including at times feeling completely void of emotion. Tears come at random, unexpected moments. I feel like I don't know who I am anymore.

Because as any mother can tell you, from the moment you know you're pregnant, you are a mom. And it changes you. It changes your heart, your thinking, your priorities, your identity.

I became a mom at the end of May. And at the end of June, I became a mom whose baby died. That one month has changed my life.

Brett made this little memory box, where I can keep our announcement
photo, our baby names list, etc. It's a good tangible piece of closure for me. 

Yet God is carrying me through. In the midst of all the grief, there is hope because of Jesus. Scripture has been comforting, especially the Psalms, and so have certain songs. Our first dance song from our wedding was "You Are Mine" by Enter the Worship Circle, and the words of that chorus have been echoing in my mind the last couple of days. I think of it as our for better or for worse song -- no matter what happens, we're together and God's got us. My husband has truly been Jesus to me during this time, and it's amazing to see how God is growing both of us and our faith through this trial.

And although suffering a miscarriage can be a very lonely and isolating experience -- many people are uncomfortable and don't know what to say, so they simply avoid or ignore the situation -- still, God provided a handful of people who have been a great help, a comfort, and sometimes simply a breath of fresh air to my hurting heart. I am thankful for those people who aren't scared away by the pain but are there to embrace me in the midst of it.

I rest assured that -- as one sweet friend reminded me -- death isn't God's plan. We're not meant to understand or accept death, she told me, because it was never how God wanted the world to be. Death and heartache happen because the enemy is in the world, and someday Jesus will redeem it and wipe all of our tears away. In the meantime, I can continue to trust that He is good...and trust that He will use this story and our baby's short life for His glory.