Our Loss.

Thank you all so much for the love, support and encouragement you have all offered us during this time. We are overwhelmed by the community we have through Christ.

**Note, I'm writing the account of my miscarriage for my own records and my own closure. I don't expect everyone to want to read this, and that's fine. I just feel like I need to write it. And if you feel as though it's something you want to read, please do. God is teaching me about life and about death. God is teaching me about His plan and that this tragedy is part of my story. I cannot ignore it or pretend it's not a page in my life's book.**

This week has been difficult to say the least. One week ago yesterday I woke up like any normal day... took my kids to a doctor's appointment, fed them lunch, put them down for their naps, all while cherishing the new life inside my womb. I even told a woman that day that I had four kids. Suddenly in the afternoon I started spotting, and I immediately knew in my heart that something wasn't right. I know it's common to spot in pregnancy. I know it's typically not even a red flag. But something in my heart told me this was a red flag. A really big one. I just knew something was terribly wrong. I cried out to God, I pleaded with Him. I realized so fully in that moment that I didn't just want another baby... I wanted THIS baby. This dear one that I had spent the past 10 weeks carrying in my very being. I wanted to look into the eyes of THIS child. I wanted THIS child to join our family... to sit around our dinner table. I wanted THIS baby to coo as I kissed it's soft belly. I wanted to know if THIS baby was a boy or a girl. I wanted to give birth to THIS baby. I wanted to know THIS baby. 

The spotting continued and I called my sister's doctor (I hadn't chosen one here yet) and he graciously offered to see me that afternoon. The moment the ultrasound flickered onto the screen, I knew it was over. I've seen many ultrasounds, and I immediately noticed the emptiness of my womb. The lack of a moving, squirming beautiful tiny baby. I covered my face with my hands and I wept. The ultrasound tech took her measurements silently. Her face showed no emotion and she remained silent even as my husband and I asked her repeatedly, "Where is the baby?" 

I had had a blighted ovum. Basically the baby was created, but then never detached from the uterine wall. Something stopped the baby from growing pretty early on. However, my body continued to move forward with the pregnancy. My symptoms continued, my belly grew, my womb grew. But the baby didn't grow. The doctor asked me if I'd like a D&C, but I opted to pass everything naturally. 

The miscarriage happened on Saturday. It felt like a lot like a real birth. I contracted, I felt the pangs of labor. But I knew no baby waited for me on the other end. I grieved. I cried, I moaned. It was horrible. I grieved for myself, my children, my family, my baby. I also grieved for the many friends I have who have already walked this terrible path. I grieved for friends of mine who have lost babies much further along than I was. I wept for the still births, for the miscarriages, for the deaths. 

I am still not fully recovered. As strange as this may sound to some of you, when I look in the mirror now, I see a different person. I feel like I've seen another side of life. Another side of pregnancy and child bearing. Pregnancy has always come easy to me. And for the first time, it didn't go the way I thought it would. It ended.  The life slipped right out of me.. and I had no control over it.

I don't know if everything I'm saying here is "right". I don't know if it's okay to voice all of this. But I know that these are the feelings inside of me. Something happened this week that sucks. That I'll never forget. I've been sad, I've been angry, I've been hard, I've been brittle. I'm on a roller coaster of grief and pain and misunderstanding. 

But weirdly enough, in the midst of all this, I know beauty will come. I don't get it, but I know it'll come. 

I'll miss my baby every day. I don't say that lightly. I already do miss him or her. One day soon we'll name this child and we'll have a proper memorial. We're not ready yet, but we will be. 

One day the tears might not spring as quickly to my eyes. One day I might not feel quite so brittle and empty. But I'll never forget this child. I'll never stop loving this child. I'll never stop missing my baby who I never held. I love this baby as fiercely as I love the three in my arms. The baby who heard my heart beat, who lived inside of me, who would've called me Mommy.


Thanks for being patient with me as I walk through all of this. Thanks for being there. All the comments and messages mean more than you know. So thank you.