Winter

For the thing I greatly feared has come upon me,
And what I dreaded has happened…
Job 3:25

It is with a heavy heart that I am writing this morning. I had hoped to be making an announcement of a different kind today.

Yesterday afternoon, in the office of my doctor, we learned that the baby I had been carrying since January no longer had a heartbeat.

Tomorrow, March 17, was my original due date with our first miscarriage. In the time that it normally takes to create one healthy baby, we have lost two.

This pregnancy began very positively – because of my “history” they were monitoring me very closely with ultrasounds and hormone checks. I had high progesterone and HCG and the levels of HCG were doubling, as with a normal pregnancy.

I had ultrasounds at 4, 6, and 8 weeks, all of which showed normal growth and development.

On the 6th and 8th week we saw the tiny vibration in the baby’s chest indicating a strong and healthy heartbeat, and at the very end of the 8th week, we watched as the baby wiggled on the screen in front of us.

I will tell you, I had been trying, out of fear, to disconnect myself from this baby. I did not want to attach myself only to lose it, but when I saw the evidence of life screaming out at me from the screen of an ultrasound like that, it was virtually impossible to keep my heart from loving it. That was my baby, small, unformed, and very much alive.

I was also very sick this time. Since last time, I had virtually no morning sickness, it was a reassurance {although not necessarily a fun one} that the life inside of me was growing. I spent most of January and February incapacitated because of nausea and exhaustion.

Then, magically, I woke up one morning at 10 weeks and the sickness was gone.

It wasn’t right, and I knew it. It seemed too early, but I tried not to jump to conclusions. I was almost at the end of the first trimester and lots of women start feeling better then. Several times I almost picked up the phone to call my doctor and ask for a heartbeat check. I knew they wouldn’t mind, but I stopped myself because I felt I shouldn’t be worrying. But as the day of my 12 week appointment drew nearer, my uneasiness increased. We found out yesterday that the baby stopped growing somewhere in the middle of the 9th week.

Did I really know what was going to happen or did I just make an educated guess based on previous experience? I don’t know.

But I do believe that the Lord has been gently preparing my heart for the outcome.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been reading in the Psalms, specifically Psalms 60-75. Over and over again, the psalmist cries out to God and over and over again, he comes back to a place of rejoicing in God’s greatness. In the Psalms, there is the raw expression of real human emotions and there is the steady reminder of God’s unfailing love and faithfulness.

There is sorrow – but with hope.

One morning, as I read Psalm 66 these verses jumped off the page:

For you, O God, have tested us;
you have tried us as silver is tried.
You brought us into the net;
you laid a crushing burden on our backs;
you let men ride over our heads;
we went through fire and through water;
yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance.

Psalm 66:10-12

I don’t think it is any secret that this has been a difficult year for us – not just with the miscarriages, although those seem to be the bookends on some very trying times. When I read that, I couldn’t help identify with the Psalmist.

I feel as though we are being tested and tried. We have been bearing up under the weight of crushing burdens. We have been – are going through – fire and water. When I read the last part of the verse, I felt my soul crying out, “Where is the place of abundance?”

Honestly, I don’t know. And that’s hard.

We are very much in a season of winter in our lives, and this miscarriage feels like a late March snowstorm. Spring was there, so close we could almost taste it. And then came the snow.

We have questions and not a lot of answers. I am discouraged and afraid when I think about the future…is our family complete at only 4? Will I never snuggle another newborn? Was this just a fluke, “bad luck”, as the doctor put it…or is something wrong? And if something is wrong, what is it? Why two completely normal, uncomplicated pregnancies and then two failed ones?

I want so very badly to be able to do something to fix this. I want to make it better. I want control. I don’t have it – I won’t have it. I never did.

One thing I do have – my Jesus. Healer of the brokenhearted, lover of my soul. The darkest times in my life have been the ones where He shines the brightest.

Yet another Psalm I read on Tuesday brings me great encouragement.

Oh, God, who is like you?
You who have made me see many troubles and calamities
will revive me again;
from the depths of the earth
you will bring me up again.
You will increase my greatness
and comfort me again...
My lips will shout for joy,
when I sing praises to you;
my soul also, which you have redeemed.
Psalm 71: 20-21, 23

Even in the midst of the greatest sadness, there is praise in my heart for my soul has been redeemed.

One last thing – a song, which perfectly echoes my heart right now

Worn, but not forgotten. It’s winter…but spring will come. If not here, then someday in my eternal home.

*********************

One thing people told me last time through this was that they felt badly {particularly if this is something they had never experienced} because they didn’t know what to say. So let me just tell you, friends, you do not need to have an answer for me. It is enough to just say, “I’m sorry”. It has been my experience, that sometimes, grief just needs a friend. Not words or solutions but just someone to be there to acknowledge the hurt. Any expression of support, whether it’s a text, an email, flowers, a meal, or just an, “I’m so sorry,” brings comfort. Sometimes a hug can do more than an eloquent speech ever could.