healing after miscarriage
Many of you know that October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month. Research indicates that a minimum of 1 out of 5 pregnancies end in loss. Beloved, that means that almost all of us will be affected by this searing loss at some point, whether we suffer or comfort or both.
Have you been there? I have. I have held dear friends while tears slipped down their cheeks. I've listened to their heartbreak. I've felt my own.
Several years ago in late August, I found out I was pregnant with our 8th child. I was never one to hold my news back and usually announced to family and friends that we were expecting almost as early as we knew about it. This time, after I told WonderHubs, we decided to keep it quiet, a special secret between the two of us. We went on vacation with my family, gave each other sweet knowing smiles, winked at each other, whispered. We watched our kids play on the beach and dreamed of a new little one to play with them. Towards the end of vacation I experienced some spotting and called my midwife. Nothing to worry about, just rest and stay hydrated.
We left the beach and headed to my in-laws home, where the kids spent more time soaking up grandparent love and playing in the pool. And then one night the spotting turned into cramping and bleeding. I was panicked. From the first time I'd ever seen that positive pregnancy test, I had been terrified of losing one of my kids. We finished putting our kids to bed and then blurted out everything that was happening to my sweet mother-in-law, who hugged us, spoke so much love over us and sent us to the local ER. After a couple hours, our pregnancy had been confirmed. There was still a heartbeat, but I was still bleeding. All they could say was that there was no way to tell what would happen. But I knew what was happening.
We drove home (a two day trip) a couple days later. I was still bleeding, but just wanted to be home where I could see my own midwife, be in my own bed. On the way home the song, "What Do I Know of Holy," by Addison Road came on.
“What do I know of holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of holy?”
Those words. Wounds that could heal my shame. I hadn't done anything to cause the miscarriage, but shame. I felt so much shame. I was so tired and in so much pain and I felt so ashamed. But God. God had given life its very name. He was in control and I found comfort in that even though I didn't understand it.
We got home and several days later the miscarriage was complete. I birthed the tiniest little person, fingers and toes all present and formed, but no bigger than a nickel. I called WonderHubs. He was wonderful. He sat with me while I cried and when I called my midwife, who was also wonderful. We named our sweet, oh so tiny baby Judah. We called our parents. And then we had to tell our kids. I didn't think I could hold it together enough to not tell them. As it was they already knew something was up.
We all cried. We each released a balloon for him in a local park. We had all written a letter or drawn a picture and attached it to our balloon. It was sweet and sad, but what we needed.
For a long time I felt like the only way to stay connected to Judah was to feel that deep pain. For weeks, maybe months, my eyes were puffy because I cried so much. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to stay connected, somehow, to my baby. But slowly, God began to heal my broken heart, mending and molding and creating something new. Today, 4 years later, I still miss my little one. I wonder what he'd be like. But now, I stay connected to him by looking forward, knowing that one day I will be reunited with my little one, knowing that he is perfect and with Jesus, knowing that he was used to shape me and to shape our family.
Tomorrow I am going to share a book with you that someone gave me recently. If you have walked this road or you know someone who has walked this road, you will want this book. I might even have one or two to give away!
