The Miscarriage

We had been married six years at the time.
We had two beautiful daughters and hoped for more children as well.
I remember the day I found out.
Another baby was on the way.

You always keep that news to yourself for a while.
It is the secret that only you and your husband know.
Three months, the safe number, the time when you can begin to share the news.

However, I already had two children.
I was an old pro at this.
Why not tell a few people?
After all, it is wonderful news.

I was sick every morning the first three months of my pregnancy.
Then like clockwork, the morning sickness just went away.
The next few months were filled with energy, though I could no longer see my toes.

This time was different.
Perhaps it was too soon to be sick.
Perhaps after two children, I was just used to this by now.

I went about my routines carrying this precious life inside of me.
I was mentally preparing the nursery again.
I was deciding when my eighteen-month-old would be ready for a bed.
When would she move in the room with her sister?

It was January and we were settling in for the winter.
How could my mood be anything but joyful?
New life growing inside me throughout the spring and summer.
New life to be celebrated in late August or early September.

The January days were short and cold.
It was the winter of discontent.
We were inside most of the time; my sweet daughters still needed me.
I was trying to come up with creative things to do.

It was the day we celebrate the man who said, I have a dream.
I was waiting for my husband to get home, dreaming of our own expanding family.
The girls were playing in the family room, giggling with delight.

Something was not right.
The blood is the life, seemed a misnomer now.
I knew in my heart that the life inside me was ending.

I had to remain calm and wait for my husband.
I had to be pleasant and not alarm my girls.
I called the doctor and was given routine instructions.

I would be seen the next day in the office.
It may be nothing.
It is early…We will see tomorrow.

How do you wait to find out something like that?
I knew in my heart, I would never see my baby in late August or early September.
I knew.

Everything was confirmed the next day.
This baby would never be born.
This baby is someone I will meet someday and that hope sustained me.

I never had a chance to grieve.
My eighteen-month-old daughter came down with chicken pox.
It was two weeks of oatmeal baths, discomfort, and general malaise.

We read lots of books, cuddled often, and rested.
The thought of my lost baby was far back in my mind.
There was a child, right here, who needed me.

Two weeks later, as if on command, my three-year-old came down with chicken pox.
It was another two weeks of oatmeal baths, discomfort, and general malaise.
It was a challenge to keep the younger one entertained while the older one recovered.

We read lots of books, cuddled often, and rested.
The thought of my lost baby was far back in my mind.
There was another child, right here, who needed me.

It was not that the baby was forgotten, but life went on.
My strength was needed to care for those younger than me who relied on me.
I knew it would catch up with me; it was a matter of time.

The phone call came.
Our dear friends were expecting their first child.
They couldn’t wait to share the news with us.
We rejoiced with them.

When is the baby due?
I heard their answer.
It was as if I was punched.

The due date was the same as the baby I lost.
A life would be born in late August or early September, but it would not be our baby.
I was truly thrilled for them and I told them so.
They never knew about our loss; it was not the time.

Their news was a gift to me.
Finally, after the miscarriage and two little girls with chicken pox, I could cry.
I could finally cry.

It was what I needed to do all along.
Needing to cry was one thing.
Finding time to grieve was another.

And grieve we must.

A mother has lost her baby.
It doesn’t matter if you carry the baby for one day or for the full nine months.
You are a mother and that is your baby.

Baby.
Not fetus.
Not a glob of tissue.
Baby.

A baby that would have been born in late August or early September.
A baby that I already loved; that was already a part of me.
The loss of that child is something to mourn.
I had to go through a time of grief.

A miscarriage is something so many women have in common.
I know a few young mothers who are going through the process of grieving.
They are prayed for and encouraged through this time of sadness.

Miscarrying a child or burying a child is not the natural order of things.
God is the author of life; He alone numbers our days.
We must trust Him even when we don’t understand.
Especially then.

I did have three more children.
Five children on earth.
One in the arms of God.

I still get wistful in late August and early September.
I still remember.

For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from You when I was made in that secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16)

 

2 responses to “The Miscarriage”

1. Thanks for sharing Gina, I am so grateful for the peace and hope God gives as we go through times like this. I had a miscarriage and a stillborn (at 8 months). So glad we have the assurance that we will see our little ones in eternity… Have a great day…

   Reply

   • Janet,
     I, too, am so grateful for that HOPE.
     We know Him best in the suffering.
     Gina

     Reply