This is not where I want to be. And this is not where I thought I would be.
I really believed that GOD was going to redeem the last almost three years and give us this baby to hold in our arms. In my mind, HE used this last year- the year I learned to dance in the valley- to prepare my heart for the gift HE was going to give us in November. This baby. This baby whose life ended soon after it started.
I thought it was a perfect ending to a long road of suffering and loss- me holding this baby for all to behold and then saying: See? See how good GOD is. See how much HE loves us. HE gave us this baby after taking away all the others.
What a beautiful ending that would have been.
But that’s not the ending we were given. And even now, I can see that HE used this last year and the intimate journey we were on to prepare me for this ending. The one where HE gave and then quickly took away.
On Thursday, April 19, I did not know the fate of my baby, but I knew that GOD is good; that HE loves me and my husband; and that HE is working all things together for our good.
On Friday, April 20, we heard the words “There is no heartbeat” and we rode home in the back of a cab and while the rain hit the window I was looking outside of, I imagined that all the world was weeping with me over the loss of our baby and over the uncertainty of our future ever getting to be parents.
I left that appointment with more questions than answers, but I also left knowing that GOD is still good; that HE still loves me and my husband; and that HE is still working all things together for our good.
Even still HE is who HE says HE is and HE does what HE says HE will. My circumstances have changed. But HE has not.
Oh, what sweet comfort this is. When at times it feels my heart will burst from the swelling pain, I say this truth over and over. While it does not take away the pain of the loss or the sting of the state of things, it does soothe and it does still me.
And so now, with tears in my eyes and a pain in my heart, I say to you: See? See how good HE is. HE ushered me through a valley and taught me to dance in it. See how much HE loves me. HE restored a broken spirit and body so that both could once again endure the journey HE has me on. So that even in my grief I can testify to who GOD is and that my pain would not deter people from GOD, but rather would point them to HIM.
HE is not through with me yet.
"There was a choice. To make sorrow my friend or my enemy. To walk with it and let it teach me, or scorn it and become bitter." Taste of Tears, Touch of God by Ann Kiemel Anderson
April 30, 2012
April 21, 2012
These Dark Hours
I awoke early this morning and the reality of what happened just hours before greeted me with a pain in my chest and tears in my eyes. It’s not a dream. It’s nothing that can be taken back or undone.
Today is the second day of these dark hours.
Yesterday we found out that we have lost another baby. This is our sixth baby, the one we had the greatest hopes for. All the circumstances appeared to be in our favor: we gave my body a year of rest; we were treating a blood disorder I just found out I had this winter; I was feeling nauseous and so, so tired; and I had made it past the 8 week mark- the furthest my body has ever allowed me to carry a baby.
So when we went to see the midwife at 9 weeks, 2 days pregnant, there was a level of anticipation in the room that this could be a good visit. And there it was- death on the screen. again. No heartbeat. No sign of life. It appears that this baby stopped developing at 5 weeks but my body did not get the memo.
When we got home it felt so empty, so lifeless, so void of the excitement that once was there just hours before; it still feels that way. I walked through the house and thought, I want to be anywhere but here. I still feel that way, but then again, where else would I go or what else would I do?
This house has been the setting for many a dark hour, and so it will be again as we wait for this baby to pass physically from my body. Though it is painful, it can be a welcome distraction from the sorrow that surround us.
I know it's early in the process, but this feels like the end of the road for us- there is a feeling of finality that is the undercurrent that is moving us along. Maybe that is why the grief of this feels so much stronger than it has before. It feels like the hope of having a baby of our own has floated away and that just adds to the sadness of all of this.
An Invitation to Mourn
There is need to remind me that GOD is in the midst of this- I know that. Or that you are praying for us- to be honest, it’s of little comfort now. But if you want to sit in this with us- if you want to be a part of our dark hours, then please do.
There will be no funeral or memorial service, and while it might be awkward for you or for us, if you feel led to mourn with us, then come over and we will sit and mourn this together.
Today is the second day of these dark hours.
Yesterday we found out that we have lost another baby. This is our sixth baby, the one we had the greatest hopes for. All the circumstances appeared to be in our favor: we gave my body a year of rest; we were treating a blood disorder I just found out I had this winter; I was feeling nauseous and so, so tired; and I had made it past the 8 week mark- the furthest my body has ever allowed me to carry a baby.
So when we went to see the midwife at 9 weeks, 2 days pregnant, there was a level of anticipation in the room that this could be a good visit. And there it was- death on the screen. again. No heartbeat. No sign of life. It appears that this baby stopped developing at 5 weeks but my body did not get the memo.
When we got home it felt so empty, so lifeless, so void of the excitement that once was there just hours before; it still feels that way. I walked through the house and thought, I want to be anywhere but here. I still feel that way, but then again, where else would I go or what else would I do?
This house has been the setting for many a dark hour, and so it will be again as we wait for this baby to pass physically from my body. Though it is painful, it can be a welcome distraction from the sorrow that surround us.
I know it's early in the process, but this feels like the end of the road for us- there is a feeling of finality that is the undercurrent that is moving us along. Maybe that is why the grief of this feels so much stronger than it has before. It feels like the hope of having a baby of our own has floated away and that just adds to the sadness of all of this.
An Invitation to Mourn
There is need to remind me that GOD is in the midst of this- I know that. Or that you are praying for us- to be honest, it’s of little comfort now. But if you want to sit in this with us- if you want to be a part of our dark hours, then please do.
There will be no funeral or memorial service, and while it might be awkward for you or for us, if you feel led to mourn with us, then come over and we will sit and mourn this together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)