She sat with tears in her eyes, holding my attention and apologizing for something that happened eight years ago.
Gratitude poured forth from my soul, soothing a wound I didn’t know was there as we talked about the hard roads she and I had traversed alone—something I often call Red Sea Roads.
These are the paths that are tough, rocky and lonely. These are the roads we walk with saturating grace of each step and it carries the good and the hard and the mess and the chaos.
Often when my kids are faced with a struggle, I tell them they have some walking to do but their God is with them.
They can visualize their Creator dividing the red sea in half and the Israelites putting one faithful step in front of the other. I’ve walked many of my own red sea roads, this friendship was one of them.
Eight years ago, my friend and I exchanged awkward smiles. Newly married, she moved to Kearney and our paths crossed on hot summer days at the playgrounds, church and MOPS.
We both learned we had the exact same due date for her third child and my fourth.
But then she got the word I had lost my baby as her pregnancy continued to flourish. I reached out for tentative play dates but the calls went unanswered. Recently, we met for a news story and then bonded on common grounds of a healthier lifestyles and marriage.
“I wish we had become better friends sooner,” I said around a mouthful of chicken and avocado salad. She winced, “Me too. I think I owe you an apology. When I heard you had lost Alex, I didn’t know what to say. But now that I’ve experienced the same kind of loss, I wished I hadn’t let the awkwardness of what I felt get in the way. It was safer to stay on middle ground.”
And there it was, tears in her eyes, her hardest truth spilling over a bread bowl of tomato bisque.
It can be hard to share what’s real but feeling alone is even harder on either road.
The middle ground is where we like to be. It’s safe, the path is wide open, steady and stable—because the alternative is un-chartered territory, walking where we never expected.
But that’s the power of friendship. That’s the power of women, if we can’t find common ground, we make our own path to each other. And in this middle place of working through something, of traversing along this road—in the space between moving courageously and waiting to reach the destination, you’ll get there, even if it’s eight years later.
Miscarriage Moments: Could you be the friend with courage to say, “What might have been…”
Like becoming a widow, losing a job you love, or countless other heartaches, having a miscarriage grants you instant admission into a secret club. It is a club, of course, that no one wants to join and it’s one with a lifetime membership.I never expected to in it. (Letting His Hands Mend My Heart). I was already in the club of secondary infertility. A strange place to be when I had two kids more than seven years apart and another through fertility treatments.
I had dreams of four kids, homemade casseroles, and being barefooted all day long. We went through fertility treatments again after Tori grew out of her baby stage. When these methods didn’t work, our only option became IVF which was no option at all.
Another baby? Was it possible to hope too much? It was…until I found out about Alex one hot, July evening.
But something was different about this pregnancy. I knew it. I felt different–life felt different. The minute the stick turned positive, it felt like the clock was ticking and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. We had just learned about our oldest daughter’s autism and I was scared. Afraid of another child with disabilities, too scared to really be happy about this baby.
Finally, the impact happened, sucking the breath right out of me. Loud and forceful– it reeled my thoughts back to “Is it possible to hope too much?” And then…
“I caused this. If only I wasn’t so scared of this baby having autism. If only.”
Today, she would have been two. As my youngest entertains herself with a restlessness that only a five-year-old can do when her mama is distant, I think about where I would be in this crazy messy home, fully overrun with all things toddler and preschooler. No doubt, I would be counting down the moments to nap time as I watched my youngest two play with a tired mother bliss.
As Tori tears her fort apart, I wonder if Alex would have been chubby-cheeked and fussing at her sister. I wonder if my feet would still be bare and dishes still in the sink. And I wonder if any other mother has moments like this.
Is it still okay to have moments of grief over a miscarriage? Can you compare a four week miscarriage to one at twenty weeks? Is it okay to feel like something is missing? Is it okay to remember her birthday?
Can you compare a 4 week pregnancy to a 20 week pregnancy?
The next moment, my phone chirps and I’m tempted to tell a friend, “Today, Alex would have been two.” But I don’t, I’m not sure if she would get it–if anyone would get it. And even then, do I want to bother her with this heavy thought?
Then I remember going through a friend’s recent miscarriage, we ate pizza I bought as soon I heard the news. I told her it was okay to cry and she didn’t need to be strong. We ignored the hopeful words of the doctor, “Don’t worry, you can get pregnant again next month…” Instead, we stayed in her moment, grieving this pregnancy, this could have been.
So I question you with this:
Could you be that friend?
The one who grieves right along with me, the one who doesn’t say, “you should be thankful for the kids you have,”
“It’s God’s way of telling you, you have enough.”
Could you be that friend who brings a meal, sends a card of encouragement several months later, or sends flowers on the baby’s would have been birthday?
What if you could be the friend who understands a baby is a baby, a life no matter how many weeks. It’s a dream, a moment pulling us forward into the future as our empty wombs remind us of what once was?
Could you be the friend who understands a miscarriage is a forever loss?
Forever into the future, little moments like today’s date will remind us what might have been and maybe…just maybe you could be that friend who hugs us on days like today and says, “What might have been…”
P.S. I stumbled across this blog post, a great read if you aren’t sure how to grieve a miscarriage.
P.P.S. Would you be brave enough to share your loss?
P.P.S. LOVE that Jill Duggar shared her pregnancy WAY before 12 weeks and LOVE even more the reason why. Click here for the article: She Announced Her Pregnancy Way Before 12 Weeks.
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Joy Stolen–Take it Back.
As moms, we face trials and tribulations sometimes on a daily basis that could drive us over the edge–can I get an amen? I faced several trials this summer with learning to accept that my oldest is Autistic. Granted, she is 12 and she is still the same little girl who has my heart, but knowing God created her this way was and still is very difficult to accept.
Combine this new diagnosis with becoming a chauffeur to appointments nearly every afternoon of the week; not to mention struggles with homework, and raising two other kids, I had lost my joy in being a mother. While I struggled with accepting our new lifestyle and routine, I found out I was pregnant, only to have the joy of anticipation stolen through miscarriage.
All of this left me breathless and joyless. Have you felt this way? Has a situation or circumstance left you spinning? You wonder what God is up to while feeling a bit perturbed that He allowed it. Yet, we forget one very important thing…the enemy. The enemy prowls the earth looking to steal our joy, if he succeeds, he can take you down with him. The scriptures say he has prowls outside our doorsteps looking to kill, steal, and destroy.
As creepy as the thought is that there is something lurking outside our doors while we snuggle with our little ones, we need to remember what Romans 8:35, 37-39 says, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Because we cannot be separated from the Lord, He is walking the every day trials with us. When we feel as if we have been side-swiped through something like a miscarriage, we need to remember He is still there, carrying us, shielding us from the darts of the enemy.
I had lost my joy because I allowed the feelings of defeat to be bigger than God. I forgot that we are more than conquerors in Christ. There will be trials, heartaches and headaches, that much is a guarantee. Yet if we continue to keep our focus on Jesus and how much He loves us, we will still have our joy because it rests alone in Him.
Healing Takes T I M E
I didn’t make my goal this week. Instead of getting back into the world two days after my surgery (D and C), I was relieved and thankful that a friend scooped up my kids while I fell back asleep. Life seems to be moving on, where as I keep finding myself in bed sleeping.
As frustrated as I am that I am not doing the things I want to be doing, I need to remind myself that my body went through a birth and trauma. The only difference is there is no little one to hold to make me forget the awful moments, and everyone else seems to think that I’ve had enough time grieving.
I’m learning this process is different for everyone. Some are more connected to their belly-babes than others. Still others think because I miscarried, the pain should be gone almost instantly and that I ought to focus on the three babes I have now. I’m afraid if I move forward that everyone will forget about our baby, it will be as if he never were expected–though I know it’s not true. We all have our ways of remembering and needing to move forward.
It’s a process, it’s different for every mother. As women with the common thread of motherhood, we need to honor one another in the aspect of grieving for a miscarriage. It’s essentially a miscarried life and with that life–dreams, plans, and a future awaited. Instead, it’s gone, tucked away inside our minds with the dreams we had.
Today I leave you with my favorite song. It has spoken more to my heart in this process than anything else could have. He is helping me remember that He is for me, that He is with me. In my darkest moments, He is faithful and there, even when I’m not ready to move forward…but it’s time.
Letting His Hands Mend My Heart
My prayer this morning as I waited for the doctor, was somehow, there would be a heartbeat. I requested she try again for my sake and sadly as I knew, there was none. Even though I didn’t hear one, I was comforted as I laid my heart in God’s hands.
Fresh tears well up with each passing moment as I continue to grieve the loss of my child. I grieve the dreams that were attached so strongly to her. Each child has a purpose, no matter how long or brief they graced the earth with their presence. What took my breath away, was the realization of God’s hands in this process. Our lives are never perfect, normal, or calm though we would like them to be. If they were, what opportunity would we have to turn to God and ask Him hold our hearts in His hands. How could we be awestruck in how He works in our weaknesses? How would we know it was truly Him?
During the time of absorbing the news and trying to make sense of it all, I was comforted by so many women who have walked this painful path before me. It’s a part of life, it was nothing I did, nor was it a punishment as some like to believe. Life itself happens, it’s not in our control. We can be humble and ask God to walk with us or reject His presence. I choose to allow Him to mend my heart. I choose to see the wisdom in this process and embrace what He has in store. I know that if I give Him the pieces, He will mend it far better than I could on my own.