In Loving Memory

This is not the post I had planned on writing earlier this week. This is not the post sharing the joy we were experiencing over our upcoming arrival, D3. Instead, this post is a bit of our story through the grief and heartache over losing this precious one way too soon.

D3 was our little "surprise blessing", unplanned by us but planned by God. Finding out we were pregnant with a third was something of a shock, but once the initial feelings wore off, joy and excitement began to set in as we began to think, plan, and dream of what it would be like to add a new one to the mix. We told the boys who seemed to be pretty excited. Owen loved to lift up my shirt so he could look at my stomach and wave to the baby. Brennan seemed to think he could see the baby through my belly button and was disappointed when he couldn't!

Hormones started to kick in. Hunger and overwhelming tiredness were my constant companions. I never experienced morning sickness, which I thought was slightly weird, but figured it wasn't too uncommon. Both John and I had some niggling little feelings in the backs of our minds that we didn't want to talk about, so we didn't. Feelings like what if something happens? what if we miscarry? what if something happens or is horribly wrong? We didn't want to dwell on something that would likely steal away our joy, so we stuffed those feelings. We slowly started sharing our news with family and some friends. After some insurance delays, I was finally able to get in to the doctor the day before I turned 10 weeks pregnant. There were definitely nerves going in to the appointment (what if it was TWINS????). Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared us for what actually happened on February 29.

The ultrasound screen showed our baby, as clearly formed as possible for that early in the pregnancy. It's what it didn't show that rocked our world--no heartbeat. Excitement turned to unimaginable heartache in the span of seconds. We learned D3 died at 7 weeks, 4 days--February 12. Everything that happened next was a blur. We came home and tried to start picking up the pieces, knowing that our lives were changed forever by a baby that we had for too short a time, that we will not get to meet or hold this side of heaven. It rained most of that day. John wondered if it was like God crying with us. Tears flowed easily and constantly that day as we began to prepare for the next day.

Yesterday, I had a D&C to remove the baby's body and placenta. The medical staff prefer to use terms like "removing the fetal tissue" or "removing the remnants of conception" to try to depersonalize it and make it easier for us (or them). Bull. The ultrasound clearly showed a baby. They were removing our baby. It was a day I dreaded with everything in me. Even though we knew that D3 was in heaven, leaving behind an empty shell, it was still hard. It symbolized such finality. I went into the hospital with a baby in my womb and we left a few hours later with an empty womb, empty arms and a hole in our hearts.

The hardest part about it all (and what I've heard from so many others who have gone through the same experience) is that you are left with nothing tangible. Just a memory of a little one gone far too soon.

Because it was so early in our pregnancy, we have no way of knowing if the baby was a boy or a girl. We have come to a mutual decision that this little one was a girl. Brennan kept calling her "his sister" and John felt strongly that she was a girl. It seemed right to assign girlhood to this little one. We never could agree on a girl's name, so she is unnamed (although D3 is still what we call her). I guess whoever gets to heaven first will get to name her!

John and I have experienced a lot of ups and downs over the last nine years of marriage. But nothing compares to the ache of this. Prayers have been flowing as freely as the tears. We take such comfort in knowing that D3 is in heaven. Shortly after hearing the news, we remembered the book "Heaven is For Real" by Todd Burpo (about his son who went to heaven during an emergency appendectomy surgery and his experiences there). While Colton was in heaven, he met his sister, a little girl that was miscarried when he was too young to understand. That chapter has been a real comfort to us.

We have also been finding healing and comfort in music. A few songs in particular have been especially helpful. "Blessed Be Your Name" by Matt Redman:  we can say with our heads, but want to say with our hearts that "you give and take away, but my heart will CHOOSE to say blessed be your name". "Homesick" by Mercy Me:  "But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry is how long I must wait to be with you". "I Will Lift My Eyes" by Bebo Norman:  "I will lift my eyes to the maker of the mountains I can't climb. I will lift my eyes to the calmer of the oceans raging wild. I will lift my eyes to the healer of the hurt I hold inside". "Untitled" by Plankeye:  a song written specifically about one of the band member's own experience with miscarriage.

Certainly Scripture has been a life line as well. Too many passages to count have been read repeatedly. For me, my go-to passage has been Psalm 121.

This path of grief, the emotional and physical pain and discomfort, is not one either of us would have chosen. We don't yet know how to navigate this journey. We have to guard against the lies of Satan:  that there is something that I could have done differently, that God is not good because He took our baby. God is not the author of death. He never intended for death to enter this world, to steal away unborn children. Rather, God is the author of LIFE. We believe that God grieves with us in our pain, even as He holds and cares for our precious little girl. She is safe in His arms, and because of Christ's death and resurrection, death has been defeated. We will see her in heaven. And what a day that will be! Getting to see Jesus and the baby we never knew. Until then, we will get through the grief. We trust that Christ will carry us down this path, one day at a time. We will never forget this precious little one. We love you, little girl, and we will see you and hold you one day. Until then...