Shocked. Terrified. Overjoyed. These are just a few of the seemingly endless emotions my husband and I experienced when we learned we were expecting. We were having a baby!?(!!!)
A mere five weeks along, we began the planning, the researching, the dreaming, and the pile of expectant parent must-reads that sat a foot high on my nightstand. It was a time of excitement for both the present adventure and the journey that stood before us.
At about ten weeks we went in for my first appointment. Nothing looked particularly wrong with my ultrasound – I was measuring earlier than we had anticipated (which didn’t seem to cause the midwife too much concern). However, an uneasiness began to move inside of me and right then I knew, inexplicably, something was in fact wrong. The midwife scheduled us for a return visit one week later, aiming to see major signs of growth. But we were left with a cautious hope, returning to our vehicle quietly with tear-filled eyes and fear-filled hearts. In that moment, any fear I had previously experienced in life seemed absolutely minuscule.
There are no words to explain the way I felt the days following that appointment, other than I simply no longer felt pregnant. While the pregnancy symptoms I had been experiencing were relatively mild anyway (outside of weeping over almost any and every thing), it all came to an abrupt halt that seemed flawlessly discernible: My body was preparing me to grieve. Several friends who had experienced periods of denial during pregnancy reassured me that these feelings were normal and no sign to cause concern. But in my heart, I somehow knew their comforting words did not apply to me. That wasn’t going to be our story.
Opening up to only a few dearest of friends, I admitted that I hadn’t any idea of what God was wanting from me in that time. Worry would accomplish nothing of value, I knew this, but if not worry, then what? Pray. But how to pray? What to pray for? I did not doubt God’s presence or power. I felt both. Yet my desire to do something felt painfully unfulfilled, so I persevered in the few things I could – eating well, staying hydrated,
getting attempting lots of rest, and staying connected to Him. We had given the nickname “Blue” a few weeks before – when baby had been only the size of a blueberry – and it just stuck. Stephen and I prayed over our precious little Blue every day that week, even more so than we had before.
God was so gracious with time, as a 7-day stretch that I anticipated would feel like eternity somehow flew swiftly right before my eyes. The day of the follow-up appointment finally arrived and the Lord in His might calmed the sea raging within my heart. But barely an hour before my appointment, I experienced the first physical confirmation my heart had been dreading, but almost expecting. Until that moment I must have been loosely grasping a handful of hope. We entered the appointment already knowing the outcome: we would not meet our precious baby this side of Heaven.
The tech remained silent through the duration of the ultrasound, as did Stephen and I – the silence spoke just what it needed. We took a long weekend to be together, to grieve, to make happy memories.
It has been six months and I feel it ever so deeply.
The emptiness of my arms.
That throbbing void in my heart.
The moments I am overwhelmed by it all – sometimes days at a time.
But amidst the struggles, I’ve experienced something alongside the pain: a peace that transcends understanding. My prayer is that this broken heart of mine will continue to soften and expand to love more deeply and freely; that when I see others with their sweet Littles, my joy for them is not suppressed, but is greater still because of the journey my own heart has traveled.
We each wear grief so differently. It is journey with no predetermined script or duration. But today if you find yourself with a broken heart from this very broken world, please know that you are never – not even for a moment – alone. I have been utterly amazed by the abundant support we have received; much coming from family and friends who’ve, priorly unbeknownst to me, walked these very steps. On the one hand, bottling up your aching heart and guarding it out of fear of vulnerability can seem like the safe thing to do. But sharing my heart has been one of the biggest healing components for me these last months, healing I know I could not have achieved had I tried to face this on my own. Hearing how God has brought others through their dark times has filled me with a hope that does not rest solely on a hope for another child, but for a future where He is glorified in all things.