So we grieve. We are sad. But this isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the beginning. Here on earth, we have to move forward and still be the best parents we can be to our living child. We hope to be blessed with another in the future, but we also trust that God’s plan is the best, and He reveals things in His time. A friend said, “kinda makes heaven seem more real, knowing that loved ones are waiting for us.” More real, but still so far away. I would add, “kinda makes the work we have left to do on earth seem more urgent.”
My grief is my own, no one else’s. It is not right or wrong, nor should anyone judge me for the way I am doing it. My loss, even if we have similar experiences, is not your loss. If you don’t have a similar experience you cannot definitively say what you would think, do, feel, etc. in my place.
On October 26, after a few days of spotting, and one terrible night of cramping, we went to the ER, where, after several hours, blood work and two ultrasounds, we were informed that I was in the middle of a miscarriage. What was supposed to be nearing the end of the first trimester became the end of many hopes, dreams, and expectations. Due to our move and insurance rules, this was the first doctor visit I had. I often wondered if everything was okay. I even dreamed about having a miscarriage, about a week before it happened. Mentally, I began preparing myself for the bad news when the spotting started. I prayed for the child to be okay, but that if the worst were to happen, that God would show us how to use the experience for His glory (bargaining). I read lots of information online and talked to people who said what I was experiencing was “normal” and I began to believe it (denial). When the doctor gave us the news, it was a confirmation of all my fears, yet I didn’t feel overwhelmed with any particular emotion. Perhaps I was in a bit of shock. I experience my anger in extreme irritability, which I take out most on my three-year-old, leaving me plagued with guilt. My depression is not felt so much in “sadness” as in physical symptoms (fatigue, lack of motivation, and a general absence of joy). I know that the miscarriage is not my fault, but if I have too much time to think, many “what ifs” go through my head. The worst part of the experience for me was when the “product” (as the doctors call it) passed the next day. I am grateful we were still in temporary housing so that I wouldn’t have to be reminded of that experience every time I went in or near the bathroom. Since I believe that life begins at conception, I also believe that my child – not “product” – had a soul, a soul unblemished, untainted, and free from even witnessing the mess of the world. Peter and I agree that a loss at this stage is far better that if we’d felt the baby move, known the gender, held them in our arms, watched them struggle with some defect, only to lose them after really knowing them and loving them on the outside. We also know, beyond any doubt, that our perfect soul is waiting for us until the final Day of Judgment when we will be reunited and share in all the joys of heaven.