Blessed Is She: Narrative

As promised, the narrative I wrote a few months ago that tells the story of our journey up to this point and all emotions during and following the miscarriage:

Blessed Is She

 

Amidst celebration my heart was breaking. How could I continue to smile when I knew I was losing a piece of my heart? I pleaded with my husband on the phone to pick me up. I didn’t know how much longer I could answer banal questions about how married life is or when we would have children—I wanted to have this one. Oh, why couldn’t I have this one?

            As the rest of the guests crowded around the bride-to-be, I hid myself as I waited for my husband to arrive—the bleeding only became heavier. Francis finally arrived, and we made our way to the emergency room. I walked through the giant, automatic doors to the welcome desk—a sight that was anything but welcome.

            “What is your emergency?”

            “I’m six weeks pregnant, and I began bleeding this morning at my sister’s bridal shower.”

            I was checked in only to wait some more. The chairs were hard, the lump in my throat was making my throat so sore, but I couldn’t break just yet. Finally, I was led back to a small room, in which the doctor handed me a hospital gown. As he closed that curtain, I knew there was no hope to hold onto. I was going to lose my baby. I turned to Fran, and at the sight of him, I lost any control that remained. I collapsed into his arms and wept—my legs void of any strength. I was broken; my heart shattered. After four long hours, it was confirmed that my womb no longer contained a baby; it was as empty as the rest of me now was. I wept bitterly for the baby that I would never get to know. She was gone before I ever got to kiss her sweet face and promise that everything would be all right. It wasn’t going to be all right.

            Fran drove us home, and he held me the entire way. I, sobbing, could not bear to speak. Everything I had to say, every daydream of the tiny hand wrapped around my finger; or watching Fran look into the face of his son or daughter, seeing their eyes meet and that love swell into his face; every cuddle, every cry, every birthday had disappeared in that hospital room. Everything that I was, was gone.

            That night I felt lost. For thirteen months I had prayed, begged, and wept for that child. “God, why have you forgotten me!” For thirteen months I watched so many friends become pregnant with their blessings, but I continued to praise God through empty arms and an unbearably aching heart. I prayed that He would fill every part of me. I prayed that He would heal my womb.

And then one day, He did.

            One afternoon in November, I came home from work, feeling off, not quite myself. So, I took a pregnancy test and went to make a sandwich while I waited for the result. I had been through this so many times before, each time ending in unsurpassable heartbreak. But as I walked into that bathroom and saw two beautiful pink lines, my heart rejoiced. “Praise God! Praise You, Father!” I called my husband at work, hands shaking.

            “I’m pregnant! We’re going to have a baby!” I screamed in between sobs.

            Neither of us could believe that the day we’ve yearned for so long, was finally upon us. We were going to be parents. Everything was about to change. We were blessed. Our love was to grow.

            I praised God every day after finding out that I was expecting a sweet little one. Worship music filled our home, and I wrote letters to my sweet one, telling her all about the loving God that breathes life.

Now, that same, life-breathing God had taken her away.

            “God, I can’t do this.” In my short life, I have been through a lot. At a young age, I was abandoned by both parents. The pain of feeling unwanted by the very reasons you were brought into the world is indescribable, but I managed to live through that pain and to even forgive them. But this? “God, I can’t do this.” Compared to the confusion and emptiness I experienced as a child, this pain was far worse. This pain was bone-deep.

I felt violated, dirty, and ugly. I felt such deep sorrow, so heavy-laden with pain, but mostly I felt anger. I could not open my mouth to speak to God. I didn’t want to. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand. Everything that I had learned about Him up until this point didn’t make sense anymore. Questions circled my mind to which I had no answers. Anything I had been taught in Sunday school or Bible studies or vacation Bible schools, Bible summer camps, none of it prepared me for this.

            The only way I knew to get through the following days was to “turn it off.” I shut out my emotions. I became a robot. I woke up, went to work, went to bed and did it all over again. I prayed because I knew it was what I “should” be doing, not because I wanted to. One night I read Psalm 42:9: “I say to God, my rock: ‘Why have you forgotten me? Why do I go on mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?’” And I heard a soft whisper within my spirit, “I have not forgotten you, dear one.” How my heart wept! He had heard me. Because I had been obedient, even when I had no desire, Jesus began to draw me out. He slowly began to repair my damaged heart. He lifted me from that heap of despair and gave me the strength to stand again.

            My eyes had been opened to what Jesus can do with a life. I have also seen how bitterness crumbles a life. Each day is a new decision to make, and I chose Jesus. Day after day I received the grace I needed to move forward. I thanked God every day for Fran, because had he not been so supportive of me in those crucial days, I don't know where I would be! Even more importantly, without my faith in Jesus, I would be dead. He took the precious time to show me, in so many little ways that seem so big to my heart, that there can still be joy in this world because He is still in it. Because of this unbearably painful experience I’ve endured, I’ve shared so many tender moments with my Creator that I wouldn’t change for anything. Through my adversity He showed me just how much He truly loves me.

            This doesn’t mean that it was always easy. Many nights were spent sobbing and groaning with my Comforter, simply because I was in too much pain to speak. I went through phases, and still do. I have joyful moments, and moments filled with sadness and grief. I have happy moments, and I have moments when I’m so angry I could cry. I get frustrated, and I feel at peace. Jesus is with me every step of the way. I made a decision to really open my heart to Him, and it was the greatest thing to come of this tragedy, but far from the easiest. To open my heart meant to submit to all  that God was allowing in my life, the good and the bad. I had to accept that my baby was given a purpose that was not to be fulfilled on this earth, in my arms. I had to accept all of the pain that came crashing down, drowning me under its weight. And I had to accept that it was God who was allowing this, but I also had to remember that He is faithful, and He promises that all things work together for the good of those who love Him. What encouragement we can find in the fact that God knows our story from beginning to end, and that He has written our story as a tale of love from our first breath to our last.

            One Sunday, as the music from the piano swirled throughout the sanctuary and the pastor prepared the body and blood for Communion, I pleaded with God. “Lord, as I take this offering use it to restore my body. I feel empty and dirty, Father. Fill me with You. I am so tired of hurting. Oh, Lord, I am exhausted.” And once again that soft, sweet voice whispered, “This is the last month you will have to feel this way.”

            It’s been longer than a month since that time. Though I still carry so much of this experience with me, even the hurt at times, God was right. Something over that month changed within me. I learned that no matter who walks out of my life, He never will. He will provide whatever I need. If I don’t have it, I don’t need it. He uses an infinite amount of resources to do this. He has no limits. Lastly, I learned how important it is to be content in your season of life. He taught me that if I was not content without children, it was highly likely that having them would not change that fact.

            I walk away from this experience knowing that it will never fully heal. There will always be a place in my heart reserved solely for our first child, Hope, and all of the joy, love, and hurt that is tied to that sweet name. But there is something else that I can know for certain as I move forward. My story is unfinished. There are unnumbered days ahead of me that have yet to be lived. Each one of them is a gift from my Father. Each one of them deserves to be greeted with a full and thankful heart, and to be lived in faith, knowing that God has every intention of realizing my every hope and dream. “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord (Luke 1:45).”