Loss. It can mean so many things. A loss in a game of sports. Lost in thought. Losing your keys.
Misplace. Deprive. Taken away.
Two weeks into 2018 my husband and I endured one of the hardest weekends. We never saw it coming. We hardly even had time to let it sink in that we were expecting our fist child when in a blink of an eye (which was actually 48 hours from hell) our trajectory for the next year of our life changed.
Grief was real, but grief was quick. We were back to work the next day and resumed life as normal. There were few triggers for me, and the hardest day occurred three weeks after the loss when I received a call confirming my next OB appointment. I had cancelled it but it never made it out of the schedule book.
Two months later we found ourselves staring at an ever darkening line on a home pregnancy test. Overjoyed would be an absolute understatement. Barely 24 hours had passed before we began sharing with those close to us that another baby was on the way.
We were told by well meaning individuals that back to back miscarriages are unlikely. We celebrated the life that was growing within.
Nervous. Anxious. Hesitation. I bonded with my baby but I could not escape the ever real possibility that something might go wrong. Something may have already gone wrong.
I felt so different with pregnancy two versus pregnancy one. I felt hopeful. This time was different. My body was recognizing this pregnancy. My levels were rising, my hormones were all over the place but just starting to regulate. Morning sickness came like a freight train and completely knocked me off my feet.
This baby is ours. This baby is wanted. This baby is loved.
The appointment day with the OB approached so slowly yet too quickly. A wait in the waiting room that felt like forever. I was impatient. I was nervous. I wanted everything to be okay but nothing anyone said could calm me. I needed to heart our baby's heartbeat. I needed to see my baby on the scan. I did not know what to expect.
We were surprised with the option for an early ultrasound. We started the appointment with this. This was exactly what this momma needed.
As soon as I saw my baby on the screen, I saw the motionless body with no heartbeat. The room was silent. The tech tried to get a clearer picture, but I knew. They knew. As they began setting up for another scan in a different room I clung to my husband and we sang "How Great Thou Art" and prayed. We were in a state of shock yet we were incredibly calm. The peace that came into the room with us was undoubtedly the Holy Spirit.
We went to another room for a different scan. Same results. We asked for pictures and they measured our baby.
We talked about what moving forward looks like. After our 48 hour loss in January, I am hesitant to endure another natural miscarriage.
It was the Friday before Mother's Day. I went into the weekend knowing that I have two babies dancing with Jesus. The first 24 hours after learning our precious Nolan Edward went to be with Jesus and his sister June Rose were by far the hardest yet. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could hardly think.
The outpouring of love and support from our friends, family and church have been unbelievably amazing.
We have received calls, texts, flowers, and meals.
As I write this my darling baby is still safely inside of me. Walking around knowing I am carrying my lifeless baby is by far one of the most challenging things I have ever had to experience.
I may never have the opportunity to hold my baby in my arms, but I have held every single cell of my baby, encompassed 100% in love for the past 13.5 weeks. For that I am eternally grateful.
There is a huge part of me that holds onto hope. There is hope that another scan will be done and life will be seen dancing across the monitor. Yet another part of me wonders how I could possibly recover from a trauma of believing for how ever many days it takes that my baby is dead and processing that, then to find out that my baby is actually alive and well. Hopes are high, yet I am at incredible peace that regardless of outcome, rejoicing will be done.
There will be a way to honor our child. While my child may not physically have life, the birth of my baby will be living bringing.
God is good and He will guide us through this valley.
We will have a child. Whatever that looks like, God hears our prayers and knows the desires of our hearts to be parents.
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