Sisters are amazing people. They are beautiful, wonderful beings that God places in your life as a different kind of friend--a lifelong friend that He knew you would need, time and time again. I would like to think that if my sisters weren't my sisters, that I would still know them and be fortunate enough to be their friend.
This past week, I called on my sisters for a reason I never imagined I would need to personally: the loss of a baby, our baby. Reaching the end of the first trimester, I had just started sharing with people that John, Noah and I were expecting a baby this fall... but God had other plans.
John and I went to our 12-week ultrasound last Friday afternoon and had a very different outcome than we expected going in. Mary, our ultrasound tech, pulled that beautiful image of our little peanut up on the screen, and I greeted "it" as I always do, "Hi sweetheart!" John commented that while the picture was zoomed in, "it" looked so big! Holding his hand, and squeezing it now, we both noticed the same thing at the same time: no flashing light to indicate that perfect, beautiful heartbeat.
Where was the flashing light!?!!? John inquired to Mary as to why were weren't seeing the light, and without responding, she hurriedly adjusted the screen, the resolution, tried a different angle... still no light. She calmly said, "you're 12 weeks and 1 day today, right?" "Correct," I managed, nervously. But when she dragged her tool across the screen to measure my sweet little bean, the computer showed "10w 4d"... meaning our baby had stopped growing a week and a half ago... and there was still no flashing light. Quietly: "I'm so sorry" was all Mary could muster.
I couldn't fight the tears or the screams that erupted from my body, and I couldn't catch my breath. John covered me with his body, holding me close and trying to find sense in what we just saw and heard, but couldn't believe. We held each other, both crying, until I had to come up for air. Mary respectfully left the room to give us time together, then came back to finish the scan. She regrettfully told us that the baby looked fine... she couldn't tell what went wrong. We then met with the doctor, who shared with us that we may never know why our baby didn't survive. Then we discussed options...
John and I went to my parents' house right from the doctor's office as I knew I couldn't share this news over the phone and needed to be wrapped in their arms as well. My Dad told me that he wished he could fix this, but he can't. I told him that when I was little, I thought he could fix anything. As I grew up, I realized he
could fix anything--except a broken heart. And that's what this felt like. He said, "I know honey, but you have another Father who can fix this." And he's right.
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.
~John 14:1
Tuesday morning, as I went through the motions of pre-op procedures before enduring a D&C, the nurse told me that I just joined a "sisterhood" of many women who have been through this. I understand her words were meant to be comforting, but it hurts me more to know how many other women know this pain.
That sisterhood is one I'd rather not be a part of. But I am. Through friends of friends, and co-workers, I have come to know how far-reaching that sisterhood is. But beyond that, I've been showered with love from those outside the "sisterhood," maybe even moreso. My Mom is the first person I wanted to hug after John and I left the doctor's office--she's the best Mom I could have. She cries with me, lifts me up, calls me to see how I am (and she asks in such a way that I know she really wants to know, and she waits for the answer), and she loves me deeply--not only as her daughter but as a woman. My closest girlfriends have shown me such love and support and somehow know exactly what I need when I need it. (Thank you all!)
Losing a baby--at any stage of the pregnancy--is unimaginable. The thought of conception is in itself such a miracle! Then, for a baby to make it through each stage of the pregnancy and all development that their tiny little bodies endure--all that growing!--is such a miracle! Babies are a miracle and a perfect gift from God. So to know that we had successfully conceived--this time without the help of medicine thankyouverymuch--but our tiny peanut didn't survive the 11th week, is heartbreaking. I know, in my heart of hearts, that God is at work in all of this. We serve and amazing and surprising God. I never prayed as much as when Noah was born. And in all His wonderful ways, God has pulled me closer to Him again through this tragedy. Is that His plan in this? Was the baby not perfect enough? I don't believe God makes mistakes, so was there really something wrong with my baby? Or was He sparing my health in carrying this one? If it would have been detrimental to my health in any way, maybe He was sparing John and Noah from losing me
and the baby? I could speculate all day, and honestly, that isn't fair to God. One day, when I meet my Maker face to face, and when I can hold my sweet baby who is waiting for me there, I will understand it all. One day, God will stretch out his arms to me, hold me close, and I'll understand. Today, I don't understand.
Today, I cry without warning. Today, I hold my sweet Noah a little tighter... I kiss his cheeks a little longer. Today, I pray to God to give me the strength to get through the day at work, the evening at home, and the night with a little bit of sleep and rest. Today, I rely on the strength and support of my sisters, who unfortunately, know this pain as well. God has blessed them with some beautiful and amazing kiddos, and yet they too have tiny ones waiting for them in Heaven. Today, we hold each other up.
So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice,
and no one will take away your joy.
~John 16:22
