Just over three weeks ago, the anniversary of the happiest day of my life, my wedding day, became the anniversary of the saddest day of my life…the day we looked at that ultrasound screen and saw no heartbeat. The day we knew for sure that our baby was dead. As my high school youth pastor Greg would say…it’s a juxtaposition of incongruent elements.
I want to love my wedding anniversary as much as I love my husband. I want to look forward to it every year with joy and anticipation. But for now, it’s tainted.
I also notice that I’m starting to hate the weekends. I find myself counting up from that horrible weekend three weeks ago every week, starting on Thursdays. All I can think is:
Thursday: our baby is dead
Friday: emergency ultrasound…they tell me I need surgery
Saturday: clean the house to forget
Sunday: surgery
I don’t want this to turn into a miscarriage blog. I really, really don’t. But that miscarriage is the biggest part of me right now. I can pretend that I’m fine for awhile, but sometimes I’ll be enjoying myself, laughing with Joey or with friends or watching a movie, and everything rolls back over me and I feel like I’m watching myself from outside…
I’ve never been someone that struggles with feeling depressed. I’ve never understood people who do, either. But I can see myself hanging on to grief tighter and tighter each week, like I’m afraid to let it go. Afraid that it’s the last thing I have left of the baby I’ll never get to hold, never get to kiss, never get to lay down for a nap.
I know that’s not true in my head, but I can’t seem to convince my heart.
Back when I was waiting, waiting, waiting to have a baby, I found comfort in the story of Hannah, Samuel’s mother. (Her story is in 1 Samuel chapter 1 in the Old Testament.) Hannah waited and prayed for years longer than I have waited to conceive a child, and as she poured her heart out, she prayed “O LORD Almighty, if you will only look upon your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the LORD for all the days of his life…” (1 Sam 1:11)
I prayed Hannah’s prayer as I begged God for a child. And, as I was re-reading it this morning, I realized that God saw my heart, He remembered me, He gave me a son…and I gave him back to the Lord for all the days of his tiny little life. He was my Samuel.
So many women have to suffer losing a baby. Before it happened to me, I couldn’t comprehend the depth of grief and loss. But hanging on to the darkness isn’t going to bring me closer to the baby I gave back to God.
Jenna, it is a loss, and something that is ok in fact something that needs to be grieved over! It is ok for you to be sad! Praying for you and love you!!
Praying for you Jenna…
No wisdom on this end – I just have a hug for you…love you, sweetie!
Just remember that there is no “right” way to grieve. this was your baby. your child. just because you only knew him in your womb, doesn’t mean you grieve less. give yourself some grace. prayers for you and joey-
charlsa
Thanks for sharing your heart, Jenna. You share it with such grace and honesty…I am encouraged and humbled all at once. I feel so…undeserving. I wish I could somehow give you more than just a box of delicious, blue-frosted, sugar cookies…and sometimes even my prayers for you don’t seem enough. But, I know prayers are powerful beyond understanding and it’s truly the very best we can do for eachother…and I’m praying that God would bless you through all of this. I have a sure hope that God will give you a little one to care for here on earth someday. You have demonstrated faith like Hannah…
Praying still,
Sarah
P.S. Glad you enjoyed the cookies!
I like the way you describe how the grieving can sneak up on you pretty much anytime, anyplace. (and/or how it kind of alters how we experience time/space/reality) Grief…. heartache…. pain doesn’t care if everybody else is laughing right now or it’s sunny outside or it’s time to go to work. It doesn’t understand a 9 to 5 schedule or a regular routine… it’s very awkward and unsociable, really, sticking it’s nose where it doesn’t belong. If grief were a person, it would be a loser. I think. But maybe I’m wrong. Grief is kind of like that weird, awkward person who we don’t much like to talk to, but when we do, we feel somewhat blessed at having spent the time talking to them. And a little ashamed for having been snooty about it, ’cause after all, we’re not that cool. (Are we supposed to stop and be gracious to it or ignore it and focus on some “task” at hand?) Grief, you pose problems.
In my times of grief, I’ve felt…… It seems like God is either far away letting us struggle (but why, Lord?) or so close that he’s almost imperceptible (like when someone sneaks up on you) and our hearts are nearly “forced” to cry out to him…. again and again, day after day, moment after moment within a day. For me, heartache resulted in me crying out to God so much more in one day than I ever had before. Like your youth pastor said, “a juxtaposition of incongruent elements” … how is it that I am giving my my attention to God so fervently, so exceedingly more, in the midst of a time when he has allowed me to hurt so much? (Again, Lord, why? Why does it have to be this way? I guess David wrote so many psalms to you because he had a lot of pain in his life. What else makes a man pour out his heart to you the way he did? So much, so deep. I always envied his closeness to you and your seemingly special love for him. Nearness to you isn’t easy, is it?)
I don’t know…
I think God’s heart breaks for us. (The wording sounds a little girly for my taste, but I can’t think of a better way to say it.) When I think about God grieving for me when I suffer, it’s enough to make me cry. Which I already do a lot when I’m suffering…. interesting …. only I fully know the difference in the tears.
Sorry if this doesn’t make sense… I just felt compelled to share. Your words stirred my heart.
Thinking of you, Joey, and Samuel,
Mike