Thoughts on Loss, Miscarriage, and Remembering Redemption
I cried every day for months after I miscarried.
I remember wondering if that was going to be my new reality. It wasn’t like I was sad all day, every day. I was still laughing too. Enjoying things. Able to hope.
But I was also aching. Day after day.
Sometimes I would cry about the baby we lost. Other times it was like something completely unrelated would bump into that reservoir of sorrow, and the streams would come. In the morning, or as I was falling asleep at night, my pillow case and hair would catch the tears.
“I feel old inside,” I said to Bryan, about 8 months after we had lost the baby. Weary of the sadness.
Two years ago, on Easter weekend, I realized what was happening - I was losing the baby. Though it was still early in the pregnancy, it was a crushing feeling. At that time, I committed to give myself the space to truly mourn our loss. I was determined not to pretend to be fine when I wasn’t. I didn’t want to make a scene at any given moment and demand attention, but I also wanted to be real with myself and make space for my tears.
I remember the first baby shower that I attended after the miscarriage. And the way my throat tightened up the first time I held someone else’s baby afterwards.
I remember saying to Bryan, “It’s not that I just wanted another baby. I wanted THAT baby.” It felt like I had reserves of love that were meant for THAT baby, and now I didn’t know what to do with that love. How to express it.
This morning I went out for a walk. The air was crisper than I expected considering the sunlight and bright blue sky. The exposed skin on my hands were numb within moments from the cold breeze. As I walked I listened to songs that reminded me of the truth of who God is. At one point, as I walked, I felt gratitude rise within me, “God really does love us!”
Surprisingly, right on its tail, it was like I could imagine the sound of the response of an angry mob surrounding me, “If God loves us, then WHY ________?!?”
And then, it was as though I could sense a 1,000 stories of pain. All sorts of things that never should have been.
The death.
The loss.
The childhood wound.
The abuse.
The betrayal.
The lose-lose situations.
You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? We each have our own details. As long as there is sin in this world, brokenness will persist. However, that morning I was reminded that we must make space in our theology for a Redeemer. He will have the final say. Every mess surrendered into His hands will not stay broken.
Two weeks ago, in the late afternoon on Good Friday, I was stretched out on my side on the carpet, with our 5 month old baby, Theodore, tucked in beside me. He’s at the stage where I’m his favorite. If ever someone else is holding him, he strains his neck and tries to keep his eyes on me. Smiling when I come to get him out of his crib after naps and resting on my chest as he gets tired.
That day, it suddenly dawned on me - this was the anniversary of our terrible loss. But, the sting of it had faded. When Theodore was born last October, we gave him his name because it means, “gift of God”. That is what he is. The “encore” from our Heavenly Father to our family.
The child we have not met yet waits for us in the safest of places for our introduction one day, but for now, our arms are filled with a redemptive blessing. Certainly not a replacement, yet still - somehow, it is redemption.
Do not forget, dear friends, that where there is sorrow, there can be comfort. Where there is loneliness, there can be family. Where there was destruction, there can be restoration. Step by step, with far more patience than I, He will put things back together. We must continue to do our best to keep our broken pieces in His hands.