The Lord Gave and the Lord Hath Taken Away

In this day and age I find it most surprising how the topic of miscarriage is so taboo, in a world where everything is so openly 'on the table', and publicly displayed, from sex, to menopause, to every other aspect of motherhood being discussed and dissected, all aside from this. People tend to keep it hidden like a shameful, dirty secret, and keep it to themselves, the pain they feel with the loss, the guilt, and confusion that stems from that. And perhaps it's just one of those things that make people feel uncomfortable, after all, what do you say to someone who experiences a death before a birth?

All of my life I have heard the term "miscarriage", and knew it meant, what it entailed; nature's way of terminating a non-viable pregnancy, also called spontaneous abortion. I know it is common reality, and know many people, whether it be close friends or family who have dealt with a miscarriage, or multiple miscarriages, and I'd think to myself, "That's too bad," and tell them I was sorry, without fully understanding. But here is the thing, if it is so common, and statistics show that it is, varying slightly, but roughly 1 in 4 pregnancies end in a miscarriage, then why do people continue to suffer in silence only intensifying the feelings of shame when there is an entire support system out there of other woman with whom can they can empathize with?

Perhaps this is the very reason I feel the need to share my story...my feelings, because I know there is many other woman out there who have dealt with the same emotions attached with the term, "miscarriage," that I know will understand how I feel, so I don't feel so all alone right now. Also, the written word has always been a form of therapy for me, it is just the method in which how I prefer to express my thoughts and feelings right now, it's a coping mechanism for me.

I remember being pregnant with my son, in those early months, and I would pray out of fear, "God, if I'm ever to suffer a miscarriage, please just don't let it be this baby, I just couldn't bear it." And so I'd plea that prayer regularly for peace of mind, and in faith that it would be heard. And now upon recalling that, I think to myself, 'I should have prayed to never miscarry any baby!' Never could I have ever imagined, or been prepared that actual heart brokenness that grips you when you are told, "You're miscarrying."

Life and it's irony.

The day we celebrated my son's first birthday, a real milestone, was the day we lost what would have been our second child.

We were devastated. Are. To find out we had conceived on our own, without fertility aid intervention unlike Abel, a true surprise pregnancy, only to be told it was being taken from us, this gift, for which we were only temporarily granted.

That kind of pain you feel is raw, and all consuming. I can't help but wonder, am I crazy for feeling the way about it that I do, or do all woman struggle and battle with these same emotions? This guilt? I feel like a failure somehow, that my body failed me, or that I failed my body, of which I'm not entirely certain, a bit of both I guess, and that resolves into the guilt.

The knowledge that my baby must have ended up in a septic tank disturbs my mind to no end, the very realization keeps me awake at nights now, feeling tormented that any life should have that kind of ending. He/she was a part of me, and I feel like they deserved better than that, it was a human life just the same no matter what stage of development. It was a baby, makes no difference it's physical make-up at 7 weeks gestational. Our baby. A combination of Robin and I, and it would have had an audible, and visible heart beat at that point.

Although I'll never get to know them, to even hold them, I love my baby with a mother's natural unconditional love, with the same ferocity that I feel for my 1 year old toddler, and nothing less, in spite of the fact I only carried them for a short while of time. I'm sad and I'm broken over it, and I'll forever feel that loss of missing them, and nothing will ever change that, not even time. We feel robbed that we'll never get to share in all the milestones with this baby that we did Abel...no first smile, no first word, no first steps...

I watch Abel now and suddenly I feel saddened that he is playing alone, that he'll never get to play with what would have been his little brother or sister. People tell me not to worry, that it will happen again, and truthfully, I'm not worried that it won't, nor do I feel the need to get to hurry and replace this lost pregnancy with another, like it will somehow make all this pain go away, cancel this last child-to-be out, like it no longer matters. I never want to pretend like it never happened, because I never want this baby to be forgotten. If anything, it's memory at least deserves to be preserved in my mind, and in my heart. I have no doubts, and truly believe that at some point Abel will get his sibling, and playmate, but even then, when I'll watch them play, I'll still be sad that I'm only seeing two heads in the sand box when there should have been three.

This past winter I read a book, titled, "Heaven is for Real," a recollection of events as told by a 4 year old boy, after his brush with death on a surgeon's table. A funny little story about this book was that before Christmas I was at a Christmas market and I only had so much money to spend. I came across the book and took thought of purchasing it upon reading the summary on the back, but then seen another book I wanted to get for Abel, and therefore spent the money on him. Come January, I was walking by the bookshelf at home when this bright yellow spine jumped out at me. I curiously went to pull it out, to see what book it was, and low and behold, it was that very book I never got to buy myself. Robin and I still have no clue as to how a brand new copy of that book appeared on our shelf.

In a part of the book, the little boy, Colton, talked of meeting his sister in heaven, that in his words, had "died in Mummy's tummy," to the shock of his parents whom never disclosed to the preschooler that in the past they had suffered a miscarriage, nor ever tried to explain to him the concept of it. They didn't even know the sex of the baby, and upon questioning the boy as to what her name was, he simply stated, "You didn't give her a name," which was true.

The past few days I find myself rereading those pages of the book because it gives me hope. Hope that one day I will see my lost baby, and that they are in a far much better place, and that God is taking care of them for me. I believe, much to the argument of some, that first before physical life, there is spiritual life, a living soul, and that God is the giver all of life. I also believe that there is a purpose, and reason for everything, even if we are unable to understand, or comprehend it at times. Like I told God last night as I said my nightly prayers over my sleeping baby boy, You've given me a child, and now I've given you one.

A poem I wrote in memory of our baby blueberry who would

have been due to join our family January 21, 2013.

Oh how I love you precious one,
though you never got to be.
My mind envisions a tiny face,
that my eyes will never see.

My arms will never hold you,
or rock you fast asleep.
Robbed of chance to do so,
is the reason why I weep.

I wonder who you were to be;
A Daddy’s girl? Or Mummy’s boy?
I’m sad I’ll never get to bask,
in the revelation of that joy.

I’ll never get to feel you kick,
butterflies dancing at the start.
But yet your footprints will reside
like tattoos upon my heart.

How do I mourn your death,
when you never had a birth?
God must have thought you too special,
for the sorrows of this old earth.

Though only the size of a blueberry,
vast pain you left in your wake.
The physical pain I can stand,
it’s the emotional that leaves the ache.

Your tiny heart beats no more,
but in Heaven you have breath.
For God painted you as an Angel,
when His brush stroked upon death.

I carried you only a short while,
I must accept it as His will.
But know this, precious one,
Mummy will always love you still.

I bid thee a bittersweet farewell,
to my flower that did not bloom.
Who went to be with Jesus,
the moment you left my womb.

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."--Matthew 19:14