Oh, Baby

Posted On October 4, 2019

I wasn’t sure I wanted to write this post. It meant looking back at my scars and digging deep into a painful time of my life when my cradle was empty and my expectations regularly dashed.

It’s normal, they said, to miscarry. It happens. A stillbirth, a tragedy, a misplaced chromosome, a breech…These events have been around since time went sour and the earth’s clock began to tick towards an end someday.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” they said. “It just happens. Try again.”

Pieces of my heart lay in shards beneath my chest. We’d just celebrated Christmas. Something had been wrong. Off. I’d never experienced any of this before. Pregnant for the first time, I sat in the hospital room for more than two hours, waiting for the doctor to give me a simple answer.

Nurses laughed outside my door. They kept laughing while I kept waiting. I still recall shivering in my flimsy gown, sitting on that cold exam table. Waiting. Surely my baby was okay.

The doctor walked in with a nurse who sucked in enough air to keep her joy from spilling out. A practiced sober expression for times like these…

“I’m sorry…” He shook his head.

You know the rest. Have you been here before? The stats say one in four women.

You haven’t forgotten, have you? The memory of the baby whose heart pumped softly beneath your own. His discovery date, her due date. Me either. I look to the sky and think of the little soul whose life was but a whisper…

I’d get through this. They told me that, too. I wasn’t so sure. Some days afterward, I wasn’t even sure I could take one step in front of the other. Over emotional, overreacting, hormone filled…no, I’d get over it and get pregnant again. Cheer up. Drink barely green everyday, be healthy. I don’t think grief can be categorized so easily. No amount of “get over it” helped me get over it.

You know what did? A lady at church. I remember wearing a new dress, shop therapy. We stood singing a hymn. Grief rose and the words stuck in my throat. My husband took my hand as I couldn’t hold back another round of tears. Suddenly, two arms reached from behind me and held on. An older woman. I didn’t know her, but she’d heard of my pain. She held tight, and when the song ended, she turned me around. “I lost my baby, too. When all those around me were either pregnant or bringing home their babies, my son died. He was stillborn. I know your pain.”

A fellowship of suffering. A clear message: you aren’t alone. I stand with you. I celebrate the life that grew within you.

Oh, baby. You aren’t alone.

And while my story meant that I had to wait another four years before my cradle was filled, your story will be something different. Is different. How God restores you, restores your hopes, restructures your desires…The big if and when…

I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t regret the silence. Profound years, those. I sometimes wince when I look back at the empty-time. If only I had known. But how can we? None can foretell.

I’d had a serious chat with God, after that loss. “Lord, restore three for this one…” Do you ever pray a prayer and you don’t know why you say the words that you do? I hardly knew what I was saying.

Have you seen my three? The kiddos featured on this homepage filled my arms and fill my days with all kinds of love and crazy.

I’ve written this for you. And if I could, I’d wrap my arms around you and let you cry. I’d take your grief as my own and share with you the beauty of your little life. You are so loved.

I Corinthians 2:9 “But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”