August 17, 2010
Sitting on a crowded bus, elbow to elbow with strangers, I gaze out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. Tears slowly fill my eyes. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should not be here. Arriving at our destination, I take my children by the hand and carefully exit the bus. My husband follows closely behind with the strollers. Music, smiles, greetings, laughter . . . I should not be here. Glancing around, I see people looking up. Hands to forehead, shading their eyes from the sun, they point and squint to see. I look, I see too. Letters . . . there are letters in the sky. I see the small plane slowly and steadily plotting its course. This tiny plane has a message. The message is for me. T . . . R . . . U . . . S . . . T. The plane continues to release it’s smoky directive as I walk toward the gate. I smile at the woman who searches my bag and warmly greet the man who takes my ticket. Do they realize I should not be here? I have arrived. I lift my eyes to the heavens. My message is complete. T . . . R . . . U . . . S . . . T . . . J . . . E . . . S . . . U . . . S.
March 24, 2010
I knew the drill. Sign in, confirm my information, give a sample, wait. Over the course of two full-term pregnancies and two late first trimester miscarriages, I had the routine down. We were 12 weeks into this pregnancy. My tech savy husband played with his new iPad while I looked around trying to keep my mind from pondering all the possible outcomes of our visit. I need my Bible. I grab my purse and pull my Bible out to search for a verse. I need to find the verse about how God is always with us. I flip to Isaiah and scan . . . there it is Isaiah 43:2-3, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” We hear the heartbeat that week and the next and the next. We hear our baby’s heartbeat at 16 weeks. I finally agree to go public with our pregnancy. My worries begin to subside and we decide the weekly office visits are no longer necessary.
May 13, 2010
I have always thought I would be a mom of boys. Our sons, 5 and 2 at the time, were excited about being big brothers. As my husband and I sat in the waiting room, we talked about purchasing a bunk bed to prepare for this new addition to our family. The big question on my mind was what would we need to purchase for the nursery. Would we keep it as is with trucks and trains or would we need a make-over which might include some purple or maybe yellow. I remember walking back to the room. I’m sure everything is fine. I haven’t really felt any movement, but maybe I did and just didn’t realize it. The ultrasound tech asked if we wanted to know the gender . . . absolutely. Then I saw the look on her face. The searching, the concern. “I need to find a doctor.” I knew. Somewhere around 16 weeks, our baby had slipped into eternity. Why was this happening again?
The next moments are vivid, unwanted memories. A doctor holding my hands and telling me what I already knew. Waiting in a room for my doctor to be called in to talk to me. A million things going through my mind. Who needs to be called? My parents will have to keep the boys. Everyone is waiting to hear pink or blue. I need to choose names. Why? Why is this happening again? Is this really happening? This can’t be happening again. I don’t want this to be happening again.
My options are explained. We will need to deliver our baby and we will deliver tonight. I am wheeled through a series of underground passageways that lead to the hospital. My room is on the maternity floor, I am taken to the end of the hall where it will be quiet. “Can we go to Disney” I ask my husband as I lay in the bed awaiting the pains of labor. “Sure” he answers. Later, I am alone. The room is quiet, just the buzz of machinery. I need my Bible. I turn to Job. What did he do when it all fell apart? My answer came quickly in Job 1:20, “Then he fell to the ground in worship . . .” I raise my hands in worship, tears streaming down my face. “Lord, I trust you. I don’t want to be here, I don’t understand, but Lord I trust you.”
Summer 2010
In the following days, weeks, and months, I accepted, I questioned, I hoped and I wrestled . . . all the while trusting God. Is it really possible to trust through all the sorrow and doubts and questions? I think it is. As the waves of grief continue to come in and go out, God has been so faithful and so gracious to love me through it all. Whether it is a kind word of encouragement from someone who has been there, a Bible verse that brings peace in the midst of pain, or even skywriting at Disney World, God is giving me the strength and courage to trust Him.
November 2010
We have been so blessed to have the love and support of our family, friends and church family along with The Haven. We thank our family for caring for us, our friends for crying with us, and our church family for supporting us. We thank The Haven for walking beside us in acknowledgement that our baby is precious and that our grief is real. God has been so good to provide us with these wonderful people in our lives to be his hands and feet, but his grace does not stop here. God has given us the precious and unexplicable gift of peace in this difficult season. He has given us a hope that is sure, an anchor for our souls. Although we do not understand, we trust.
There is a Steven Curtis Chapman song that has been very special to me throughout this time of grieving. The song is called “Faithful” and the bridge at the end of the song says this, “Though I can not have the answer, that I’m wanting to demand, I’ll remember you are God and everything is in Your hand. In Your hands you hold the sun, the moon, the stars up in the sky. For the sake of love, You hung Your own Son on the cross to die.” This is the God we serve. He is a God who knows our sorrows and knows our pain. He wants us to trust him with all that we have and all that we are. He loves us, He has a plan for us. I’ve chosen to trust Him.
