On May 21 I drove to the store to buy a pregnancy test, butterflies in my tummy and a hopeful heart. I stood in line and smiled at the clerk. Was this it? Our last babe. A babe we have thought about and talked about for so long. I drove home, took the test and handed it to Chris….leaving the room as minutes felt like days. A few minutes later I peeked around the corner to gage his reaction on the porch, a huge smile- pregnant.
Tear of joy and gratitude for this sweet little life. We waited two weeks and went in for an early 6 week sono to see how everything looked. A precious little heartbeat and tests that all seemed to point in a happy direction.
Over the next three weeks we told a few close friends, began to talk names and dreams and plans of this pregnancy. A fourth, last babe seemed like the perfect number. The perfect puzzle piece to fit into our family. Each passing moment being cherished deeply. My tummy grew so quickly and with that so did my hopes.
Yesterday I went in for my 9 week sono and our precious little baby’s heart was beating away, 162 beats. The little body looked so sweet and again, a little piece of me let go of that fear…let me heart grow a little closer.
I sat in the middle waiting room until I was called in to meet with my doctor. God has given me such a gift in her. She has been through every step of all these pregnancies with us, has cried through heartaches and really stood by us through advice and the journey of a growing family.
She came in with a worried face and instantly my stomach began to drop. She told me that there are tiny little sacs of fluid around our baby’s lungs that could mean a large number of things. She said that often times this results in losing the baby and that next week I should come in for a sonogram at ten weeks to see how the baby looks. She was precious with encouragement saying that sometimes they are wrong, but it would be a good idea to prepare my heart and bring Chris with me when I came next week.
I could barely hold the tears back getting to my car and just sat in my car and stared out the glass. This feeling again. The world spinning yet standing still. The same question over and over, why? My heart fell into a thousand pieces. I started to drive through a clenched jaw and tear filled eyes.
Why does it hurt just as bad as the first time?
I didn’t want to talk about this at all yesterday, I didn’t feel like even facing my feelings but today I woke up thinking about all the emails over the past three years. Almost three years exactly since Addison and all the emails that have come from hurting mamas. All the pain and all the stories. All the tears and all the lost babies.
Then I got an email this morning from someone who has had three losses this year. She said she felt like she didn’t have a voice about her pain, her experience….. and reading my writing through my loss gave her a voice, a voice to the hurt.
A voice to her lost dreams.
A voice to her broken heart.
It gave me a new peace. If part of my purpose is to be vulnerable in my pain, then I will gladly accept it. It’s easy to see big families and forget their journey in getting there. It’s easy to see all the pregnancies and happy and healthy babies and forget the heartaches in between. Sometimes we might need a voice to fill in those gaps. To provide hope for the sadness when the question of why seems like the only thing lingering in our minds.
In a way I had gotten to a point where I had checked that loss and pain off the list. Something that I had been through, learned from, grown in and it was the past. Now I see it could be something that I have to face again.
I have no idea what to expect on Tuesday morning. A loss, a journey, a miracle. Whichever the answer is I know there is purpose. We serve a big God that works in ways I can’t understand but in ways I trust.
Apple never cries in the night and last night right as I was climbing into bed I heard her. I slowly creaked open her door & she was standing in her crib, both arms stretched out towards me. I pulled her out, pulled her close to me as her head slumped onto my shoulder. I carried her precious little body down our hallway and I laid her next to me in my bed. She nestled her little face into my neck and clenched tight to me. Apple is my hope baby, my rainbow baby. I felt a whisper of God saying ” I remember”. My word for this year isn’t hope…it’s brave.
So Brave is what I will be.