So, I have thought for a while about whether or not to write on this, but this time of year has some ache in my heart. It is such a GREAT time of year, full of cheer and joy. And it is, but there is a part of my, "this time of year." that is sad. And this is my story. Four years ago, I was reveling in the joy of being pregnant for a third time. I had really started to show early, already in my maternity pants at 6 weeks! I thought, "this is what happens with the third." I had waited so anxiously for this child. I had wanted him, from the moment my second was born. I knew, I love my girls, but my family was not complete. I had room for more. And when Karis was one week old, I started planning when I could get pregnant again. The year came with lots of problems including emergency room visits and EKG's followed by major surgery on my kidney. But one and a half years after she was born we were pregnant. And I was SO happy! I went in for my eight week check up in the middle of December. And they did all the normal tests and said, "there might be some spotting, but that is normal." And the next day there was, spotting, just a little. and pretty much every day after that for a week. But it was Christmas so I waited a little. Two days after Christmas I called the doctor and explained that I had been spotting, just once a day since the checkup. She said that was not really normal, but she was not concerned. She had me come in for an ultrasound just for "peace of mind."
My husband went into that room with me and the tech put the warm jelly and wand on my belly. And there was nothing. No heartbeat. I burst into tears. And that "kind" tech said, "why are you crying, I haven't even done anything yet." And I said, "I have had two babies, I know what is supposed to be there! And it is not." She said I was over reacting and took some measurements then sent me to wait in the waiting room. I couldn't stop crying. This was not supposed to happen to me. She called the doctor and he told me it looked like a "spontaneous abortion." I don't know why they call it that, but they do and it is an awful name. I cried the whole way home. Told my sister to take the maternity shirt she had gotten me for Christmas and go. I held my girls, my 4 year old and 1 year old. And I cried. The doctor said it would happen on its own. I just had to wait.
Well, a week went by, and life went on around me. A New Year came. The spotting stopped. And it didn't happen. I held onto this weak hope that maybe God had started this little babies heart. I had a newsletter to write. My husband had to start teaching. Someone asked me to babysit. Everyone was acting like everything was "ok." I ran as fast and as far as I could crying most of the time. They scheduled a D&C. But that night it happened. In my little apartment. In pain and blood. I cried some more. It felt like life would never be the same. I blamed myself. My daughter prayed that God would take care of our baby and send a new one soon. And I cried some more.
I had a lot to deal with and blamed myself. I told myself that I already had two children, who was I to complain. I told myself that I had friends that had lost babies at 20 weeks, 30 weeks, at birth or days old. That I was 11 weeks, that was nothing compared to what they suffered. But I did suffer. I suffered and mourned for this child that I loved with all my heart.
My husband and I went away for a weekend. And God spoke loudly. Telling me that I needed to not be afraid. God did not promise that I would never have another miscarriage. He did not promise that I would have another baby. But God spoke to my heart about not living in fear.
We were blessed the following December to welcome David into the world. Then when we found out we were pregnant with our fourth, due the same time as the precious child we lost three years earlier. I became afraid again. I had nightmares of losing this child. I felt myself wrestling with God, pleading for this child's life. Fear gripped me. And one night, after a long time of "fighting" it felt, I saw this little boy waving at me. His name was Noah. He was laughing and playing in a field. He waved and said, "hi, MOM!" And I think it was a gift. I believe Noah is my son, in Heaven, in Jesus arms, and one day I will be there with him. And the nightmares stopped after that. And Verity joined our family this past July.
Life is precious. And I am so thankful for each little life God has blessed me with. And I grieve with all those mom's who have babies in Heaven. And I am so thankful for hope, that we will be together again!
I don't know why I share this, but I hope it is helpful to someone. And maybe it explains the tears that come so easily to me this time of year. And make me want to get away from all the "doing" of this season and just "be" with those I love.