what miscarriage has taught me.

 

Isn’t that a beautiful photo?  Well to be honest, I think all old fashioned photographs look beautiful:)  That’s my late Grandma Rachel.  She had eight miscarriages before she adopted my dad and my aunt.  She was a woman of grace and style and sweetness.  I often think of her as I go through my own miscarriage journey.  To be completely honest, a little over a year ago, I never would have thought I’d be here, in this position, with this heartache.

 

It started a little over a week ago — the same way it always does — and I knew.  I just knew.  I wasn’t in shock, I didn’t break down in tears (immediately anyway), I didn’t rush to call my midwife.  I just let out a sigh.  I said a little prayer.  I called my husband at work and told him, we’re losing it again.  Of course — the tears came then, because saying it out loud always hurts.

 

I’ve had four miscarriages in a time span of 13 months and each one continues to teach me something different.  I’m not writing this post from a place of ‘please feel sorry for me’ or anything like that; honestly, sometimes writing about my loss and processing the change that has taken place in me because of it helps me realize that somewhere deep within my broken heart, there is healing happening too.  It is not the kind of healing that our world sees as good or progressive.  It is one that has brought me to my knees and taught me about brokenness, about a hope beyond my sorrow, and opened my eyes — especially in the moment when the loss first manifests itself — to what really matters in this life.

 

My ways are not His ways.  I have learned that my plans don’t always pan out.  I have learned to take each day as it comes rather than planning too much into the future.

 

I’m not in control.  In some ways, this can be freeing, but it can be really frustrating too.  I’m still navigating this one, and trying to find a healthy balance between taking action and trusting in the process.

 

I’m not very patient.  I wanted a baby — like, yesterday.  Sometimes it kills me to see how big my little boy is getting without wondering about the babies that could have been looking up to him had I not miscarried.  It’s so hard to trust in God’s timing.  But I’m trying.

 

I’ve learned to be grateful.  Again, this is a mindset I have to work on every single day.  I have so, so much.  I have two healthy children.  I have a husband who I adore.  I realize that some women have travelled this road with no children to come home to after a disappointing appointment; no children to kiss or hold as they recover from a loss.  I think of my Grandma Rachel.

 

Everyone is fighting a battle.  God has placed some very special women in my life who have helped me through those really tough days.  Women who have dealt with hardships I can’t even imagine and come out the other side stronger, willing to share their story, crying with me and wanting to give comfort.  Pregnancy loss has made me far more sensitive, less judgmental, and more empathetic.

 

Life is precious.  I know I know, it sounds cliché:)  But it’s more true to me now than ever before.  Life is a beautiful, fragile, precious thing.  I now look at my children as walking miracles — how crazy that my body was able to create a HUMAN BEING?!?  (ok, with some help from God;)  We take pregnancy for granted when everything goes right.  I can honestly say I don’t think I’ll ever take it for granted again.

 

I could go on and on.  But I can hear Eamon, awake from his nap, and Méabh is currently at my ankles wanting some attention:)  That’s another thing I’ve learned … life goes on.