This week, I lost my fifth baby. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces when my doctor started talking about when a D&C would be scheduled. Would Thursday work? My mind was spinning.
It all happened so fast. I felt like I was having an out of body experience — did he really just say that? D&C?!?! No, no, no. Please God, no. Not again, not this one. I was so sure this one would be mine to hold. I was so full of hope, there was so much love in my heart already. Please, come back baby. Please come back.
Deep down, I knew something was off during our ultrasound. The room was dark and his eyes were glued to the screen with a look of concern. It was too long. He didn’t immediately say, “everything looks good!” like last time. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why is he just staring?? When he told me I could meet him in the other room to discuss things, I could already feel the tears welling up. Something was wrong.
I screamed when I walked out of the hospital entrance. I must have looked crazy but honestly, I couldn’t help it. Niall and I held hands and cried on the drive home. We were hoping it would be a quick, painless appointment. Maybe we could even grab a quick breakfast date on the way home at our favorite spot? It was going to be a good day.
But now, we were both in tears, confused and broken.
I have learned in all of this that it is necessary (and inevitable) that I break down and cry whenever I need to. I have learned that my husband is the most amazing life partner and I can’t imagine walking through this season without him. I have learned that my children are precious and their lives are miraculous and fragile and I am so privileged to be their mom. I have learned it’s okay to be angry with God, to ask Him questions, to feel forgotten and unseen. I have also learned that I have to show up. That the grocery shopping still needs to be done, that diaper changes still have to happen, that life goes on. That it is still possible for me to laugh in the midst of such deep sorrow. That I am still able to find joy in a hot cup of coffee or my daughter twirling in her princess dress. That I have the most amazing friends who bring me dinners and allow me to grieve. Oh, how grateful I am. How rich my life is.
If anyone reading this has experienced this pain, this longing — my heart is with you. I am crying with you and for you. I am praying for you. And if you have not experienced this, but maybe you have a friend who has, reach out. Even if you don’t know what to say. You have no idea how much a simple text or a handwritten letter can help heal the human heart. We need each other in this life, on these hard days, when the loneliness of our heartache seems more than we can bear.
Time — sometimes we want it to stand still. Sometimes we want to go back — to a simpler time, when this knowledge of pain and sorrow didn’t exist. But every time, it is the days passing that allows my feet to feel firm again, to know I can stand without crumbling. To be truly happy for a friend or stranger who is expecting a new baby rather than bitter or jealous. To be able to fall asleep at night without a tear-stained face. It takes time. But I believe it will come. Nevertheless, my mama heart will be missing my babies who I loved and carried for only a short while, for the rest of my life. I promise my loves, not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. Until we meet again, your mama will love you forever.
From the end of the earth I will cry to You,
when my heart is overwhelmed;
Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.