Miscarriage: How to Comfort

It was March 2009. A whole entire dream, something to look forward to, something to love and hold and cherish and hope in... Ended abruptly in a miscarriage that shook me to my core. I deeply, deeply hurt. Each stage of grief was made even worse because my husband was recently deployed. I was an empty shell of a person trying so hard to hold on to what little life I had left in me.

Fortunately for me, I was surrounded by a loving network of friends and family. While sorrows like sea billows were rolling, I was equally overwhelmed by the tremendous support and care I received. I am forever grateful to each and every gesture of compassion and love.

While my memories of that dark stage of my life are mercifully blurred, certain things do stand out. One was this thought that, "Where is the manual of How to Comfort Those in Grief, and how come nobody has read it??" Whether such a manual exists I do not know, but it should. And it seems especially in the case of miscarriage, few really know how to truly be a comfort. They tried, but there were countless times that I just had to tell myself, "Okay, they meant well. They really meant well. They didn't mean that. That's not true. Breathe in, breathe out, say Thanks."

I feel that I am at a stage in my life now where I can write about this because I have experienced the loss, known the pain and have begun to heal. And now I want you to read this, and remember what I say because someday you may be in the shoes my loved ones were in back in 2009, and you will be feeling desperately helpless.

TO MAKE THE HURT GO AWAY

Your friend is hurting. You want to make them feel better. You feel you should say something, but you don't know what. It's ok that you have no words to say!
 It's in our nature to hate that feeling of being one hundred twenty thousand billion percent HELPLESS while someone you love is hurting so bad. But the following is so, so important:
You don't have to have anything to say. 
 In fact, if you think you might have something to say, it's probably best that you not say it. Understand that no amount of words will ever, ever, ever help the pain your friend is experiencing!
You.
Can.
NOT.
Take.
The.
Pain.
Away.
The most comforting thing anybody ever said to me during that time was, "I don't know what to say!" Literally. It made me feel like they were identifying with my pain. They weren't trying to rationalize it, explain it away, or make it better. They were feeling it, and that was like a teeny tiny dose of ibuprofen to my world of hurt.

DEFINITELY WHAT NOT TO SAY

"If it had lived, maybe it would have been a bad person and brought you a lot of hurt."
Really? Am I supposed to jump up and down for joy now since my baby is dead and is sparing me pain??

"At least you know you can get pregnant."
Way to look at the bright side. However, who said I needed to know?

"You didn't eat enough protein."
Suggesting something I could have done differently is like saying, "It's your fault. Your baby is dead because of you."  

"You're still young. You will have another baby."
It's not A baby I wanted, it was THAT baby. I loved him. A replacement doesn't make the loss go away.

"There was probably something wrong. It would have been severely deformed or retarded."
And this makes me feel better how?

"God takes care of imperfections."
You're telling my baby wasn't perfect? You think God made a mistake and had to do away with it??

"There comes a point when you just need to suck it up."
You're probably right. But you telling me that postpones that time.

Yes, all this and much, much more well-meaning people said to me or my husband in hopes of making us feel better. That experience made us hesitate to tell anyone of our pregnancy with Jimmy until I was over three months and as far out of the woods of miscarriage as I could be. If you have experienced such a loss, I'm sure you can identify with and certainly add to this list. To those of you who don't know better though.. Just don't. Don't say these things, even if you think them. It's like taking acid and pouring it over a wound.

A COUPLE THINGS THAT YOU MAY SAY

"You're a mommy!"

"You're baby is safe in the arms of Jesus."

"Just think, your baby gets to learn how to walk on streets of gold!"

"It's ok to cry."

"I loved your baby too. I couldn't wait to meet him!"

"I'm crying too."

"I don't know what to say." 

WHAT DOES COMFORT

Be there.
 Be there to listen, but be ok with silence. Be aware though that sometimes the loss is so great that it becomes tiring and she's willing to take her mind off of it. Talk about something in your life that's cute or sweet. Watch a funny chick flick and eat chocolate. Help her smile, but don't feel bad if she doesn't.

Give a Gift
To demonstrate your sympathy, sending notes, cards and simple gifts means a lot. Care packages, chocolate, inspirational books, appropriate music, flowers... be creative if you want. I received these sorts of gifts and they really touched my heart.

Remember
I'll never forget feeling bitter as that Mother's Day was rolling around. It seemed there were babies and wonderful pregnancies everywhere, but here I was with an empty womb, empty arms and an empty heart. That Sunday morning my sister gave me a beautiful heart-shaped crystal-studded pendant outlining a mother and a baby along with a touching Mother's Day card in which she said I was the best mother she knew. It was so thoughtful, so unexpected... so beautiful. I hardly took that necklace off. It was so precious to me that she remembered my baby.


Be Grateful
If you have children, or a baby, or are pregnant... Don't complain. Really. It seemed like the complaints of the mothers around me echoed relentlessly in my brain... nausea, heart burn, sore back, aches and pains, stop and go labors, sleep-less nights, fussy babies... But all I wanted was to be going through all of that for my baby. Realize how blessed you are. The pain and toils of motherhood are a blessing, because you have a beautiful child to show for it.

DON'T FORGET DAD'S GRIEF

While I referred to the mommy of a loss throughout this post, it is equally important to understand that the daddy hurts just as bad too. Miscarriage is hard for him too. It's the loss of a child in which he had invested so many hopes and dreams in. In some ways, I think it's even more difficult for dads because at least the mom had some sort of connection with the infant whereas the dad's connection is only his awareness of his child's existence. It's not uncommon for them to feel as though they missed out. Much of what I shared here can be applied to the fathers as well.

In closing, miscarriage hurts. Even early miscarriages, or multiple miscarriages. It's a pain that is hard to be understood unless experienced. Your friend knowing you care is the biggest, most meaningful thing you can possibly do. Be sensitive. Any gesture of true love and sympathy goes a long way.

Because Morning Sickness Was So Wonderful

"Oh! Girls..." I sighed, in all my randomness, dramatically clutching my heart in the middle of a conversation-over-coffee in my sister's living room with girlfriends; "I so wish I was feeling morning sickness right now!"

Raising their eyebrows at this sudden change of subject and a look of slight concern for the deranged woman in their midst, they all began to declare with pensive sarcasm how they wished they were having bladder infections, and how a really good back ache would so hit the spot, and that transition right now would feel awesome.

I admit. That sounded a little weird. Especially for someone like me to say that. I'm the one who, all my life, would have chosen any ailment of any sort for any length of time over nausea if she could. Vomiting was the ultimate form of misery and torture that one's body could be afflicted with as far as I was concerned. In fact, I still am thusly concerned, come to think of it.

Yet now here I am keenly feeling an exception to the rule. How can I put it? There's a certain nausea that... Well. Don't laugh at me... But I honest-to-goodness miss it.

Pregnancy has its stages. The positive pregnancy test which leads to the wonderful morning sickness which leads to the porcelain bowl in the bathroom that has that nifty little lever which comes in very handy for removing certain contents which we will not speak of. And then come all the fun things like hearing the heartbeat, and getting a cute little tummy, and feeling the baby move, and getting backaches, and new bras, and let us not forget to mention the pregnant and hormonal card you get to pull....

You count the weeks...
You think of names...
You have a baby.

All in the course of forty weeks, give or take.

The allotted nine months since our baby was conceived have now come and gone. I didn't get to go through all the stages like I was so eager to. I never got to hear our baby's heartbeat, or feel our baby move. I never got to wear the maternity clothes I bought, which also means I don't even have a stretch mark to show for it.... no backache, no braxton hicks, no transition... No baby.

All I got to have was that incredible love I felt from the moment that second line appeared on the test.

And morning sickness.

I miss it. I honestly miss morning sickness. I miss feeling the presence of my baby, even if it had to be by waves of nausea. I miss knowing his little heart was beating under mine even while I was groping for the package of saltines before I dared to open my eyes up in the morning. I miss the sacrifices I got to make to be his mommy.

I so wish I was feeling that morning sickness, because I really, really miss my little baby.

**Photo taken at 12 weeks,
and a few hours before I found out that our little baby was with Jesus.

Flashback

After the long, quiet ultra sound was over, the CNM came into the room and confirmed my worst fears. My baby was dead. She said I could go home and wait it out, but if the baby did not come on its own, they would have to do a D&C. My life was crumbling around me, and I was afraid to even dare to hope for anything. All I wanted or needed was Andy... But it looked like I would have to go through this valley without him.

It was then that I got to see miracles unfold in ways I never could have imagined.

The thing I was most afraid of was having to have a D&C. I know plenty of women have had that surgery, but for some reason I was terrified of it. Especially if I would have to experience it while Andy was so far away. I had heard too many horror stories. And things were not progressing on their own.

I chose to put my fears aside when God intervened and allowed my husband to come home. I would cherish his presence and wait and see what would happen. The day after he arrived the baby came. Only God could have planned it that way.

That was a month ago today.

I will never forget feeling shaky from exhaustion and choked with emotion as I held our very tiny little baby in my hand while Andy wrapped his arms around me. Sweet little eyes, tiny arms, tiny legs, even tiny little fingers. I was overwhelmed with gratefulness that not only would I not need surgery, but I actually got to see and hold my darling and very tiny baby with my husband's strong arms around me. I realized in that moment what a tremendous gift this precious life was to us, and I am forever grateful that God gave us this baby. Though sad, it was a beautiful moment.

Even though our grief was great and the tears still come, we are so grateful for the privilege of calling that precious little cherub baby ours, for being able to love and cherish him so much, and can't wait to see him again. I will always miss this child that God gave us.

Because He Lives

I have a completely different perspective of Easter this year than I ever have. When I hear songs about the cross, they come across with so much more meaning now. It seems as though the death of my baby has only emphasized the reality of what Christ's life, death, burial and resurrection was all about.

The love that caused our Savior to suffer was precious. I have always known that. But now somehow I am more keenly aware of how tremendous it was, and how specific and intimate it is to us--to each created human being. I am overwhelmed to think that not only was the Old Rugged Cross for my redemption... but it paid the price for my baby. When He was on the cross, not only were you and I on His mind; but even my baby was.

And not only that, but He bore the pain that day that I'm feeling now. He knew this heartache, He knew this sorrow, and He willingly took it to the cross that day.

I don't know... Maybe it's just because as a mother I rejoice to think that my child has the same salvation that I have experienced. It overwhelms me to think that Jesus actually loved my baby just as much and more than I did. I just can't imagine that kind of love.

Because He lives, not only is the future of my husband and I secure and sure; but so is our baby's. And because He lives, we will one day hold our little sweetheart in our arms in the place where the little lambs will lie with the lions and all things will be made new.

Happy Easter.

Today I Saw a Tulip

Our Joy in Sorrow

When tragedy comes into our lives, there is so much we can not understand. The Why's? go unanswered and sometimes it feels as though the tears will know no end. Yet even in the darkest valley, there is one thing we can be assured of...

The presence of an unfailing Father.

Even though I will never understand why we had to experience this loss and I will never find a reason in this that was worth the life of my baby, I can not doubt the love of God. From the moment the nurse sat down next to me and told me that she's sorry, but my baby died, I experienced the hand of God working like I had never known.

I could give you a million examples. But the one that stands out to me the most is how Andy got to come home. Initially his request to come home was turned down. Our situation would generally be considered a "medical condition" as opposed to a "loss in the family". Naturally we both felt it keenly as the latter... Our baby was not a medical condition! Yet what could we do to convince anyone of that? But then the leadership in his unit bent over backwards... in an amazing way. They knew it was important for him to go home. I am so grateful for the incredible amount of effort and inconvenience they went through to see one of their soldiers go home to his wife in a time of grief. I know they didn't have to do that, it was only because of the care and concern that they felt for us that they did everything in their power to make it possible. And they did indeed make it possible... Andy came home for over 5 very special days.

This is What it is to be Held

I was in my car driving down the highway mentally blocking all the pain of the last two weeks. The death of my baby is not an easy thing to recover from. Just a week before I had delivered our precious infant, my husband and I buried him the next day, a couple days later I had to say goodbye to my sweetheart, I was no longer sleeping at night, and I had gotten myself into a car accident. The mental block was necessary for sanity. I couldn't afford to live in the reality that my life was completely falling apart. I flipped on the radio to keep myself awake and tuned into a station I rarely listen to. Next thing I know, soft piano music was playing and the voice of Natalie Grant began to sing.

Two months is too little they let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling

Who told us we'd be rescued what has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive

This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held

This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive

This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held

If hope is born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our Savior

This is what it is to be held.

Is that just one set of footprints in the sand I see?

Words Can't Express

In the last two weeks, I have found words to be difficult. Upon the news that our precious baby had died, I can't count how many times people helplessly said to me, "I just don't know what to say!" From strangers... friends... family... even my husband. Truth is, there are no words. I don't know what to say. Nothing a person can say can make the pain go away. There are no words to make us feel better. There's nothing we need to hear that we don't already know.

The thing that has ministered to our hearts the most and brought a tremendous amount of comfort in our pain is the love, support and prayers from people... all over the world. Everyone from close friends to complete strangers have found ways to let us know that they are praying for us. I don't even know how to begin to thank them.

I write now to thank each of you for every prayer you ever offered on our behalf. There's so much on my heart, so much I want to say, so many emotions that I feel, and a lot of pain that has yet to heal. In the coming days and weeks, perhaps I will be able to get it from my heart on to this computer screen in front of me. But right now, all I can say is Thank You. I don't know how to say it and be able to express the amount of gratitude I feel...

Just, Thank you so much.

The Footprints Our Baby Made

How very softly
you tiptoed into our world.

Almost silently,
only a moment you stayed.

But what an imprint
your footsteps have left
upon our hearts.

(Dorothy Ferguson)

In loving memory of our precious baby whose life was a beautiful gift from God, given to us to love and cherish for but a short time. Our little angel touched our lives in a way no one ever has. We grieve, but not as those who have no hope; because there's a Father in heaven who's taking good care of our treasure... And while he romps on streets of gold, we can imagine just how much more wonderful heaven will be.

The 10 Week Baby Bump

A Peek at Our Li'l Peanut

And now it's time to show off our baby's first portrait... taken at the age of 8 weeks gestation on the 20th of February.

I was really happy that I could schedule my first prenatal appointment while Andy was still home--most likely the only appointment he would get to be in on. Because the gestational age was still so young, hearing the heart beat was not going to be an option. The sweet nurse thought it necessary though for the daddy to get to have some sort of remembrance of his baby to carry with him to Iraq, so she brought in the ultra sound machine. I'm not sure what was more fun for me... Seeing our teeny little baby for the first time and watching his heart beating, or seeing how fascinated and proud my husband was as he watched his baby on the monitor. It was really a very special occasion, I can assure you. "His baby's pictures" were one of the last things tucked safely into his ruck sack the day before he left.

In other news, for those of you who might just so happen to be wondering, the pregnancy--at 9 1/2 weeks--is going really well and I'm feeling great. It's a very thrilling thought to think that I have Andy's baby growing inside of me. I find a lot of comfort in his absence with this special little gift that God surprised us with.

Announcing...

...a new addition to our little family...
...due October 1st, 2009...