Painfully-Aware-That-I'm-Not-A-Mother Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day.

I really thought I was going to be fine.  A ton of family was coming to church with us, my parents were coming to our house for lunch then out for frozen yogurt and it was my first Sunday evening off in quite a while.  I was even brave enough to not use my waterproof mascara.  I even forced a smile when one of our friends' brother (who doesn't know our story) said, "Happy Mother's Day!  Oh, never mind, you're not even a mom".  I hugged my in-laws, greeted students and ignored the lump in my throat.

Then the video started playing. 

The worship team was singing a beautiful song about being surrounded by God's blessings, and on the screens behind them there was a video of different moms from our church playing with their kids, a pregnant woman (my age) looking lovingly down onto her big belly.  Happy families.  Snuggling babies.  Laughing children.

I lost it.  I walked straight to the women's bathroom and ugly cried.  I tried telling myself that it was just another day and that I would get to be a mother someday, but it wasn't just another day and I am not a mom.  I let myself be sad, heartbroken and hurt.  I held my empty stomach and let the tears run down my cheeks.  I was empty, both physically and emotionally.  I mourned the death of my child.  Alone, in the corner bathroom stall.  After the room and my eyes had emptied, I cleaned my face up and walked back into the worship center.  Jackie, a girl from our small group was ushering and gave me a little fist pump.  You can do this. 

I hope you're right, Jackie.

JB

Today

Today was supposed to be the day that I told the rest of the church staff that I was pregnant.  Today was supposed to be a day of joy...congratulations...hugs...excitement.  Today I was supposed to be 13 weeks along in my pregnancy.

It wasn't.  I'm not.

Today is not what it was supposed to be.  Instead, today was pretty normal.  I went to work, sat in meetings, went grocery shopping, browsed Pinterest and contemplated what to wear to my friend's bridal shower this weekend.  Today, when I overheard someone talking about their newborn, I wasn't picturing my baby.  Today, my pants fit just fine and I had no intense desire for salsa.

It's been six weeks since we found out that our baby died.  Some days it is easy to forget what was supposed to be.  Some days, like today, it's hard.  Some days it seems like the miscarriage happened months and months ago.  Today, it felt like it was last week.  But instead, last week I had my follow-up doctor's appointment to make sure my body was healing.  It is.  My heart is too, just slower.

Most days aren't like today.  Most days I can talk about babies, dream of our future children and not think about what was supposed to be.  Because the truth is, it isn't.  I thought it was supposed to be, but that was just how it looked from where I stood.  I'm still too close to see the big picture, but I'm far enough away to know that what I had thought was true was only a dream. 

I'm learning, my friends, how to live in this world that was not supposed to be.  But it is a difficult lesson, and I don't particularly like the subject matter. 

JB

Spring Cleaning

What is it about spring breezes that awakens the soul?  Why do new blooms inspire such hope?  And why does it all make me want to scrub my floors?

I woke up today and the clutter in my bedroom, though it had been there for weeks (commence judgement now), it started driving me crazy. 

We had an actual spring cleaning day, 3 weeks ago.  I was pregnant, and I wanted our housemate to clean his own room well so that when he moved out and we made his room into a nursery, there wouldn't be as much work for me.  I cleaned, I scrubbed, I disinfected - it was glorious.  Our house got a breath of fresh air.  But since then, I haven't been doing much.  Well, I've been doing a lot of TV-watching, a lot of working, a lot of praying, a lot of sleeping, and a good bit of wine-drinking.

So the house has gotten a bit out of hand.

Little by little, I've been regaining that breath of fresh air, both in our home and in my heart.

As I sweep the floor, I'm letting go of some pain.

As I put away a pile of clothes, I'm reordering my thoughts about our future.

I'm finding parts of the house that never got cleaned, and I'm also finding parts of my heart that are still full of pain, of tears, of fear.  But today, I did a load of laundry.  And tomorrow, I am going to bake.  Our office is still a mess, and there's tax papers all over the coffee table, but I'll get to those.  Sometime soon, perhaps.

Avoidance

Sometimes, it's easier to deal with life if you avoid it.  This is why we love TV, talking about the weather and Pinterest.  Ok, maybe there is more than one reason to love Pinterest.

I've been doing a little avoiding myself this week.

Sometimes a little avoidance a good thing.  When people I don't know well are being overbearingly sorry for us, it's helpful to put on a fake smile and just say 'thanks'.  When I'm around students who don't have a clue as to what is actually going on in my life, I have to just focus on their life.

Sometimes, avoidance is just a poor coping mechanism.  Sometimes I just don't want to deal with what is going on.  Healing can be hard work, and hard work is something that most people like to avoid.

So sometimes I let myself avoid.  And sometimes I force myself to deal.

Slowly, God is healing my heart.  He's just awesome like that.

I need to clear something up.

Over this past week since my miscarriage began, my moment-to-moment life has begun to creep back towards something resembling normal.  Whether it's due to my aversion to being emotional in public or perhaps because I'm actually starting to heal, I've been able to go hours and hours without breaking down into tears or staring blankly out into space, lost in my own personal torment.  I can laugh, carry on conversations and do my job again.  I had one woman mention that I must be doing so well because I'm comforted by the fact that I will see my baby in heaven someday.

That's just not true.

I am very comforted by the fact that God did not allow our baby to be born into this world which can be so awful.  I am grateful that our baby, which miscarried because their body was not forming properly, did not need to suffer through the bodily pain of being disabled.  But ultimately, I am comforted by God Himself, not some distant future in which I will get to hold my tiny child.

I have only been in relationship with God for 11 years now, but over that time I've gotten to know His character a little.  I know that He is righteous, just, kind beyond measure and incredibly in love with this broken world that has turned it's back on Him.  I only know a little of heaven, and I know even less about my baby. 

But I know without doubt that God, the Creator and Sustainer of this world, the Lover and Redeemer, the Righteous Judge and Gracious Substitute, has not left me in this difficult time with only a faint, future comfort. 

Instead, He has given me His very self.  He is my comfort, He is the reason I can get up in the morning and not be completely devastated by the untimely death of my child.  My hope for my future did not rest in that tiny little human, and has therefore not been completely crushed by the loss of him.  My hope rests in my God, who redeems the broken parts of our lives and does not let His children alone in their troubles.  He sees our heartache, He hears our cries, and He responds with love, comfort, and Truth.

He is my comfort.

He is my Healer.

I am not there yet, but I'm on my way.

The Aftermath

Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you doing?"

I'm fine.  I'm terrified.  I'm grateful for God's hand.  I'm horribly sad.  I'm in physical and emotional pain.  I'm scared to death to see an infant at church this weekend.  I'm sick of people tiptoeing around me.  I'm tired.  I'm ready to go back to work.  I'm ready for a drink.  I'm determined to get in shape before I get pregnant again.  I'm not looking forward to receiving my package from Old Navy of maternity clothes I had ordered last week.  I'm hopeful.

It's so strange to be surrounded by blooming trees and flowers in the spring sunshine.  Part of me just wants to scream.  Don't they know my baby died?  How can people be walking around the streets?  The other part of me is glad to be reminded that life begins again.  Our daffodils are blooming in front of our house.  Their sunny faces look toward the sun and encourage me to do the same.  Our God is a God of new beginnings, of hope, of redeeming the painful and broken places in our lives.

I met with the doctor and she told me that I would not need further procedures.  I am so grateful for that.

My mother in law took me to my doctor's appointment.  On the way, she asked me if I believed that God never gives us more than He thinks we can handle.  I replied that I don't think God gives me anything that He can't handle.  I'm not standing on my own feet right now.  I can't.  There's no way I could have enough strength to go through this, even with our friends, family and my doctor and nurses.  He is holding me up.  It's His strength I'm running on.

I haven't yet graduated to wearing non-waterproof mascara, but today is better than yesterday.

The Worst Day

Click here to read the beginning of the story

Monday morning I woke up early.  Mike, the guy that lives with us, was headed home for a week and needed a ride to the airport.  I had a flat tire, so we took his car.  He didn't know anything that was going on as we were waiting to tell other people until after my mother in law's birthday.  On the way back, I had no clue how to work his sound system, so I started pushing buttons until music started playing.  A worship song I had never heard before came on.  The lyrics spoke of our God who sees our heartache and is our hope, of our God who feels our pain and is our justice.

I had a good talk with God on that drive.  I promised Him that I wouldn't be angry with Him no matter what the doctor said and He reminded me that He is good and would not let anything happen to us unless it was for good, ultimately.

When I got home, I called my doctor's office and talked to nurse Mary.  I firmly believe that nurse Mary was sent by God Himself.  She was kind, understanding, compassionate and did not beat around the bush.  She schedule an ultrasound for me at 11am and said "Jenna, you will either see your baby's heartbeat and know that all is well, or you will talk to me.  Either way, you're going to be ok, sweetie."  I called my mom and she was able to leave work to take me in.  Hubs had, in a turn of events, started working at a new program which started at 11am.  It was his first day, and he couldn't call off.

Just before Hubs had to leave for work, I started bleeding heavily.  In that moment, I knew.  I knew I wasn't going to see a heartbeat that day, and that I would be talking to Mary.  I cried, my husband held me.  We mourned together for a moment, then it was time to go.

My mom was arriving to take me to the ultrasound, which Mary still wanted me to go to.  We went, and waited.  Waiting rooms suck.  Uncomfortable chairs, the lingering smell of antiseptic, and a ton of women coming and going.  Bethany, my ultrasound tech, took me back.  I didn't realize at first that my mom didn't follow me.  She put the goo on my stomach, and pushed down, searching for my uterus.  The picture came up.  Gray shadows surrounding a black circle.  An empty black circle.  She measured my ovaries, looked at my kidneys, then told me she wanted to do an internal ultrasound.  I went to get my mom.  I knew there was no baby, and I just couldn't stand to hear that from some strange woman's mouth alone in a darkened room wearing some flimsy robe.

There were more pictures, "inconclusive results", and some vaguely comforting words from Bethany.  I talked to Mary on the phone and she scheduled blood work.  Bethany told me they couldn't rule out an ectopic pregnancy, which means the baby is growing, but has attached somewhere outside of the uterus. 

I cried.  Our baby was dead.  There was no life in my belly, no cute little nose growing, no eyes taking shape.  I would not need to decorate a nursery, or buy maternity clothes, or make a blanket.

The rest of the day was about as awful as you'd expect.  I had to call my husband, get blood taken by a girl who had no clue what was going on and looked at me like I had some strange disease as I cried when she took my blood, tell my dad, email my pastor.  Mom took me home, made me popcorn, and we watched Mary Poppins, my go-to bad day movie.  We made dinner, and Hubs came home.  We talked, ate, and watched TV for a while so we wouldn't have to think about it anymore.

Somehow, we slept.  That day came to an end.  Time moved on.  The sun rose the next day.  The worst day of my life came to an end.

The Day Before

Pregnant.

I was 7 weeks along.

I had a baby, growing in me.  I hardly believed it when I got the positive test.  It was only our second month trying.  Even though I know this happens all the time, I was still in shock.  How could it be this easy?  We started planning, dreaming, picking out names, researching crib safety and finding out what exactly would be happening in my body in the coming months.  I was fatigued, my chest hurt and I was breaking out like I was 13 again.  It was difficult not telling everyone, but we wanted to wait to tell Hubs' mom on her birthday.

Then on Thursday, I lost my symptoms.  They didn't come back on Friday.  I was freaked, imagining the worst.  But my mom, my husband, and all the websites were telling me that this was normal and to just be thankful.  Then, Friday night, I got sick.  I was never so thankful to puke in my life.  Morning sickness, a sure sign of a healthy pregnancy!  I had a stomachache all day Saturday and Sunday, which I assumed to be a continuation of the morning sickness even though the pain was fairly sharp.

Sunday night, I had a little spotting.  It was pink.  I knew that was not good.  Still, all of these symptoms could have a simple explanation.  It could have been morning sickness, gas pains or just a little spotting that didn't mean anything.  I talked to my mom, I talked to my husband, I talked with Jesus.  When the only prayer I could pray was that our baby would be ok, Hubs was able to pray for strength to follow God's will, whatever that might be. 

In that moment, I was so proud of my husband, and so glad that he was the one I was going through this with.  I was so glad that God was holding us both, because in that moment, we had no legs to stand on.  We were so scared.  We knew that He had a plan, that He would be with us through whatever was to come.  He created this life.  He had our baby in His hands from the beginning, before we even knew that life existed. 

So we went to sleep, exhausted, not knowing what the next day would bring.

A Song For Today

I lift my eyes up, unto the mountains
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from You, maker of heaven
Creator of the earth

Oh how I need You, Lord
You are my only hope
You are my only prayer

So I will wait for You
To come and rescue me
To come and give me life

'I Lift My Eyes Up' by Kutless