Two years ago today I lost my baby. In some ways the pain is still fresh. This was my third miscarriage and wasn’t to be my last. I spent most of the next two years crying or trying not to cry. I hadn’t been pregnant in eleven years and, thanks to health issues, I wasn’t supposed to be able to. Yet here I was.
Just as the numbness from months of crying would set in I would find out I was pregnant again and the cycle of loss, pain, and tears would continue. Over the next year I would lose two more children. What made it worse was that it was my own body doing it. I hated my body because it betrayed me and stole my babies from me.
I could rationalize it and even blame someone else. For well over a decade doctors had it wrong. Every treatment made me worse. Now I am finally on the path to healing but it is a long road. I still have years ahead of me before I will be perfectly healed. So it was those doctor’s fault….. But no, it wasn’t. They tried the best they knew, it was just the wrong things. It was me, I should have had that extra green smoothie, I should have taken that walk, I should have rested more. There is always something more that I could add to that list.
Friends tried to be supportive but being told “you can have another one”, or “you can actually get pregnant now so that is a good sign” wasn’t helping. As a matter of fact, I tried believing and telling myself those same things but they kept me from a healthy grieving process and caused me to take on guilt. Instead of mourning the losses, I tried to bandage it with thoughts of how healthy I was becoming. I removed as many traces of baby things from my life as I could. The pain built up beneath. On the day of the last miscarriage my brother called to tell me that he and his wife were expecting. As he shared his excitement with me, I was in pain losing my baby. They didn’t even know I was pregnant so as I tried to hide the physical (and emotional) pain I exaggerated the excitement that would have normally come so easily. Soon the pressure cooker of emotions and pain was near exploding. I lived like this for another year.
When I had my second miscarriage it was three months before getting pregnant with my youngest. It took me years to not feel guilty over enjoying and loving my son. I would never have had him if I hadn’t miscarried and somehow that made me feel like I betrayed the child I lost. All those protective self preserving instincts took me away from God’s healing. I started remembering how God gave me His peace about the miscarriages I had years ago but I fought back. I knew God was showing me that in order to walk in healing I had to be willing to confront the pain. I didn’t want that under any circumstances. Who would?
There I was trying my hardest to not feel pain and God is telling me to confront it. I tried to be obedient but I can’t say I did such a great job. I would give Him just small bits and He was faithful. Over time the pieces I hand over to Him have been getting larger and the healing is growing too. There are still certain triggers that bring on the numbness but instead of trying to push it down, I try to bring it to Him. I don’t know if I will ever stop hurting over what could have been but I do know that He has walked this entire path with me and has never left me.
Without pain, how could we be loving compassionate people? Without a willingness to experience suffering how can we truly be committed to each other or to God? These are the questions that keep me seeking a more complete healing. When the pain of miscarriage overwhelms me, I know I serve a God that is greater than pain and overwhelms me with His love.