Today, at 19 weeks gestation, my unborn child was found to be without a heartbeat. I am praying for understanding, praying for answers, praying to know God's plan for my family. I keep thinking of the large pack of newborn diapers we had been given, and the newborn clothes. All the boxes and bags of supplies we'd saved for this little one...I suppose I will pass them on.
I feel such a variety of feelings, numbness, pain, regret, guilt, and I know more is yet to come. I will fret about whether or not I will ever have another child. I will mourn, and I will question why... I will pray, and I will hold my other children tighter, appreciating even more, that the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Today I opened a book that came in the mail, and chapter one read, "Remember who your children are." ...And who they really belong to.
The children didn't cry, but they were sad in their own way. I could see more hurt on Peter's face than I expected, sometimes he'd crawl up and rock himself in the rocking chair, looking so quietly sad. Other times he smiled and reminded me of funny things just to see me laugh, his face glowing so brightly. He told me, "I have good news Mommy! You don't have to worry, we'll have a new baby, but It's going to take a long time." Then he drew a couple pictures of me with a baby in my tummy, with a smile on my face. One of the pictures showed a smiling unborn baby, and one showed just a ball. He gave them to me, hoping I would take heart, and have hope.
Kaylee wanted to be held a lot, and wanted to be happy and reassured that everything, especially me, would be okay. But sometimes she hid her face in my arms, and when I told her it was okay to be sad, she wanted to know why everyone wasn't crying. I felt the strength of prayers. I told her I did cry, and will cry some more, but I feel Jesus giving me comfort, and I feel God's love so strongly, it's like I'm in His arms. He is blessing me right now.
Kendon knows nothing, and wouldn't understand if he were told. But I am comforted each time I nurse him, and I don't think that's terrible to admit.
Right now the dormant baby is in my belly, waiting to be removed. I can't sleep, I can hardly eat, just waiting for what will inevitably come. I want to meet my baby with all my heart, to hold him or her in my hands. I want to have some closure. I want to know all the details of what the baby went through. I want to know if it was a boy or a girl. I want to know what God was thinking by, giving us such an unexpected and joyous gift, then taking it away before we could enjoy it. I know, I know, we can't understand the mind of God. We don't know His plan. But somehow, I still want to. Some of these questions and desires may be answered and fulfilled, some may not. I am going to have to be okay with that.
Kevin is taking it like a man, feeling the way men do. He is doing this his own way, worrying for me, and not allowing any sympathy for himself. Yet he too has lost his baby. And of that I am keenly aware.
It may seem brash and uncooth to speak of miscarriage in such detail. In our society it is not discussed much--it is awkward for our friends and family to deal with. So many women go through it, and yet we still don't know how to handle it. We want to make sense of it, and we want to help one another feel better about it, but in the end, we just have to get through it and let time do its work of healing the pain.
I don't feel so different, I don't feel anything much, but the reality still hasn't hit me. I know it will soon, and I'm bracing myself.