Thursday, October 29, 2009

I want...

I don't want to hear "I'm so sorry for your loss." I don't want the "thinking of you during this difficult time." I don't want to be reminded that God works all things to good. I don't want to hear "if there is anything I can do, just let me know." Because the only thing I want, the only thing that can fix THIS can't be fixed. I don't want a hug, some flowers, a card. I want a beating heart back in my lifeless baby's body.

I want to rip my clothes from my body in a fit of rage, I want to cover my head in ash and go into the desert and water the dry ground with the river of tears flowing from my eyes. I want to put my head through a wall. I want to run until my legs give out. I want to be NUMB. I want to know why. I want to know if that sweet baby was a boy or a girl. I want to give a name to the lifeless body I saw on that ultrasound screen. I want to count how many toes and how many fingers. I want to know why a heart beat so strong just stops. Why one minute there is life and the next there is not. I want to go to Heaven right now and cradle and kiss not just this baby but the 3 others I have lost over the years.

Lord do you HEAR ME!!!!!!!!!

As I lay here in my bed, typing this out I close my eyes briefly and I see the last image up on that ultrasound screen. In fact every time I close my eyes that's what I see. It wasn't a blob, or a peanut.. It was a baby. With arms, and legs, and a little face. So still. The heart monitor flat lining across the screen. I start to weep. And bury my face in my hands, because I can not stare one moment longer at that screen. The doctor and the tech talk for a few moments while still scanning my womb. It's all jumbled, I can't process anything. The tech finally taps my leg and tells me I can go to the bathroom and get dressed, and as I shut the door I fall to the cold sterile floor and weep some more. The only other time I ever remember weeping like this is when I walked into my Grandmothers house , went into her bedroom and laid where I had last seen her alive. This must have been the way Jesus wept. The sorrow is so deep, and consuming.

I gain composure and walk out into the exam room, Dale asks me if I want a hug. The nurse asks me if I want a glass of water. Tears start flowing at a steady pace again, I shake my head and say "A hug, A glass of water?? Will it put a beating heart back in my dead baby?" I know they are just trying to comfort me, but nothing in this world can comfort my brokenness right now. Don't touch me, don't talk to me, just don't.

After a long and silent car right home, my deep sorrow turns to anger when I walk through the front door. I rip the previous ultrasound pictures down off the fridge and shove them as deep as they can go into the trash can. I can barely see through the blur of falling tears as I stumble towards my bedroom. Dale tries to follow as I push him back and shut the door screaming "Just leave me alone!" One by one I take my shoes off and throw them across the room, before falling face first onto my bed. "This is my lot Lord?" I don't want it. Take me home now Lord.

Then I am reminded that this is just the beginning of a horrible horrible nightmare. That lifeless baby is still inside of me. I start to panic thinking of having to go through all the labor pains and seeing all the blood and possibly my sweet baby's body. I've done this 3 times before. At this exact moment I am too weak, to compromised by grief. I want to die. I start thinking about what will end my life the fastest. I start thinking about how killing myself would be easier than confronting what I know will soon be coming if I choose to live. Dale is gone picking the boys up from the sitter. The house is empty and I am alone. I start to get up to make my way to the medicine cabinet and I see the sweet Mother's Day gift Shane made for me 4 years ago in preschool sitting on my dresser. I see a book laying on my night stand that Caleb and I have been reading together over the past couple weeks. I open my door and see a string of clothing left behind by my 5 year old that can't seem to put his dirty clothes in the hamper. I am reminded of the 3 beautiful miracles God has blessed me with. The ones that get to be my angels on earth. And I start to repeat "Taking my life is stupid, and selfish." "It's stupid." "It's STUPID!" God intervenes on my behalf and removes all the horrible tempting thoughts Satan is trying to flood my mind with. He shined His light in a very dark moment. I didn't ask Him to, He just did. Because I am His child. And His promises are ever-lasting.

I decide to call my friend Heather. She's miscarried before. She won't try to comfort me, she'll weep with me. Because she remembers her dark moments. She remembers that nothing in this world besides time can take away the pain. I share with her my thoughts and we just weep together. After a long time of weeping with laughter mixed in between, the thoughts of not living any more have passed but I am still broken. Dale comes in as if he knew my previous thoughts. God whispers in my ear, "he is grieving too." I hang up the phone with Heather and share with Dale what he already somehow knew. We both weep together. There is no talk of what is to come. We are just trying to get through this moment. He says we need to tell the boys. They all come in and pile around me on the bed. My body buried under the blankets, my hand covering my face. I can not form a single word. So Dale explains that the baby's heart stopped beating. Sadly my boys have been down this road before. Caleb says, "So it's dead, right Dad." Shane's eyes water up and he says "No, God can make the heart start beating again, can't He Daddy." Ian is silent. Dale explains that yes God could preform a miracle but he thinks God needed this baby to be an angel in Heaven more. Dale tells each of the boys to gently give me a kiss on the forehead and go play quietly in the living room. Shane cuddles up next to me and softly strokes my hand. Whispering that he loves me and is sorry to see me so sad. I can't breathe. I can't speak. I can't move my hand away from my eyes to look into my child's eyes. I just nod my head and Dale calls him out of the room.

I am not writing this for you all to feel sorry for me. I am writing this to validate my feelings as being REAL. As RAW as it gets. I am writing this for me. Maybe some of you have faced tragedy of some sort before and can understand my thoughts and feelings. And maybe some of you are shocked to read that for a brief moment I considered taking my own life. Maybe this is the beginning of the healing process. Maybe someday this will help someone else get through a tough time and realize that they are not loosing their mind, they are just grieving. It's OK to shake your fist in anger. It's OK to fall to the floor and weep. It's OK to be transparent with God and those around you.
Am I OK? Not in the least bit. Will I be with time, I know I will.

Do I have a journey before me, you bet I do.

Am I un-stable? No, just shaken.

Do I question God's grace and love to carry me through this? Not for a moment, I am His Child.

"God's faithfulness has never depended on the faithfulness of his children. He is faithful even when we aren't. When we lack courage, he doesn't. He has made a history out of using people in spite of people. Need an example? The feeding of the five thousand. It's the only miracle, aside from those of the final week, recorded in all four Gospels. Why did all four writers think it worth repeating? ... Perhaps they wanted to show how God doesn't give up even when his people do... When the disciples didn't pray, Jesus prayed. When the disciples didn't see God, Jesus sought God. When the disciples were weak, Jesus was strong. When the disciples had no faith, Jesus had faith. I simply think God is greater than our weakness. In fact, I think it is our weakness that reveals how great God is...."
"God is faithful even when his children are not."

Taken from "The Gentle Thunder" By: Max Lucado


  1. Am I the first to comment because I'm either big, bold, or a butt head? Uncle Jon read this blog first and when I came home from work he told me, "Honey, Jen sent you an email and I think that you should read it". He said this with the same tone as he did that Tuesday morning over eight years ago, with a gentle voice that warned me of bad news is coming.

    So, I left my message on your answering machine Saturday morning. If you didn't hear it, I dared to say that, "I was sorry", because I am sorry. Now with that said, I have to ask again, Jen, when are you going to write your life's story. Or at least the first half? I could go on but I just spent 30 min. on the phone with a dear lady who has adopted about 20 soldiers and she sends at least one care pkg. a wk. and now my train of thought and energy are gone.

    I love you, dear heart.

  2. I had to come back and read this again. I just miscarried again. Your words help me to realize that i'm not alone even though i've never felt more alone in my whole life.
    The Harrington's