But for me, as Mama of these amazing creatures, in these moments where they are truly immersed in loving one another, time stands still. I breathe deeply and take it all in, praying I remember every giggle, every piggy back ride, every push on the swings and every golden smile.

Today as I glanced at the calendar towards the week ahead, I saw “28″ written on tomorrow’s date.  28 weeks.  If I hadn’t lost the baby, I’d be 28 weeks along, coming into the home stretch, welcoming that third trimester with excitement.  I’d be in high prep-mode: writing a birth plan, getting in contact with my doula, washing those itty-bitty newborn cloth diapers I bought when I first found out I was pregnant, taking lots of baths, devouring books on natural birth/birthing choices (Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, Ina May Gaskin; The Thinking Woman’s Guide to Childbirth, Henci Goer; Pushed: the Painful Truth about Childbirth and Modern Maternity Care, Jennifer Block, just to name a few!), and prepping myself emotionally, pyschologically and spiritually to give my child the most gentle and meaningful birth I possibly could.  It’s so hard to believe that so much time has passed when I still feel like it was yesterday when we found out there was something wrong.  I do know that one reason why it’s still so painful is because that baby was supposed to be our last — number five — the last little one to complete our family and now the little void can no longer be filled by that child.

Some of us have been able to move on more than others — my oldest daughter and son don’t talk about it much anymore, but when my 3 year old daughter plays with her dolls, the Mama always loses a baby.  My husband sees the pain in my eyes when someone else we know shares their  news of a pregnancy (Yes, it’s exciting for you! But sad for all of those who have lost babies!  I wish I had been more aware of this when announcing my own previous pregnancies.)  – he sees the pain when we’re at the grocery store and there’s a mama rubbing her swollen belly.  I know our news didn’t effect a lot of people, mainly our families.  There were a lot of people we hoped would be there for us that simply weren’t, for reasons we may never know — it’s past now and the last thing I want to hear now is “Sorry I didn’t let you know then…” or ”I didn’t know what to say then…” – but there were also a lot of people who did carry us through.  God blessed us in the smiles of strangers, whose best wishes to us gave the most strength.

I think as I move forward in my emotional recovery, one of the best things I can remember is that the Lord gives and the Lord also takes away…blessed be the name of the Lord.  I do keep thinking of that a lot and it has helped tremendously.  The Lord deserves as much praise now in this time as He did when I first realized I was pregnant…the loss of my child doesn’t diminish the fact that He is good.  He is as much in the sadness when pregnancy ends as He is in the joy when it begins and I truly do believe that.

I don’t know what’s in store for us in the future.  Another baby?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  It’s hard to even think about that because in my mind I still should be pregnant, y’know?  I would love to say I know that God will again bless us – with that fifth baby — but I don’t know.  I’m trying to be okay with that, but mostly I just want to fully heal…to get past that little ache in my heart and the desire to punch the face of every pregnant woman I see.

…obviously I’m doing better if I can crack a joke like that! :o)

Also, I’m going to try to promise that this is my last post on the subject…at least for now.

My hope is that I can start writing regularly again, and soon — gotta get these wheels greased back up!

Thankfully, the doctor that the midwives work with, Dr. Whitaker, is amazing and I absolutely felt comfortable with him.  I had a consult with him yesterday morning and then he scheduled me for surgery in the afternoon.  Seriously, the guy was so kind and really put both Brian and I at ease about the whole thing.  He was very encouraging and took great care of me.  I really have to say the level of care I have gotten through this whole ordeal has just been wonderful – from the nurses and midwives at the BC, to the nurses and doctors at Candler.

Coming home from the hospital, still a little groggy from the anesthetic and shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I felt different already.  Still sad, still hormonal, but I could tell things were already changing in my body.  It was hard to grieve and move past all of this when I was still in it – my brother in law and I talked about that a few days ago.  I couldn’t get past it emotionally because I was still in the process of actually miscarrying.  My doctor reiterated that yesterday — that I absolutely could not move on until I was finished — until I knew I was at The End.

Now I know I’m at The End.  I am still heartbroken, and always will be — but I know I will heal, and am thankful that it’s nearly over.  Being physically and emotionally fragile at the same time is so hard — it was for me, for my husband and for my children and we can now move on together as a family.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again — we are all so grateful to all of you who have prayed for us, or called, or sent cards or texts or emails.  I’ve been sad and hurt by people that I felt should have been along this journey with us, supporting us, but have not done so, but I’ve also been uplifted and comforted by people I never realized would care so much.  Losing this baby has been the worst experience of my life, but it has also brought me into contact with some pretty amazing people and I am thankful for that.

… and I still am.  I mean, I’m not crying all the time, but I am just sad and I am grieving and I need space and time to heal.  Since I had thought the worst was over, I felt like I had begun to heal, that things were going to be okay, and when I found out that I wasn’t through with all of this yet, I realized I felt like I was taking 5 steps back in the grieving/healing process and that was not okay with me.  Talking with Dr. Marsh yesterday was very helpful and I am so grateful that she was available to speak with me when I needed it the most… someone to just tell me that what I’m feeling is normal.

Also incredibly grateful for those who have continued to pray for us; for my Mama being here to take care of us; for the cards, emails and texts people have sent; for the generosity and kindness of my friends & family who have gone through this with me;  and for the amazing medical care I have received.  Not so grateful for the Vicodin, which I now realize is not the drug of choice for me as it has been giving me migraines, but certainly thankful for all of the ice cream I have consumed lately.

Other than being emotionally worn-out and the occasional crazy physical process of all of this, I’m doing as well as can be expected.  Sad, but happy to be surrounded by my sweet children who are more than happy to give cuddles and love and watch movies and read with me.  Hurt, but know someday I won’t hurt as much.

Mama is here until Tuesday night and so my hope is that my body continues to do what needs to be done and that by the time she leaves I will be on my way to a full recovery… physically and emotionally.  Praying that’s the case.

(I know – get a new calendar, right?)

Finding healing after a miscarriage is hard.  Although I know that nothing I did contributed to it, I think playing the “blame game” is probably a common occurance for women who have lost a child.  I was told the reason for my type of miscarriage is usually attributed to the baby having something like Trisomy 16 or 22.   I actually think knowing that helps a little bit, in some strange way.

I am definitely not over this, but having a strong support system has helped in so many ways.  My husband is a ROCK.  There is no other word to describe how amazing he has been these past few weeks.  He’s grieving, too – but he is solid and strong and taken care of everything for us.  My mom and my sister are only a phone call away (which is too far!) and friends have been checking in on me.  I find myself sharing my experience with strangers and they have brought me so much comfort.  Knowing I am not alone is sad – for those who have also suffered – but it brings me relief.  I know many have been praying for us, and it’s obvious that has also had a powerful effect (other wise I would be in my bed, sucking my thumb and existing solely on Cinnamon Toast Crunch and chocolate-filled croissants).

So yes, I’m still sad, and especially when I see a woman resting her hand on her sweet belly, or my eyes stray to the tiny newborn cloth diapers I had already purchased (I put them away today, finally), but then I look at my four happy, healthy children, who fill my heart with so much love and light and I know that I am healing.

My mother has been my biggest supporter since the moment she first knew of my existence.   She could have had a wonderful career in the medical field and yet she chose to stay home to raise us and school us and show us what sacrifice and love was all about.   She guided us as we learned, explored, created and enjoyed our childhoods.

She is super-intelligent, creative, funny, beautiful, with the greenest thumb you’ll ever find and on top of being the world’s-best-mother, she also gets to take home the trophy for world’s-best-grandmother to her 16 (!) grandchildren.

Happy, happy birthday, my sweet Mama!

I was pregnant.

And then suddenly, somehow … I wasn’t.

I found out about my pregnancy right away — the beginning of April — and made my first appointment to see my midwife on May 10th, when I was 9 weeks.  We had told the kids and they were thrilled — we all were — and we all went to the appointment together.  I had an ultrasound right away that morning and it was very obvious there was something wrong.  My husband took our kids into the waiting room, while I sat in what could only really be described as shock.  My mind was reeling.  A very sweet patient that was also there waiting took pity on my husband and watched our kids for us so he could come back into the room with me and speak with the nurse.  She tenderly explained what was happening and brought my midwife in who cried a little bit with me, then told me to go home and wait for my body to accept the inevitable and let things happen naturally.

So that’s what I did.  I spent the better part of the day curled up in a ball on our bathroom floor, sobbing on the phone to my mother.   While I had definitely had my problems with fertility issues (which this wasn’t one, but at that point I didn’t know what to think), after having two very healthy, successful pregnancies, I suppose I felt somewhat immune to any problems.   My husband and I spent the rest of that week trying to make sense of it all, praying and trying to keep things normal for our kids.  By Thursday night I had started spotting.  It was very irregular and I wasn’t sure what to think.  I decided to keep waiting things out and kept my appointment for  a follow-up ultrasound and talk with my midwife that next Tuesday.

At this point I really feel like I need to mention how absolutely amazing my husband is — he never faltered once.  After working at his job all day (which included OT), he would come home, take care of me and the kids, clean the house, do anything I asked him to do.  He kept the kids busy, kept me as happy as I could be and kept our family running as smoothly as possible – grocery shopping, laundry, piano lessons, cleaning, baths, etc.  I have no idea how I would have been able to handle this without his strength.

For my appointment on Tuesday, Brian stayed home from work with the kids.  I drove myself to my appointment, hoping and praying for a miracle.  Even though I had been spotting, maybe they were wrong.  Maybe there was a tiny, healthy baby in there.   I only waited about 15 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.  No miracle.  After the ultrasound, I spoke to Margaret, my midwife and cried with her.  (This is the wonderful things about the midwives at The Midwife Group & Birth Center of Coastal Georgia — they will cry with you, they will hold you, they will tell you everything will be okay.)  I gathered strength and courage from her and came home to tell the kids what had happened.  How do you tell your children they will never see the baby they had already named and loved?  It was certainly the most difficult thing my husband and I had ever done.   My 6 year old son kept saying to me, “Mom, why can’t we just tell God ‘no’?  Doesn’t he know we wanted that baby?  I want to tell him ‘no’!  Why does our baby have to die!”  (If you’re crying after that, you aren’t alone — every time I think of it, and right now typing it, I’m crying.)

My midwife had given me the choice to continue the miscarriage naturally, or to have a D&C.  I knew right away that unless something happened and my health was compromised I would not want a D&C and Margaret felt that there was no reason to not let it progress naturally.  So that was the choice I made, and things did progress, and even now as I type this, I am in the  midst of it.

I want to say that no matter how difficult this has been — and it has been the most difficult, most emotionally devastating experience I have ever had — I have not been angry at God.  My heart is broken and I am grieving and while part of me wants to ask “Why?” I honestly feel like I don’t need to know why.  God has never given me anything before that I haven’t been able to handle.   He has given me strength and courage and hope.  As hard as it is right now – losing a child - I know it happened for a reason.  I don’t need to know the reason.  My husband keeps telling me that God is in control.  I think that above all else has brought me comfort.   The short time that my child was being knitted together in my womb (Psalm 139:13), God had a plan and it wasn’t the same as mine.

I decided to tell you all my story for one reason — miscarrying a child is not shameful.   It should not be hidden.  I hope that as time goes on and I heal from this that I will be able to come out on the other side and be able to minister to other women who are hurting and grieving from losing a child.  One of the things that has brought me comfort has been hearing stories from women who have gone through this same experience — that I am not alone.  I am not the only one who has felt like their heart has been ripped out of her chest, who doesn’t know how to go on, who doesn’t know what to do.  We should be able to grieve together, to pray together, to heal together.  To any of you ladies out there who have had to experience losing a child like this — I am so very, very sorry.  And many grateful thanks to everyone who knew and prayed so desperately for us — and to those who knew something was going on but didn’t know what it was and offered up prayers on our behalf anyway — thank you.

We have chosen to plant a blue hydrangea (my favorite) in memory of this lost child.  When we see its beautiful blossoms unfurling, we will cry.  When we walk past the bouquet of petals on the  table, we will cry.  But we will heal.  And we will never forget.

(If you’re going to make well-meaning but insensitive comments, like, “Don’t you already have four kids?” or “At least you already have kids,” or “You’ll get over it”… don’t bother.)

I’ve had some extra time this week to just sit and be, to think about what being a Mama really means — and noticing all of the little things in my children that make them so wonderfully them.  They are all amazing small people and sometimes I catch my breath to know that God has entrusted them to us to love, guide & protect.  If that doesn’t make a parent feel inadequate, I’m not sure what will.  I pray daily for guidance – for the Lord to show me what it means to really love my children & to give me the courage to do so.

I’m holding these precious kids extra-close to me these days.  They definitely aren’t perfect — but they are amazing, smart, beautiful, fun people that make me laugh, cry and remind me every moment of every day what it means to love unconditionally.