Eleven months ago today I had a D&C. I had found out five days before, when
expecting to see the sweet moving form of a seventeen week old baby in an ultrasound,
that #7’s heart had already stopped beating.
In prior years, I’ve had my ACL replaced, my wisdom teeth
extracted, and six natural labors and deliveries. None of these prepared me for
the incredible pain and long recovery my body would go through due to the
second trimester D&C. And none of the major life pains and losses we had
previously endured prepared us for the loss of this precious life, and all the
hopes and dreams attached to our youngest child.
Over the next several months of dark grief, we keenly felt
this loss and there have been many days I’ve longed for heaven and many nights
that I’ve wept in anguish. My sweetest
comfort in the darkest moments have been the assurances that my God knows the
pain of such loss and that, despite my failure to come close to the holiness of
His Son, He loves me as His cherished daughter and sees me with the
righteousness of Jesus – the Son He watched die for my sins.
The clearest lesson that God impressed on my heart over the
darkest months that followed was that He wants His people to be transparent. The Bible contains a lot of “one anothers” — Love one another… pray for one another… weep
with those who weep. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Share one another’s
burdens. How can we do any of these
things if we don’t know what is going on in each other’s hearts? How can anyone
know what is going on in my heart if I don’t share?
I’ve stretched myself to share our pain when I wanted to
hide or pretend it wasn’t there. I’ve talked about #7 to people without knowing
how they would respond. I’ve listened when people have said dumb things,
warring with my heart to assume the best of their ignorance. And God sweetly
comforted our hearts this past year with those of you who grieved with us. You valued our precious baby – a baby that
society counts as expendable – when you wept with us. You loved us and carried some of our grief
for us. When you continued to care for us and listened to our pain long after
the “acceptable grieving period” had passed, you showed us the very heart of
God.
A couple dear friends lost their five-year-old to cancer
five months ago. Logan, a precious,
life-loving child who had stolen our hearts, love, and prayers, went to heaven
six months to the day after we found out that #7 was already there. His loss,
again, shifted my view of life on this earth and made me long for a day where
there would be no more pain or tears or death.
A Facebook post that Logan’s mama wrote yesterday made me
think that I still have far to grow in this whole transparency area.
In many ways, I’ve lost some of my transparency these last
few months. I don’t want people to think
that I’m not incredibly grateful for the many blessings God has given us. I
don’t want people to think that I’m comparing my loss, pain, and fears to
theirs. I don’t want people to misjudge
my heart… or even judge it correctly.
And I don’t want to be the one who is hurting or cause others to hurt
unnecessarily. I know the path that God has chosen for others makes mine look
like a piece of cake. I don’t want to
fail to see that. And I don’t want
others to think that my heart is not breaking for them, too, as I have such
sweet gifts that others still long for.
We still miss #7. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard
David whisper his head count this past year: “4, 5, 6… feels like someone is
missing.” “Doesn’t the house feel too quiet for some reason?” A couple weeks
ago, when David and I were driving on our getaway vacation, I distinctly
remember looking over my shoulder to check on the baby in the backseat. I had
to shake my head at the realization that there was only luggage and an ice
chest back there. When we had first
started thinking of this trip, we had expected to have a six-month-old baby
along.
Some friends know the continued pain the loss of #7 has
wrought in our hearts… how we have desired another baby, all the while knowing
that another baby would not change the reality of this loss or even how our
children now have a whole new view of the fleeting reality of life. Some
friends have watched me battle with my heart, knowing that God opens and closes
the womb, as I’ve watched my body stay out of whack after the D&C.
David and I don’t have a set number of kids we want to have.
We’re kind of just playing it by ear, seeing what life brings, knowing that God
makes babies, and He knows what He’s doing.
But my heart has ached at the thought that maybe #7 was the last baby I
would carry. I certainly didn’t want our family’s count to end on that note.
These are all things that are still hard to share sometimes,
especially in light of the legitimate burdens others already carry. But I also
don’t want people to think that I simply love God because my life is so
beautiful. David and I have gone through
some really tough situations these past few years. We’re still going through
some difficult things. Yet God has been kind
to show us His mercies in many ways that we continually fail to deserve. He is a kind, gracious, generous God. He’s given us His Son, adopted us into His
family, and has taken care of us in ways that only the King of Kings and Lord
of Lords could.
And, on top of all of that, He’s blessed us with another
baby, due in March. We continue to miss #7. We continue to battle fears for
this next baby. But we’re blessed by His kindness. And we’re blessed by our children’s
excitement for this next baby, and even the transparency they have as they
share their fears and cares for this wee one.
“The
steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Lamentation 3:22-23
