The Day of What Could Have Been

Some days do not go as planned. 

Last week was my due date. Instead of holding a beautiful baby in my arms, I woke to an empty room and grief filling my heart. 

Miscarriage produces silent grievers. Oftentimes our loss is misunderstood because, how can a person explain the grievous loss of someone we never felt with human hands, but with every fibrous component of our being? 

The Story of my Abounding Love  

Tangible excitement filled the room as my husband and I held hands. It was as though time slowed down as we awaited the two-minute timer to herald an anticipated result. Happy tears instantaneously flowed down both of our faces, in tandem, when we saw two well-defined lines on our pregnancy test. I will never forget how tightly Michael held me in his arms that day; the day he found out he was going to be a daddy. I can still feel that embrace. I choose to remember the first official prayer we spoke over our growing family and the first time Michael talked to the pin-sized baby forming in my womb. 

My husband and I wanted to wait to tell our family and friends about the pregnancy until we had a sonogram. Well, I wanted to wait. Michael wanted to post it on Instagram as soon as the two-minute timer went off! To say he was overjoyed is an understatement. 

The morning of my scheduled sonogram was the day I woke up bleeding. Devastation is not a severe enough word to describe my heartache. Eight weeks of happy memories were pillaged by fear. We spent nine long hours at the hospital as multiple nurses and doctors prodded me. No one gave us a definite answer of what was happening; even though I could see the results by the way they looked at me. 

Michael kept a steady supply of tissues in my hands, that day at the hospital, as I cried a lifetime of tears. He kissed my forehead, held my hand, and became my voice when I was too weary to speak. He was a prince of a man that day. He did not complain, he did not shame me, and he did not show his grief; he was simply there for me—every moment. Unwavering. Steadfast. Constant. I knew he was grieving; he was so excited to be a dad.

There are no words for the grief I feel on his behalf. 

The Demise of False Hope

One of the biggest struggles during our miscarriage was the false hope we received from doctors. They would say, “Well, we can’t tell you what is happening to you indefinitely, so there is still a chance you are still carrying.” In my heart of hearts I knew my body was forcing trauma against my iron will, and I crumbled under the hope of anything is possible

Trust me—I would hold my tiny, barely growing belly, and beg God for a miracle. I would pray over the future of my child. I prayed that we would be able to testify that all seemed hopeless, but God performed a miracle beyond our finite comprehension.

Even in the darkest moments, I held onto hope. People may say that I was in a state of denial, but it was more than that. I wanted my baby to know that I would fight for him or her, no matter the odds. I felt obligated, as a mother, to hold unto the smallest fragment of expectation, not only for myself, but also for my baby. I wanted my precious angel to feel my unwavering love, despite uncertainty. 

Then I received an email with my blood work results. There was no need to hope. There was no need to hold on. There was no need to speak to my belly and tell my pea-sized baby how much I loved him or her. But I still did. I spoke to empty rooms. I spoke to the air as I took long walks outside. I spoke, with my head toward heaven, and told my baby, “I love you.” 

I felt so ashamed. My body was suppose to be a refuge for a growing life. Instead, my body betrayed me, my husband, and most of all, our precious baby. I felt like my body had failed—failed my beautiful child and robbed my husband of being a father. 

If willpower was enough, I would have held onto my baby with every thread of strength, tenacity, and hope I possess—I would be holding my baby in my arms right now. Instead, my precious angel is in the arms of our Savior, safe and loved. 

A Memorial of Love 

This experience is difficult for me to share, but I want my baby’s short life in my womb to be remembered, and that is the main reason why I am writing this. It is a memorial of love. Also, I feel like the Lord has prompted me to open the deepest part of my soul and share my pain so someone will know this truth, “You, my dear, are not alone.” 

If you’ve walked this road of miscarriage, even if you have children now, this chapter is to let you know that you do not walk this lonely road by yourself. Even when it feels like the whole world has forgotten about this traumatic loss that has happened to you—I know you haven’t. I know that you have reminders that evoke tears without warning. I know that your loss is real and your love is fierce. 

Maybe you have not experienced a misscarriage, but I want you to know whatever has broken your heart, matters to God. Your loss matters. Each tear you cry matters. Your story matters. You, my sweet friend, matter.

Helping Others Through Loss 

Miscarriage is one of the least talked about topics. There are millions of women in America alone that deal with the silent grief of pregnancy loss every year, and yet, we don’t hear about it millions of times. This needs to change, we need to let people know that they do not have to feel isolated—no one should feel lost and alone. 

If you have never experienced a miscarriage, I can guarantee you know someone who has. They are your friends, family, and coworkers. They are the silent grievers at Starbucks. They are the teary eyed customer in front of you at your local grocery store—they are me. 

If you are reading this and do not know what to do when someone tells you they have had a miscarriage, that’s okay. Paul gives great advice in Romans 12:15, he says, “Weep with those who weep. Rejoice with those who rejoice.” 

  • Be intentional about spending quality time with your friend. 
  • Tell your loved one that you are there for them and allow them to cry, grieve, and experience their loss. 
  • If they do not want to discuss their heartache, respect their boundaries—do not try to pry information out of them. 
  • Do not try to explain why a tragic event happened in their life, because let’s be honest—we do not know why it happened, so we should never offer an explanation that only God can give. 
  • Sit with them, even if it is in silence, just being with them will validate your love and show them that they are not alone. 
  • Do not trivialize their grief or set perimeters on how they should heal. Everyone experiences and responds to loss in a different way, keep that in mind, even if you have been through a similar situation. 

We may not understand the fluid nature of grief, but we can learn the value of community and the power of being there for someone in their time of need. 

Unconditional and Abiding Love 

The pain I feel is a great testament to the great love I have. Even writing this right now I’m crying. Yes, they are tears of sadness, but they are also tears that symbolize the happiest of memories. I choose to remember the all-encompassing joy that filled my heart when I found out I was expecting. 

To my precious baby, I carried you with purpose and with care. You encapsulated love and everything it represents. I didn’t have to see you with my eyes to love you unconditionally—you captured the heart of your daddy and I in a moment, and that moment will last for an eternity. I will love you forever, my sweet angel. 

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