Several of you have asked how the High School Retreat went. Unfortunately, we can only tell you what we’ve heard from others, because we didn’t go.
We had another miscarriage.
I don’t really know what to say….
We were seven weeks pregnant. I’d known I was pregnant pretty much since conception. I’d felt better about this pregnancy because I’d had morning sickness. I’d even looked at names, which I didn’t do last time. The one that kept running through my head was Beatrice, which means “bringer of joy.”
We’d just been to the doctor that Wednesday. We were hoping to see the heartbeat, but didn’t. She said we could have simply been a few days too early. That afternoon I started cramping and spotting. Israel’s parents also flew in that afternoon to lead worship at the retreat.
By Thursday morning, I was bleeding and cramping badly. I laid in bed for about an hour trying to decide whether to go to the retreat or stay home. I finally decided that, even if I did go, I’d be so distracted that I wouldn’t do any good. Israel’s parents spent the day with us and went to the retreat location in Switzerland on Friday.
From what I’ve heard, retreat was amazing. Students were challenged, ministered to, and encouraged. Fortunately, the co-leader of my small group was able to attend and be with our girls. Our small group grew in vulnerability and closeness, which I’m so excited about. My small group girls have just blossomed in the past few months. It’s amazing. I hate that I didn’t get to go to retreat. What awful timing.
Israel and I spent the weekend alone. It was different this time. I didn’t cry much; last time I couldn’t stop crying.
I value being present in whatever I’m experiencing—joy, grief, disappointment. I was present during our last miscarriage, but I’m not now. I think my lack of grief is a combination of our cautious attitudes toward the pregnancy, the circumstances of the weekend, and my fear of reliving last semester.
Last semester was probably the hardest of our lives. Not only did we experience a heartbreaking miscarriage, but I felt the repercussions of it for quite a while (which is why you’ve heard so little from me over the past few months). December was an awful month for me. I was depressed. Some days I didn’t think I could get out of bed. Some days I couldn’t stop crying. Israel didn’t know what to do. I just kept praying, “Jesus help me,” and trusting that he would bring me through my darkness.
I think that’s partly why I’m afraid to grieve, because I’m afraid of going back to that dark place. I know Israel is.
So, here we are, in the midst of another loss—confused, frustrated, numb, afraid.
I’m wondering if, in the future, I’ll be able to let myself fall in love with a child I might never meet. I’m confused about whether I’m a mother if my children never took a breath. I’m confused about what it means that, as everyone says, there must have been something seriously wrong with our babies for my body to end the pregnancies. I’m confused about what caused this—God, Satan, our broken world?
I don’t know how to grieve without being angry, or pointing a finger at God. And I don’t want to be angry, because that’s part of what he taught me last time—that he is good, that he is loving, that he loves my children. How do I grieve without accusing him, or doubting his wisdom, or hating him for a time?
I don’t know.
So, we’re here, weathering this storm, feeling tiny spasms of grief in the midst of our numbness.
We went to the doctor again a few days ago. She did an ultrasound and said that a small amount of tissue remains in my uterus. She took some blood in order to monitor my hormone levels. If my hormone levels haven’t gone down by next week, I’ll need to have surgery. Please pray that my body will take care of everything; I really don’t want to have surgery again.
“Gladden the soul of your servant, for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.” Psalm 86:4