I wrote this over two years ago. After we lost our last child. Our 7th baby. 5th one in heaven. My gosh, grief is lifelong. It feels heavy sometimes. After we lost this little one, we decided that it was time to stop getting pregnant. While it was so easy for us to get pregnant, it was terribly difficult for my body to hold on to each baby. It was time for my heart to stop hoping for something that my body just could not do. So many people told me that I was lucky to have Emara and to be adopting. And that we were smart to stop. Almost foolish if we tried again. And, they were right. It made sense to stop. I know that. But, I felt like I couldn’t fully grieve that season in our life because I shouldn’t grieve. I should be glad that it was all over. But, I always wondered if we made the right call. And I still wish from time to time that we could try just once more.
A few months ago, I had to go back to the doctor for tests on my kidney because that little sucker was acting up again (swelling, retaining fluid, etc.). My specialist told me that I should not get pregnant again because my kidney would more than likely fail at some point during pregnancy, labor and birth.
So, I know we did the right thing.
Anyways, this is my last entry where I wrote smack dab in the season of pregnancy and loss. I wrote a few things during this pregnancy, some silly, some random, some serious. But this one… This one is my last memory of my last pregnancy. So, I wanted to keep it. And I wanted to share it.
Sunday, October 20, 2013.
It started tonight. The physical part of this god awful process.
I knew a week and a half ago on a Friday morning that I would more than likely lose my baby. I believed them when they told me that there probably wasn’t much more time left. But, then time ticked away and there was no physical evidence. Except I still felt pregnant. Because I still was. And the baby was still alive. The bloating. The nausea. The exhaustion. Those were there every day. And also, I wasn’t losing my baby. At least, not yet. And so, the tiny light starting forcing its way back into my heart.
Maybe the doctor’s were wrong. Maybe my baby was growing. And growing well.
On Thursday, I found hope. And as much as a tiny voice kept telling me to be realistic. I still touched my belly with love and a feeling of protection. Like I could will this baby to health.
But, tonight. Five minutes after I walked into church to begin worship practice for the youth group, it started.
Yes. I am losing this baby.
There is no turning away from this. There is no changing it. There is no fixing it.
My child is leaving my body. And I have no choice but to witness it. To feel every cramp. Every contraction. Every ounce of pain. I will have no choice but to watch my body force this little one away from me.
My heart is in pieces tonight.
From the pit of my stomach, I sobbed on my drive home. I had to pull over, I couldn’t see through my unending tears.
God, please. Please don’t let this happen again. I cannot do this again. I do not want to say goodbye, again. Grieve again.
I asked God to name my baby. I asked God to embrace my baby.
I am not mad at God. No, my journey of faith was broken to bits back in 2008 and what God mended back together is the most beautiful picture of Him. His grace. His goodness.
I am not mad. I know that God did not do this to me.
I am just so so sad.
I live in a broken world. I have a broken body. And as much as my hearts longs for motherhood again and again. My body just does not comply.
And so, tonight, I am going to begin my process of saying goodbye to another tiny soul who already left a huge imprint on my heart. And I am going to, yet again, go down the path of sadness, anger, joy, hopelessness, hope, frustration, envy and gratefulness.
But, I am going to rest in the same embrace that I know my 5 children in heaven are resting in.
And though, I will look at my body with hatred on some days, and I will try to punish myself for losing yet another child…
I will get through this. I will survive this.
Because God is good. And I see Him in everything. Even this.