Waiting and Hoping

Shortly after the miscarriage, my husband and I began dreaming of our opportunity to try again.  We spoke of it with excitement and anticipation, but knew the recommended waiting time would give us time to heal.  There are many reasons why we looked favorably towards this moment.  It was not simply because we wanted to replace what was lost (because he or she is irreplaceable), but because our hearts long to be a parents here on earth.  So the countdown began.

For five weeks following our miscarriage, I got my blood checked weekly waiting for my HCG level to go down.  I hated every time I had to go into the doctor's office.  Primarily because it was a vivid reminder of the tragedy we had recently experienced and secondarily, "Who likes to get their arm poked with a needle?"  Not me!  So I kept hoping and praying.  Hoping and praying the level would go down and that I would have a regular menstrual cycle again.  I've never hoped for my period more in my entire lifetime than I did after our miscarriage, so the thought frequently running through my mind was "The sooner my period comes, the closer we are to trying again".

The doctor's orders were to wait at least two regular cycles before trying again so I wanted to get this process started.  Finally six weeks following the miscarriage, my period arrived.  And you know what?  It was bittersweet.  I expected the sweet part, but not the bitter.  The arrival of my period brought a finality to the end of my pregnancy that nothing else had.  It made it very real that the pregnancy was over and would never be again.  It also left an emptiness, a reminder that our baby was gone, never to be held in our arms here on earth.  Thankfully, it was not all bitter, but sweet in the sense that it signified one step closer to trying again, another opportunity to become parents here on earth.

So as time continued to progress closer to trying again, we were becoming more and more excited, yet fearful.  Excited for the possibly of becoming parents here on earth, yet fearful of what may come.  Just days before the long-awaited time approached, both of us became sick.  Nothing too significant, but enough to warrant medication.  I had fears that this medication would postpone what we had been waiting for the past three months.  And after a phone call to my doctor, I discovered that to be correct.  We would have to wait one more cycle before we could try again.

It was a very disappointing and discouraging moment.  To be waiting and hoping for something, only to be left waiting and hoping is extremely difficult and painful.  Knowing that waiting only another month is difficult, I can't imagine the difficulty and pain for those who have waited even longer for whatever reason.  My four months of waiting seems insignificant compared to years of waiting, but for anyone who has waited for something they deeply long for, any length of time is difficult and painful.  Plus, as women, we all know there are often years that one longs to be a mother before she actually tries so sometimes there are already years of waiting, hoping, and anticipating that happen even prior to trying.  I've felt that way.

Nevertheless, in the waiting, I am choosing to trust that God has a plan, embracing the extra time we have to continue to heal from our loss, and attempting to accept the fact that all of this is out of my control anyways.  That last one is a tough one.  This whole entire experience has been out of my control.  From beginning to end.  So I am in the process of acknowledging and accepting that I have no control, releasing control to the only One who does, and believing that I can trust Him, even if I never get what I want.  Looks like I have my work cut out for me, but at least I know I'm in good Hands, and you are too.    

Our God is Greater

God recently reminded me of His desire to heal me and make me whole.  Often when I sing Our God, by Chris Tomlin, I think of the people I minister to and how God can heal them no matter how big the stuff they are going through seems.  Especially when I am singing the chorus:

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is Healer
Awesome in power
Our God, Our God

But this time, it was different.  God whispered to me, "I want to heal you too and make you whole again".  What precious words to hear after this loss because my heart feels so battered and torn.  And His words are not just for me, but for you too.

I was also reminded of how big God is, which was something I needed because it seems like difficult times in my life tend to shrink my view of God.  Remembering that "God is greater, stronger, higher than any other" gives me hope and strength.  He is bigger than my loss, my pain, my grief.  "He is my Healer, awesome in power".  He will bring me through this.

I had been feeling so beat up by my grief and sorrow that I had lost sight of how big God is.  Sometimes hard times do that, they cause us to forgot how big God is.  Our circumstance seems bigger and bigger and God seems smaller and smaller.  So needless to say, I am so thankful for this reminder.  I no longer feel defeated, but my hope and strength has been renewed.

I want to close today with lyrics from the song Your Hands, by JJ Heller because it has been an encouragement to me throughout this journey, and I hope it will be for you too.

I have unanswered prayers
I have trouble I wish wasn't there
And I have asked a thousand ways
That You would take my pain away
That You would take my pain away

I am trying to understand
How to walk this weary land
Make straight the paths that crookedly lie
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine
Oh Lord, before these feet of mine

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

When You walked upon the Earth
You healed the broken, lost, and hurt
I know You hate to see me cry
One day You will set all things right
Yea, one day You will set all things right

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave Your hands

Your hands
Your hands that shape the world
Are holding me, they hold me still
Your hands that shape the world
Are holding me, they hold me still

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave You when...

When my world is shaking
Heaven stands
When my heart is breaking
I never leave...
I never leave Your hands

May you trust that God is bigger than your loss and pain, and open your heart to His healing so He can make you whole again.

Lament

According to www.dictionary.com, the definition of the word lament is "to feel or express sorrow or regret for; to mourn for or over".  Knowing that there are words in our language to express what I am feeling inside gives me permission to feel what I feel.  It reminds me that pain and sorrow are a natural response to loss.  I appreciate that reminder today because I am feeling it.  I am feeling the loss.  I am feeling the pain.  I am lamenting.

I don't know about you, but I am an extremely analytical person so whenever I am having days like these, I try to "figure out" why I am feeling this way.  Sometimes there are specific situations or thoughts that trigger my sorrow, but some days there are not, and the pain just hits me out of the blue.  Last weekend, I was watching a movie on television and a commercial advertising a pregnancy test came on.  The woman expressed joy when the pregnancy test result was positive, and my response:  Tears uncontrollably started flowing down my cheeks and I was filled with sadness.  My mind flashed back to our response when our pregnancy test result was positive and our own joy then it quickly switched back to the reality that we will never meet that child here on earth.

Later in the evening when the movie was over, I shut the television off and as soon as the room was silent, I started crying hysterically - warm tears racing down my face, frequently snorting as I attempted to catch my breath.  I had not cried like that since the first couple weeks of our loss.  And it kept coming, the tears flowing, the snorts continuing, the attempt at deep breaths failing, the snot forming.  I needed to lament so my body and spirit took advantage of the still, quiet moment to release my tears and sorrow and pain over my loss.

Today, I am lamenting again.  It's probably the combination of my anticipation of seeing a pregnant family member and hugging family members I have not seen since prior to our loss.  But even more than that, it's my ongoing track of the progress of our pregnancy in the back of my mind.  Today would have marked 20 weeks of our pregnancy.  Halfway through!  Soon to discover the gender of our baby, if not already.  I try not to keep a running tally of "what would have been" because I don't think it's the best way for me to move forward, however the significant mile markers definitely remain - the halfway point, discovering the sex of the baby, the due date.

Writing provides me with the opportunity to lament.  Yes, putting my thoughts and feelings on a page make them very real, but expressing them provides relief.  It does not take away the sadness, but it does decreases the heaviness of grief and releases some of my pain and sorrow through my words and tears.

So baby girl or boy, I miss you today.  I miss carrying you and supporting your life and development.  I hate the fact that I will never hold you here on earth or see you face to face.  However, thank you for the opportunity, though very short it was to celebrate your life and be a part of your creation and existence.  I look forward to the day when we will be reunited in Heaven and I can hold your in my arms and look into your eyes.  Until that day, know you are loved and missed.

Take time to lament.  It hurts, but it heals.

Grief Checklist

I received this card today and had to share...

This card was a beautiful gift because it literally made me laugh out loud and gave me something to smile about.  Laughter and smiles in the midst of grief are such a blessing because they are often rare.  Laughter, plus the love and support from my friend expressed in the card, not to mention her listening ear earlier in the day resulted in some healing today.  Sometimes it's the simplest things that can aide in the healing process.

Time definitely does help heal all wounds, but just as with shark bites, our wounds need more than just time.  I am grateful for the two months (as of today) that have passed since we learned our baby was with Jesus because the simple pass of time has healed some of our wounds.  However, some of them hurt just as much like the fact that I will always miss our baby (until I am reunited with him or her in Heaven) no matter how much time has gone by.  

I wish grief had a specific measurable amount of time like two months or six months or even a year as long as it came with a guarantee that it would never hurt again after that specific period of time.  However, that just isn't realistic and accepting that has been one of the hardest things for me lately.  Mostly because I am a planner who loves structure and lists, especially checklists.  I wish I could make a checklist of the steps of grief so I could check them off as fast as possible.  But as I stated in a previous post, "grief is messy".  It takes on a life of it's own and does not follow any specific plan or checklist.  And that's so difficult for me because I want to know the steps I need to take so I can just get it over and done with.

Right now, God is challenging me to let go of my expectations, my expectations for myself, my grief, and the healing process.  Letting go of my expectation of where I think I should be at this point in time.  Letting go of my expectation of how emotional I think I should be.  Letting go of my expectation of how much I should talk about what I am feeling.  Letting go so I can just be.  Just be myself.  Feel what I feel when I feel it without worrying about what I think I should feel or feeling guilty on the days I don't feel as much as I think I should.  Letting go because my expectations have only led to guilt, shame, discouragement, and frustration, and because it's simply not what God wants for you or me.  

Therefore, today I am committing to just being me.  I am committing to feeling when the feelings come and not forcing them when they do not exist.  I am committing to seeking out a listening ear when I need to share, but not forcing it just because I think I should.  I am committing to letting go of my expectations, believing and trusting that God is the One who heals my wounds, not my checklist or plans.  Psalm 147:3 (The Holy Bible, NIV) states, "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."  So may you believe and trust that God truly is the One who heals all wounds, however on days when you just need to smile, remember "Time heals all wounds, except shark bites."

A Whole New World

Ever since we lost our baby, I have felt like I'm part of a whole new world.  A world that I had heard of, but tried to avoid thinking about due to my own fear and desperation for a different story.  Obviously, I'm not referencing the picture perfect Disney whole new world presented in Aladdin.  Quite the contrary, actually.  This world is full of pain, heartache, lost hopes, dreams, aspirations, expectations.  This world is full of women and families who have experienced the devastation of pregnancy loss.  And it's full of so many more people than I ever realized.

There are a multitude of varying statistics regarding the frequency of miscarriages, ranging anywhere from 17 to 40 percent of conceptions ending in miscarriages according to what I have come across.  However, no matter what statistic is attached to miscarriages, it definitely seems far too common.  A couple weeks ago, in the regular routine of my daily life, I came in contact with three people who had experienced a miscarriage.  All in one day of my everyday life.  That was startling to me and very eye-opening.  A whole new world, indeed.

In talking to those three women, I observed the heartache and pain of the miscarriage and felt my own.  I witnessed healing and growth that had taken place over time.  I also saw the hopeful expectation of those trying to conceive again in spite of past circumstances.  Different personalities, different circumstances, different life experiences, yet united by our understanding of this whole new world that we were now a part of.

One of the many painful parts of miscarriages is the loneliness one can feel.  The loneliness that comes from feeling that no one quite understands or that those who do may not be feeling your pain simultaneously.  Or the loneliness experienced in a marriage or relationship because of the fact that your husband or partner is grieving differently than you and does not know exactly what you are going through.  The silence causes loneliness too.  The silence that comes from the masses for those of us who chose to share our experience with only a selected few or the silence that comes after those we have shared with go on to live their normal lives while we're still in the midst of grief.

I am learning that there is healing in sharing.  There is healing in having someone understand what you're going through because they have been there, either past or present.  It is also encouraging and hope-giving to see those who are further along on their journey of healing, reminding us that we will get there too.  Even though others may not fully understand, I challenge and encourage you to share your story with those who are safe and trustworthy so you too can experience healing through sharing.  Join a support group, have coffee with a friend, talk to a counselor.  You are not alone for there are a myriad of us living in this whole new world.         

Just One of Them Days

Remember the song "Don't take it personal (aka Just One of Dem Days)" by Monica?  I know I am dating myself here, but it was really popular in 1995 when I was in eighth grade.  Today, seventeen years later, I found myself singing the lyrics in my head..."It's just one of them days that a girl goes through.  When I am angry inside, don't want to take it out on you.  Just one of them things.  Don't take it personal.  I just wanna be all alone and you think I treat you wrong."

I'm learning that grief creates many "just one of them days".  Today, my "just one of them days" began with a simple conversation and question, "How have you been doing?"  A question that was directly related to how I have been dealing with the miscarriage.  I responded quickly, "alright".  And up until that moment, I had been doing "alright", possibly even "pretty good" or "good".  However, that moment opened up a window to my grief and suddenly all my feelings came flooding in.

Although I appreciated the gesture and knew in my heart that the person had all the love and care in the world for my well-being, all I wanted to do was hurry up and get the conversation over with because it became a vivid reminder that I actually wasn't "alright".  Thus beginning my "just of them days" experience.  Following the conversation, I began wrestling with emotions and questions in my head and just wanted to isolate myself from the world.  Also, as the day went on I noticed myself becoming more and more irritable and extremely stressed and frustrated by the simplest things.  

As the irritability escalated, my husband gently checked in with me to see how I was doing, and I responded, "It's just one of those days."  He graciously accepted the answer and my response helped me better understand what I had been wrestling with over the past four hours or so.  When we're grieving, we have "just one of them days" or two or three or ten or fifty.  It seems to be part of the grieving process and it's okay.

I am realizing that it is okay to have "just one of them days".  However, it's important for me to acknowledge when and understand why I am having "just one of them days".  If I fuel my irritability and hurt others with my actions then it becomes something else besides "just one of them days".  If I can acknowledge why I am irritable and admit that I am sad and missing my baby today or that I'm just plain angry or upset that it had to happen this way then I can heal.

I can't heal without feeling the feelings, thinking the thoughts, and asking the questions.  Even though I'd much rather ignore the feelings, thoughts, and questions, and just hope it all goes away.  The truth is that it doesn't.  In order to heal, I've got to feel.  Not dwell and stay there forever, but acknowledge my feelings, thoughts, questions, fears, disappointments, etc.  Only then can God heal my heart and make me whole again.

I know how tempting it is to want to push it all deep down and ignore it.  It seems much easier in the moment.  And to be honest, there are times in our life when we need to do this like when we're in the middle of a meeting at work or giving a presentation, but we can't do this forever.  It doesn't make it all go away, it doesn't disappear, it actually slows down the healing process.  

Sometimes pushing it down during the meeting or presentation is necessary for survival, but I don't want to just survive for the rest of my life, I want to thrive.  And in order to thrive, I must face the reality of my pain, which is rooted in my lost hopes, dreams, expectations, child.  I must face these things in order to heal, but it's so much easier to keep it buried.  For the meantime yes, but the long-term effects are even more damaging.

Lately I've been asking Jesus to help me feel when I need to feel.  To not just bury it and try to hide, but to feel so can I heal.  To trust that He'll provide for my needs as opposed to me groping for my survival with my own agenda.  To believe that thriving is better than surviving and that healing is better than never feeling my pain.  

In reality, my "just one of them days" today is a gift from God (in a way that only He can orchestrate).  It's an opportunity for me to feel and acknowledge my pain, my hurts, my disappointment, and mourn my child.  It's a day towards thriving instead of just surviving.  It's a day towards healing instead of hiding.  So on your "just one of them days", may you allow yourself to feel and God to heal so that instead of just surviving, you can begin your journey towards thriving.

Grief is Messy

On the day following our ultrasound appointment, I decided to do some research to learn more about what was going on in my body.  My doctor had referred to what I was experiencing as a "pending miscarriage", but I was struggling to find information online so I decide to consult my What to expect when you're expecting book, by Heidi Murkoff and Sharon Mazel.

After searching through the index and table of contents, I came across a chapter entitled:  "The Complicated Pregnancy".  One that I never intended to read, and one I hoped I would never have to.  A portion of the chapter was dedicated to miscarriages and I began by reading about the different types of miscarriages.  As I was reading, I discovered multiple types of miscarriages: Chemical pregnancy, blighted ovum, missed miscarriage, incomplete miscarriage, and threatened miscarriage.  I had no idea there were so many different types.  Prior to this, the only way I had ever heard the experience described was simply "miscarriage".

As I read through the different types, I soon discovered that what we were experiencing had an official name, a "missed miscarriage", which was described as when the baby remains in the uterus even though he or she has died.  Reading the official name and description of my experience brought some understanding and in a bizarre way, some peace.  In general, I tend to experience more peace when I feel like I understand something better.  However, that did not change the fact that I cried my way through the entire portion of the chapter addressing miscarriages.  I had heard of the term miscarriage before and even had family and friends who had experienced one, but only in my worst nightmare had I dreamed of utilizing the word in reference to my own personal life experience.

During my reading, I also learned that a missed miscarriage was "very rare" so I could not help but wonder, "Why us?"  But that was not a question for me to answer.  However, it was of course, a very natural response in the midst of my grief.  Grief can bring up many questions, doubts, uncertainties, and a myriad of emotions...sadness, anger, guilt, anxiety, depression, and often many "What if's".Some researchers describe grief as stages:  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  The stages appear so organized and structured, almost so lovely that you could tie a bow around them.  But for anyone who has ever experienced grief, we know that grief is messy.  It does not follow any structure or plan.  It surprises us and catches us off guard.  One moment we feel like we're okay while the next moment we feel like our world is falling apart all over again, and sometimes this all happens even within the very same day.

Early in my grief journey a friend of mine shared an illustration with me that resonated with me.  She talked about how sometimes we feel like we're taking several steps forward then several steps back.  She described grief or any difficult time in our life for that matter as climbing up a mountain.  On the really tough, painful days, we often feel like we are back at the bottom of the mountain.  However, she said that when we fall, we do not fall all the way back down to the bottom of the mountain, but we fall exactly where we are - whether we're halfway up the mountain or almost to the top, we land right where we were on our journey.  It does not change the fact that it hurts, and is painful, discouraging, and challenging, but it does mean that we're not starting all over again.

On those difficult days, it's important to remember that truth.  "I am not starting all over again.  I have already experienced some healing and nothing or no one can take that away.  It's just a rough day and tomorrow is a new day."  Remembering this has helped me so much on my journey.  Because when those rough days come, they are so difficult, painful, and discouraging, that it's tempting to give up hope.  But it's only temporary and when we do fall, we're not starting all over again, and we will get back up.  So if today is one of those days, may these words bring hope.  You are healing, this is temporary, and tomorrow is another day.