I remember every detail about my first miscarriage.
Just that morning I had joyfully prepared a brunch for small group friends, happily placing my hand on my stomach, thinking about this bundle of joy in my stomach. We were in our early weeks, so I was not planning on telling my friends, but I had an extra bounce in my step that morning.
And then that night, I remember my husband and I eating dinner with another friend. I remember smiling to myself debating on whether we would tell this friend just yet or not. I remember halfway through dinner walking to the bathroom, smiling and thinking to myself, “I am pregnant, and no one around me knows. It’s my little secret.”
On the way home from dinner, I felt a snap inside my stomach and a fatal gush. I felt sick to my stomach with worry. A feeling that was magnified when we got home because every fear came true. My husband was outside with our dog. I had made it to the bathroom, but I was all by myself. Holding my head as the tears poured from my eyes, I remember thinking, “My husband is just outside and doesn’t know. He’s still happy and living life, and I already know.”
Hopelessness
I already know that our hopes for this little one are not going to come true. I already know that despite being as healthy as I could, my body not keep this little one. I already know that I am going to have to tell someone else, but they didn’t even know I was pregnant. All of these thoughts drown me in despair, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
I remember my husband finally coming back in, instantly recognizing that something was wrong, and holding me in his arms on the bed as we rocked each other through tears shed for what we hoped could have been. The tears never stopped that night. I somehow passed into a fitful sleep, only to wake up the next morning, eyes swollen, all events from the previous night tearing my soul in two.
Recovery
You don’t think you’re every going to recover. It’s like you will never crawl out of the deep, dark, lonely hole that you have been thrown into.
I called my mom the next morning and told her that we were having a miscarriage. I thought to myself, she didn’t even get to celebrate with us when we knew we were pregnant.
But then she told me of her miscarriage.
And pretty soon, as I was sharing the story of my miscarriage, others were sharing their stories as well. The community that surrounded me during my first as well as my second miscarriage was unshakeable. No one plans to go through a miscarriage, pick up their shattered heart, trying to put pieces back together, to go through a second miscarriage. But that’s what happened to us.
Life Redeemed
But this community continued to give me wisdom, to help me seek God, and to know it was not my fault in any way. I leaned on my community of strong women (and men), and I harbored their strength and grace when I had none.
After our sinister storms came the brightest rainbow. It started faint at first because we didn’t dare believe that we would actually get to see this rainbow in all of its shining glory. If you’ve gone through a miscarriage or infertility, you want to believe those first signs of pregnancy, but you tiptoe lightly, afraid any wrong movement and the storm will rage again.
As the weeks turn into months, and the months turn into a birth and the birth gives way to a beautiful healthy baby boy that you hold in your arms, you feel God’s hand in your life. And how can I not believe that this special baby has been chosen for my love and embrace?
I am reminded that God is sovereign when I remember,
God is good.
God is good to me.
God is good at being God.
Lysa Terkeurst 2016
Bottom Line
Miscarriages are difficult to discuss. But you never know when your story will collide with someone else’s story. And this collision produces a boom of dynamite that blows someone’s hardened heart right open. Women need to hear your miscarriage story. Because she needs to know that everything will eventually be made brighter. Not right now. Not tomorrow. Not even months down the line. But she needs you in her community, praying for her, checking in on her, letting her know you have not forgotten the pain she feels. And her soul will shine brighter and brighter each day, like the rising sun.
