on loss and love and living again

In December 2005 I learned I was pregnant with our second child.  We were surprised but pleased, anticipating a baby due just a day after Garrett’s birthday. Just the idea of being parents of two kids seemed amazing. We had check ups, told friends, and then, six weeks later, the bleeding began. 

On a Friday morning, we looked at an ultrasound screen and listened to the reassurances of our medical team.  Twelve weeks was far past the usual miscarriage time, a good heartbeat should quell our fears, and, later that day, the cramping began.

The next morning, I was staring again at an ultrasound screen- this time with no baby to be seen. It was the strangest feeling, to know that just a day ago a little life had inhabited that space.  And now that life was gone, and I wasn’t pregnant, and there would not be a baby.  I felt truly empty in a new and terrifying way.

But in that time, Jesus met us and spoke to us and held us so tenderly.  It was as if the Lord himself was grieving our loss. And in that time, we found healing and strength and renewed vision for the ministry at our home and the oneness of our marriage.

Then Isaac was born.

Then Ella was born.

In June of 2010 I learned I was pregnant with our fourth child.  We were pleased and not so surprised (by number four you pretty much get how it happens) and amazed at just the idea of being parents to four kids. Two days of awe, such awe that we had not yet told our families, and the bleeding began.

The first ultrasound showed a blood clot, large and menacing, looming over the tiny baby.  Though it seemed unlikely, for the bleeding never really disappeared, the pregnancy continued and the hope became confusing and the reality of miscarriage seemed to perch quietly in the back of our minds.  In our words to each other about the future, we said, “If we’re still pregnant…”. The pregnancy seemed so fragile, and I felt so not pregnant.

The second ultrasound showed a smaller blood clot and a bigger baby. A good sign, said the medical team. Then on a Friday, the cramping began.  And at 4 a.m. the following morning, we faced the emptiest of pictures- an empty ultrasound.  Only this time, I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see it.

For the next day, I was flooded with relief.  I had known this would come, sensed all along that my body was not supporting this baby, and there was an exhaustion in it all that I had not felt until it was gone.

But now, 48 hours after the whole event, the emptiness has returned.  It seems that it’s worse at night, when the daylight has faded and the emptiness beats inside me, more real and strong than my own heart. It’s such a dreadful thing, this idea we call miscarriage.  It’s not only the end of a life, it’s the death of dreams and hopes and plans and moments that will never come. It comes in such devastation and leaves a longing for something that can never be.

And so here we are, so fresh and in the middle of it that it is yet to make sense and grow us and do amazing things in our character and God’s kingdom. But I do know that it makes me feel wild and flailing, dangling over a deep pit of disappointment and bitterness, with only a thin strand of God’s goodness that holds us to Him. And strangely enough, that is a very raw but comforting place to be.

I re-read this post and I think, “Am I really going to post this?” It seems so uncollected, so very altogether not-together. But I think that sometimes the comfort of God is most felt and sustaining before all the answers have come, when the fog is still hanging and the fears are fresh.  And so I’ll think I’ll hit the PUBLISH button, in hopes that our journey will encourage you to trust Jesus and hold to His goodness.

0 thoughts on “on loss and love and living again”

  1. My heart broke to read this. I am so sorry for your loss. I will be lifting you and Garrett and the kids up. But I am heart-glad that you have the Lord to lean on and that you know He will sustain you through all things.

  2. I'm so sorry, Becky. We grieve with you guys and hope with you for the future. Your words are an encouragement in a strange kind of way. God uses you in your weakness and your “not togetherness.”

  3. Oh Becky. I feel like I know this story too well. I am so very sorry. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Ps. 34:18). May you sense His nearness to you now more than ever. I'll be praying for you guys.

  4. Becky…my heart breaks for the loss of your baby. Thank you so, so much for your honest, raw post…for letting us see your heart right now, in midst of such severe pain. I am praying.

  5. Becky…thank you for being so transparent! I completely understand all that you are going through and will be praying for your heart. You will get to spend eternity with your little one, yet it seems that it is an eternity until you will meet. Romans 15:13 was an encouragement to me after I walked through that terrible ultrasound. I will be praying for HIS peace to surround your heart during this season of mourning. And that His joy will come in the morning.

    Jamie (Tori's sister)

  6. Becky, I recently discovered your blog through Tori's blog and have enjoyed catching up on your life. I appreciate you sharing both the happy and difficult times and want you to know that I also am praying for you. When I miscarried about 4 years ago you were one of the few people I knew who had also experienced that pain. I felt very alone and like no one could understand that loss….I wished my friends and family could understand, yet prayed that they never would. Now, having two children & the benefit of time I do feel healing, but the fear of another miscarriage will always remain. Since my experience I have been surprised to find many others who, unfortunately DO know the pain I carry. In the last few weeks 2 other friends/family have also had a miscarriage and another had a full term stillborn baby. I am reminded yet AGAIN what a miracle the birth of a child is and realize just how NOT alone I am with my pain. I pray that you feel the love, community, and strength of the prayers of your family and friends and your Savior on your behalf and experience many blessings through this despite the sadness in your heart.

  7. Becky,
    It's so hard to know what to say in times of such loss; the temptation is to say nothing at all. But I want to let you know that my heart aches for you, and you and your family are in my prayers. Asking the Lord to meet you as no other human being can. Thank you, as always, for your tranparency. Even in your grief, you provide encouragement and inspiration. Love, Christy.

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