This post has been written and re-written in my head so many
times before today. While by far the most personal thing shared on this blog, it is part of our journey- our story and I want it told.
It is now a year ago today that we learned I was pregnant. I
had gone for my yearly exam and much to my surprise, had a phone call a couple
hours later with the news that would forever change our life. Tim and I had
prayed for and loved this child, long before its existence. An ultrasound just
a couple days later showed us a 6-week, 4-day-old little Franklin. All seemed
well and good throughout the coming weeks, other than an aversion to lots of
smells and fruit, which I happily endured. When we went in for an appointment
at 13 weeks, all continued to look and sound good (as we thought we’d heard the
heartbeat.) First trimester, check. It was only a few days following that
appointment that I started spotting. It was confirmed a day later that I had in
fact miscarried. And the hard truth was, our baby’s gestational size read 8
weeks, meaning life had been lost 5 weeks prior- only two weeks after learning
we were pregnant. Shocking. And despite
the best of intentions, the completion of my miscarriage was not happening on
its own. The weekly blood work consistently showed lowering amounts of estrogen
levels, but never to zero. And so determined my need for surgery.
The thing about experiencing a miscarriage is there are
always milestones to mark the journey. Dates. The day you find out you’re
pregnant (May 4); your due date (Dec. 27); the day you learn you have
miscarried (June 21); the day of your D&C (July 19). No matter how hard you
try, these dates are written on your heart and you can’t forget. And you don’t
want to forget, as if forgetting will somehow diminish your loss.
But there’s also a time for healing and moving forward. The
thing is, I kept looking toward the next “well, when” and waiting for time to
help heal me: Well, when we hit our due date, I can finally start to heal.
Well, when I can get through ___________, things will be better. And that’s
where God has been teaching me (read: lovingly correcting) lately that while He
may use time to heal our wounds, He is the ultimate Healer; and in order for
that to happen I have to cling. Cling to Him. Cling to His promise to never
leave or forsake me. Cling to Truths that tell me He is always good, always
right and always loving. And Beth Moore maybe explains it best to my heart in
her Breaking Free study, “Our Bridegroom sometimes leads us to difficult
places, but we can trust Him always to have purpose in our stay and never to
forsake us. Remember, Christ can’t lead us somewhere He refuses to go.” I know
that can be a hard thing to hear, and on some days it still is for me. But I
believe it to be true and I cling.
There are surely parts I’d like to forget and feelings I’d
be ok to never have to feel again; but I want to remember God’s faithfulness,
His provision and the way only He can bring us through.
