Eight years ago today, I suffered a miscarriage.
I don’t use the word “suffered” lightly. It was one of the most difficult ordeals I have ever encountered. The physical pain was nothing compared the emotional wreckage that was left after I read the words “spontaneous abortion” on my discharge papers.
Devastated. Hopeless. Forgotten. No three words could have described me better on that day and the weeks that followed.
My husband tried to comfort me to no avail. Already the mother of an almost two-year-old, I felt that I knew exactly what I had lost. How could I ever recover from this emptiness that filled my broken heart?
I journaled. I prayed. I cried. I went to grief counseling and eventually found my way. I placed my faith in God and gave my heart to my husband finally ready to return his love.
Two months later I discovered I was pregnant. Three months later I found out I was carrying twins. Can. You. Say. Shocked?
The joy of hearing two little heartbeats was accompanied with fear that I had not known in my first pregnancy. Would my body fail me again? Was this too good to be true? There were lots of questions with very few answers. Only faith. Only hope.
The following June, I delivered healthy twin boys at 37 weeks and one day.
By the time August 20 rolled around, I had two 11-week-old babies in each arm. Even then, I felt compelled to read my grief journal. The words stung. The pain felt so real and so intolerable.
I read the entire journal while I squeezed the boys even tighter. That loss had put the plans in place for the angels I was holding now. I couldn’t see it then and I’m glad I couldn’t. That grief deserved all the energy I had put into it.
Without paying attention to my pain at the time – and working to get through it, I’m not sure I would have recovered enough to return to my husband and share the love that eventually made these two wonderful lives. I had never seen such a beautiful rainbow after such a devastating storm.
This was the first year I didn’t read the journal. Not that I didn’t pause and remember her short little time with me inside my body because I did. I do often.
However, I can’t think of her without thinking of the two little boys who came to me after she was gone. Their presence is a gift for which I am forever grateful. Every time they smile or laugh or dance or sing; it puts that pain in perspective. And I smile right along with them.
I don’t use the word “suffered” lightly. It was one of the most difficult ordeals I have ever encountered. The physical pain was nothing compared the emotional wreckage that was left after I read the words “spontaneous abortion” on my discharge papers.
Devastated. Hopeless. Forgotten. No three words could have described me better on that day and the weeks that followed.
My husband tried to comfort me to no avail. Already the mother of an almost two-year-old, I felt that I knew exactly what I had lost. How could I ever recover from this emptiness that filled my broken heart?
I journaled. I prayed. I cried. I went to grief counseling and eventually found my way. I placed my faith in God and gave my heart to my husband finally ready to return his love.
Two months later I discovered I was pregnant. Three months later I found out I was carrying twins. Can. You. Say. Shocked?
The joy of hearing two little heartbeats was accompanied with fear that I had not known in my first pregnancy. Would my body fail me again? Was this too good to be true? There were lots of questions with very few answers. Only faith. Only hope.
The following June, I delivered healthy twin boys at 37 weeks and one day.
By the time August 20 rolled around, I had two 11-week-old babies in each arm. Even then, I felt compelled to read my grief journal. The words stung. The pain felt so real and so intolerable.
I read the entire journal while I squeezed the boys even tighter. That loss had put the plans in place for the angels I was holding now. I couldn’t see it then and I’m glad I couldn’t. That grief deserved all the energy I had put into it.
Without paying attention to my pain at the time – and working to get through it, I’m not sure I would have recovered enough to return to my husband and share the love that eventually made these two wonderful lives. I had never seen such a beautiful rainbow after such a devastating storm.
This was the first year I didn’t read the journal. Not that I didn’t pause and remember her short little time with me inside my body because I did. I do often.
However, I can’t think of her without thinking of the two little boys who came to me after she was gone. Their presence is a gift for which I am forever grateful. Every time they smile or laugh or dance or sing; it puts that pain in perspective. And I smile right along with them.
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