About two weeks ago I experienced for the sixth time a pregnancy loss. I struggle to write anything else after this first sentence. I am not sure who really knows about what happened to me and my husband. Sometimes I feel like people can see this insurmountable grief etched into my face. Do they notice the passion that is missing from my eyes? I do not know.
I do not know how to write about this experience. I am not sure why I write about this experience at all. I do know that right now I am having a hard time. It might not be evident on the outside, but there it is. I have so much anger, so much grief, and so much sorrow within me that I do not know what to do with it. Sometimes I want to cry (okay, I want to cry a lot), but I do not feel like I can. I do not want people to see me cry. I am embarrassed by it, I guess. Yet, I know that I have to express this pain if I am to be able to do anything because right now I am in limbo.
I am in limbo. My passion is frozen. Have you ever seen a child fall down and for a moment he or she is stunned? Suddenly the pain comes, and the child begins to wail. I am stunned. I am numb and about to enter a world of hurt.
I look at that number six and wonder how stupid I have to be. Why, for the love of God, did we try again? That was just plain stupid or crazy. I could kick myself.
People make kind but utterly stupid comments. Yes, I am sure that your niece’s aunt’s hairdresser experienced a miscarriage and now she is the mother of five. Maybe they do think that I am just crazy enough to keep trying. Of course when you say that this was the sixth time, they usually shut up. I love answering the questions. Yes, we have gone to a fertility expert. I am a freaking miracle of modern science. They cannot explain the why. Yes, I am sure your daughter in law went through that too. Uh huh, uh huh, sure. I have heard these stories now six times. Enough all ready! Let’s just say that this really sucks.
This really sucks. I am once again going through those lousy stages of grief. I cannot control or stop them. I listen to U2’s song “One” over and over again in the car and cry. I have no idea how my husband is doing, and I am not sure how I could comfort him anyway. Frankly, I am not sure I care, at the moment. I think that I am holding it together, but I just might start throwing my shoes and writhing on the floor. I am thinking about it. I am thinking about it.
I guess all you can do is cry. I cry for what might have been. I cry for what is. I cry for what cannot be. I listen for the voice of God. I listen for some purpose in this disappointment and sorrow. I do believe that it is there, but I do not know what it is. I cling to the Rock of My Salvation even as I feel crushed beneath it.
I want to say that I am not okay, but sometimes I am okay. I want to say that I am finished, but I am not finished either. I am not finished with life, with faith, with love, but I am really annoyed right now.
Right now is a time of endurance. I endure and keep walking. I endure and keep waking up each morning. I endure until I can do these every day tasks again, with joy. I endure until I hope. I know that hope is coming, but I am here right now. I know that hope is coming and that soon I will hope until I witness. I will hope until I witness and meet my Redeemer face to face.