I don’t know that I have many words to say, but I feel like I should say something.
I should say something to all my sisters who have walked the heartbreaking road of infertility. The ones who have tried for months and years to get pregnant and each month that little stick is blank. Nothing. And you try and pray and medicate and weep, just wanting your womb to do what surely it was made to do.
And to my sisters who have had that little plus sign come up. Life. New life growing inside. Maybe panic or delight comes next. Maybe plans start to spill over in your mind about how to rearrange your house or that mini van you now definitely need and what that’s going to mean for your family right now..and for the rest of your life.
Maybe you make it to your first OB appointment and hear a heartbeat. Proof! It’s real. You can hear the flutter of a teeny tiny someone inside your womb and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.
Or maybe you don’t quite make it that far, because in a few days, it’s gone. A late and heavy period following a positive pregnancy test-otherwise known as a chemical pregnancy. Most often these very early miscarriages go undetected. And if your cycle is unpredictable than who’s to know?
But I knew. I had only been late twice in my life, and their names are Ruthie and Georgia. Until last month. When that faint little plus sign was followed a few days later with late and heavy bleeding.
There was life…for a moment. And I’m still not sure how to process the “almost” of what will never be.
I certainly don’t feel qualified to stand with my sisters who have heard heartbeats or delivered still born babies. Their pain is gut wrenching and life changing and I do not pretend to know that level of loss. The longer your pregnancy goes, the more of you there is to break if life never makes it into your arms.
But nevertheless I stand with you, telling you that I have prayed for your struggles and your pain. It hardly all seems fair- the way some body’s seem to work and others feel like they fail.
Just because it’s common doesn’t make it OK.
Even though so many share your experience, no one can share your exact heartache and pain.
I think that’s what can make it so lonely: No one else felt what you felt inside. No one else can make sense of your tears and feelings because no one grieves a life that never was like a mother who had loss happen inside of her.
After a few tests this week, my body is still just sputtering along, dealing with large and painful ovarian cysts. I’m working with my doctor to figure out what to do and if something else is wrong. It feels wrong, but maybe that’s because at a deeper level, my body is grieving, too.
If I’m being honest, we weren’t quite ready to head down that road again-if ever-with another baby (but if I’m being honest again, we weren’t ready the last two times either). The Lord in His goodness has given me two beautiful girls and I don’t deserve them. I have celebrated my womb carrying life, and for that I’m so thankful.
But even when my body feels like it’s failing now, I still trust in that same goodness. Not because He has blessed me in the past, but because I trust in who God is and what He has promised. I trust that he wove my failing body together in a way He considered perfect. That someday it will all make sense, even if that day isn’t today.
And I deeply believe God’s plans and His goodness surpass what we believe would be good for us, even when it leads us down the road of heartbreak.
I’m so sorry for your struggles, for your pain, and for the uphill mountain you had to climb-or possibly are still climbing.
I have seen the Lord’s goodness so many times in my life, and I’m confident I will see it again. That is my prayer for you, too.
“Yet I am confident I will see the Lord’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living. Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.”