We have been walking on the mountaintops of LIFE. Blessed beyond description by the gift of living children, by renewed dreams, by bigger hopes… and suddenly we are dashed from the bliss on the sunny mountaintop and thrown back into the valley of the shadow of death.
Our eighth miscarriage… but not one we exactly expected. You’d think that after seven already, we would simply have expected it. But we didn’t. My OB said, after he did the ultrasound that showed no heartbeat, “are you just totally surprised?” And I said yes and wept. He said, “did I give you false hope? I hadn’t meant to; I’ve been concerned from the start.” I said, “no you didn’t; I had wished you had! I just know that God is bigger than pregnancy complications, bigger than a too-small-sac, bigger even than possible genetic problems. We’ve been praying, and hundreds of other people are praying for our baby; and I know that He COULD have preserved this baby for us here on earth. And somehow I guess I somehow came today actually thinking he WOULD.” And that pretty much sums it up.
We were sent to the hospital an hour later for a more thorough ultrasound, where the most compassionate tech (I’m so thankful God put us in her path yesterday) gave us some really nice views of our little baby, pointed out those precious arms and legs and eye pits. Printed some pictures for us, too. I am so thankful to have pictures of our beautiful baby.
When we finally came home, Gabriel came and hugged us and asked “how’s the baby doing today?” When I started crying, he started crying and said, “is the baby okay? is the baby’s heart beating okay?” Telling him, and holding him while he wept, and grieving and talking together with him… I think that is the hardest thing I have ever done. And it’s one of those continuing things: he is continuing to cry, talk about it, ask questions.
Last night, my boys ran in to say goodnight to me: Gabriel kissed me, then kissed my belly and said, “Baby, I love you, and I’ll see you in heaven!” and Asher rubbed my belly saying “bye bye baby, love you” blew a kiss, and they both ran upstairs. Looking at the living miracles I have and realizing (not that I ever forgot) that THAT is what I wanted for my Little Leven. I would never take the glorious choirs of heaven from Leven, but oh… how sad I am that those glorious choirs get to be with the baby rather than me.
It has been over three years; we were in a different house, and I was confident that we left all those skeletons in the closets there… and all our dreams about this house not being tainted with this horrible thing came crashing down yesterday. So many “little things” that have grown into big dreams and almost monuments (not in a bad way, but in a Joshua 4 kind of way) of sorts in my heart are suddenly broken. It’s like starting all over again at ground zero. Those dreams that I used to think were unreachable (like having stairsteps; having 3 under 3; maybe even that dream of having 2 boys and 2 girls) suddenly felt touchable… and then it’s like I touched the bubble and it POPPED. And it’s almost more horrible than it was before I thought I could touch it. Back when I KNEW it was unreachable. Before I had felt like I COULD reach it.
Suddenly, we are told to make decisions about what to do… and things I honestly didn’t expect to face again are staring at me, waiting for me to make the call…
I know we’ve been this broken before. But at the moment, it’s hard to remember that. I know I’ve survived this by God’s grace numerous times before. But today… just for now… I feel like the world is over for the very first time.
Why did God throw me back into the valley of the shadow of death?
Dancing on the mountaintops was so blissfully beautiful.