Why I Am Starting This

Today is September 16th. It marks the four year anniversary of my miscarriage. Because I never want to let a year go by without thinking and remembering my oldest child, I always use this day to reflect. Just as I celebrate the birthdays and milestones of my other two children, I use this day to celebrate and think on the baby I never got to hold.
My husband, Tim, and I were so excited as we entered the office of my OB/GYN that day. It was my first appointment and I was twelve weeks along by my calculations. We talked to Dr. Freeburger and asked her questions and then headed into an exam room where I slipped into a hospital gown. She felt around the top of my uterus and said it felt like I was right where I should be for a twelve week pregnancy. Because twelve weeks can sometimes be too soon to hear a fetal heartbeat, we headed into a darker room that contained an ultrasound machine to see the heartbeat instead.
Nervous and excited, I cracked jokes that I later thought, "I can't believe I said that." Laying on the table with gel spread over my lower abdomen and clutching Tim's hand I waited for a picture to appear on the screen. Dr. Freeburger pointed out a little bean and introduced us to the first image of our child. After a very quiet moment I could sense something wasn't completely right. I asked her if the baby should be moving around more. She said that they don't do too much at that stage of the pregnancy and then said that I might not be as far along as we thought.
Sirens and red flags went off in my head as I knew exactly when I got pregnant. We were charting and paying close attention and I could tell her the exact day I ovulated. I knew something was very wrong. We waited a couple seconds longer in silence before she turned to us and said,
"I am so sorry. There is no heartbeat."
Those words changed my life.
Dreams and hopes came crashing around me as I tried to take in what she was saying. Name ideas flew out the window as we would never know if I carried a boy or girl inside me. I looked to my husband...my precious best friend who was anticipating fatherhood for the first time and saw him blinking back tears. I felt as if I had punched in the stomach and I didn't know how to breathe.
Dr. Freeburger gave us some options to talk through and think on and said to call the next day with our answer for how we wanted to advance forward. We mumbled our thanks and good-byes and left.
As we got in the car I suggested stopping at his brother's house to let him and his wife know. They lived close to where my doctor was. Tim wanted to wait a bit since they were just a couple weeks behind us in their own first pregnancy. He didn't want them to worry about whether or not it could happen to them and also pointed out that they had friends staying with them. Their friends had recently lost their firstborn son soon after his birth and we weren't sure how they would respond with their own grief so fresh. Home we went to call people and ask for prayer.
I don't remember too much about the night, just a lot of phone calls and crying. There are certain moments that stand out. One is when Tim finally reached his parents and broke down on the phone with his dad. I have never in my life - and still never have - seen him cry the way he did. The sound was agonizing for me as he let his grief come forth in sobs that I think he had been trying to hide from me in order to be the strong one.
We opted to have a D & C performed that following Saturday (it was Thursday when we found out.) I tried to go to work on Friday for a little bit but was shoved home by my co-workers after they found out what happened. My parents, sister and grandmother came to visit for the day and be with us. My mom had suffered a miscarriage between mine and my sister's births. It was good to be with someone who knew how I was feeling.
My parents came into town again on Saturday to sit with Tim during my surgery. They helped me home, made some lunch and cleaned a little and then headed out when all I wanted to do was sleep. Our pastor and his wife, who had been through multiple miscarriages, stopped by to pray with us and share their own stories.
That night two couples, who we count ourselves very blessed to have in our lives, brought dinner over and visited with us. They let us cry, they let us laugh, they were the best company ever. Not knowing what to say or do, they let us take the lead and followed where we went in our conversations. They didn't try to make any feel-good comments, they just let us be and the loved us through every random moment of it. That night will be etched in my mind forever.
In the weeks following what happened, I felt myself drawn to the women who would hug me and then tell me they had miscarried also at some point in their lives. I wanted to know their stories, wanted to be reassured that what I was feeling was normal, wanted to know I wasn't alone or foolish in grieving so hard for someone I knew so little. They became my support and encouragement, my "Jesus with skin on" if you want to be cliche.
I let myself roll through each wave of the grieving process. Denial? Check. This can't be happening to me. Anger? Big check. I felt so angry at God and then I would feel mad for being angry at God. Finally I just let Him have it. I yelled at Him and told Him exactly what I was thinking and how mad I was at Him. I realized that I believe in a big God. He can handle my anger. He was grieving along with me, I believe that. He loved me through it and when I yelled at Him, He waited for me with His open arms that were ready to receive my collapsed and sobbing body.
I wondered what I did wrong, did I eat something that caused me to lose my baby? Was it because I lost my virginity fresh out of high school and I now was being punished for it? Was it because I had prayed for a healthy baby and maybe this wasn't and so in the end I didn't have to have a handicapped child?
That is the hardest comment to hear people make, in my opinion. The "Oh, it's better this way because there was probably something wrong with the baby" statement. They mean it to be comforting but you know that it's the people who haven't actually miscarried who make this comment. I didn't care. I wanted MY baby. If he or she had been blind or deaf, cerebral palsy or down syndrome - it didn't matter to me. I just felt like I had empty arms.
Somewhere along the way I arrived at acceptance. I had been dealt a huge blow to my plans for life. Miscarriage didn't really fit in to what I had laid out but I stumbled along after realizing I couldn't go back in time to change it. In time I realized that I could take my tragedy, my trial, and use it for good. I had joined a circle of women who had lost. Just as I had been touched by women who had experienced the same as me, I could use my loss to connect with others who had also miscarried.
That is where I am now. Four years later I do not always feel healed in my grief. There are more good days than bad, especially as life has gone on and Tim and I have welcome two children to our family. My arms were filled with their births but there are still times they ache to know my oldest. The night my son was born, I held him alone in the birthing room. I had showered, the nurses had left after giving him his first bath, and Tim was outside making phone calls to friends and family members. As I traced the lines of his face and marveled in his beauty I told him about his older sibling. I shared how he or she had given up their place so that Noah could join us. I became pregnant with Noah just two months after miscarrying and each year is bittersweet on this day. I long to know my oldest and yet am so thankful for my Noah.
I have progressed to the stage of thankfulness. I am thankful that I could have the opportunity to carry a life, even for a short period of time. I am thankful that I can use this hard experience to try to reach other women who might be hurting or confused as to where to even start in the healing process.
This is why I started this blog. I find that it's in the connection of women -the shared stories and experiences - that we can find a level of healing. We can be encouraged and uplifted and we can find people who will cry with us and share our grief. We can take our trial and find healing in it.
If you would like to share your story, or you know someone who might like to, please contact me at: emptybuthealing@gmail.com. I would encourage you to also share this site with others who have lost a child and are in need of a place to start.
Through each other's empty arms, we can find healing hearts.