Breaking the Silence: Reflections on my Third Miscarriage

Depending on your cultural context, reasons abound for keeping your pregnancy a secret: "It's bad luck to share the news before the end of the first trimester."  "You don't want to alert the evil spirits to the presence of a vulnerable little life."  My reason was quite simple: "Why broadcast our wonderful news to the world just to be a big downer on everyone if we have to take it back if things go wrong?"

So, although we couldn't wait to shout it from the rooftops, we pretty much kept it a secret.  This pregnancy came as a big surprise to us, as I was done having babies.  Isabella and Evangeline bring me so much joy that I wanted to focus on being a mama to them.  I also looked forward to being freer to get more involved in ministry.  That positive pregnancy test, therefore, threw me for a loop, but I quickly accepted and rejoiced over the new life growing inside of me.

It'd been a pretty rough first trimester for me.  At age forty this time around, I felt sicker, weaker, and wearier than ever, and it overwhelmed me at times.  Nausea, upset stomach, fatigue, excessive salivating, and insatiable hunger controlled my life.  My malaise was such that I gained twenty pounds, and I went from being a fit, healthy mama to being a sedentary, voracious one.  I was counting the days till the end of my first trimester, hoping relief was around the corner.

I was almost out of the woods.  I was ten weeks and two days along the night it happened.  I'd been cramping and spotting for hours, so I gave my friend Sheri a call to take me to Clinique Sagesse for an ultrasound.  But as my body manifested the tell-tale signs of the dreaded m-word, I knew none was needed.  The doctor's words merely confirmed what I already knew in my heart: My baby was gone.  This precious, beloved one had joined his/her two siblings who preceded him/her to heaven.  

This was Sunday night.  The Lord's Day.  I gave birth to both my sweethearts on a Sunday night, and I lost my last one on one as well.  As the reality of what was happening began to sink in, the words of a friend articulated so well what many of us may wonder: "Why the Lord chooses that we would not see the faces of some of our children before they see the face of God, I don't know."  

Despite the sorrow, this time around, the loss was different for me.  Our previous miscarriages had taken place while we were childless newlyweds.  Every baby shower announcement, every couple strolling down the street with their sweetie in tow, every Facebook post of a cute little toddler, could trigger a new wave of tears as Dan and I were reminded that we may never have a child of our own.  The only arms to comfort us were one another's.  This time around, while I mourn, I find solace in my daughters' cuddles and laughter.  They remind me of how much I have to be thankful for.  I grieve for the ones we've lost, but rejoice for the ones we get to keep.  

So, why share my story now?  I don't know.  Perhaps simply to feel a bit less alone.  And to let others know that they're not alone in their loss.  God is good all the time, when we hold that newborn baby in our arms with tears of joy, as well as when we hold the hand of the Shepherd with tears of sorrow.  He is always good.  Can I get an, "Amen!"