Walking with Loved Ones through a Miscarriage

This article was originally published in French at TPSG. It was based on an article I wrote on my blog in 2015.

Depending on your cultural context, reasons abound for keeping your pregnancy a secret. In the West, friends may tell you "It's bad luck to share the news before the end of the first trimester." In Senegal, this notion was more explicit: "You don't want to alert the evil spirits to the presence of a vulnerable little life." A few years ago, when I found out I was pregnant again, my reason for silence was quite simple: "I’ve already had two miscarriages. 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 kept it a secret. This pregnancy came as a big surprise to us, as I was done having babies. My two daughters brought 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. Now age forty, I felt sicker, weaker, and wearier than during my previous four pregnancies, 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 a miscarriage, I knew none was needed. The doctor's words merely confirmed what I already knew in my heart: Our baby was gone. This precious 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 our 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."

When I first shared this story in 2015, the response was overwhelming. Not only did it resonate with mothers and fathers who had lost an unborn child, but also with grandparents, siblings, and friends who had walked alongside loved ones who had.

So, why share my story again now? Because over the years, as I’ve witnessed others experience a similar loss, I’ve realized how ill-prepared most of us were. When a couple first receives the news that they’re expecting a child, they usually rush to the nearest bookstore in search of books that will help them prepare for the arrival of their longed-for little one. The gold standard in birth preparation books in the English-speaking world is entitled “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” A movie was even made inspired by the best-selling book! True, most couples share the anticipation of their little loved one on the way. But since much of the reading has to do with the symptoms and phases of pregnancy and delivery, the mom-to-be tends to devour these kinds of books.

Most women want to think positive thoughts during their first trimester. They're told that worrying about miscarrying could increase stress levels and lead to the very thing they fear the most. And while I don't suggest obsessing about the worst, I do recommend being prepared. Ignorance doesn't do a couple any favours, and can lead to greater fear and pain when the worst does befall them. And given that one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, it’s unfortunate how little material is designed to prepare a couple for the likely scenario of losing their unborn child.

After the loss of my first baby via miscarriage, I wondered at this gap in the literature. I wondered at how I could have been so ill-equipped, both medically and emotionally, to face what I went through in the days, weeks, and months that followed. And I wondered at the seeming equal lack of preparation of those around me. This keen sense of collective cluelessness manifested itself in the responses that I got from well-meaning people. By the time I’d had my third miscarriage, I’d heard them all. These are just a sampling of words meant to offer comfort.

1.       You have a new angel in heaven watching over you.
(Neither adults nor children who die become angels. I’ve been surprised to hear this from believers).

2.     He probably had a deformation and wasn’t supposed to live.
(Does the value of a human life depend on its health and viability?)

3.     This is a lot harder on women then on men.
(Should we minimize a father's sorrow and loss? Just because his body didn't experience a miscarriage doesn't mean his heart hasn't.)

4.     You’ll have another one soon. Don’t worry.
(Do we have any way of knowing that? Since we can't, these words of assurance tend to ring hollow).

5.     God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.
(Yes, he does. In fact, 2 Corinthians 1:8b-9 states, “For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead.”)

6.     God needed him more than you.
(God needs nothing and no one. This is no comfort at all).

7.     You went for a run? That’s not safe!
(Blaming a mother for her loss is hurtful and unfruitful. Shouldn't we leave the medical advice to the professionals?).

8.     What kind of supplements were you taking? Let me tell you about the vitamins, essential oils, fill-in-the-blank that I sell.
(Even if someone is convinced of the benefits of their product, a suffering friend could feel exploited by such sales pitches).

I don’t say these things to condemn, as I may have thought or even said any of them myself. But as is the case when anyone around us is experiencing loss, the best approach is usually to sit in silence. Job’s friends were the most helpful when they said nothing. It was when they opened their mouths that bad theology and pat answers started pouring out.

When the time comes to speak, please carefully consider your words. Friends who shared our tears and prayed for us ministered to us in profound ways. And while I caution against firing off Bible verses, articles, and book titles the minute sorrow strikes, the day did come in which we were ready to read and reflect on the theological implications of our loss. And when it did, John MacArthur’s book, “Safe in the Arms of God: Truth from Heaven about the Death of a Child” spoke to our heads and our hearts. With theological precision and pastoral tenderness, Pastor MacArthur gives parents every reason, not merely to hope, but to know that they will be reunited with their little one in heaven.

So, I am writing now, over five years after the fact, because since then, I have witnessed countless friends experience this kind of heartache. And the promise still rings true that God is good all the time, whether you hold that newborn baby in your arms with tears of joy, or whether you hold the hand of the Shepherd with tears of sadness. If you are walking through a season of sorrow following a miscarriage, may the Lord use this trial to draw you close to his heart and comfort you in all your troubles, so that you can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort you yourselves receive from God (2 Corinthians 1:4).