Another Wave Crashes
The lyrics came into my mind last Thursday and I haven't stopped thinking about that song or listening to it since.
"When I fear my faith will fail, Christ will hold me fast; when the tempter would prevail, He will hold me fast. I could never keep my hold through life's fearful path, for my love is often cold. He must hold me fast..."
Last Wednesday was another day of quiet and silence and frustration. A throwing up of our hands in some kind of surrender and raw emotion. Fine, God, do what you want. We're already down, bring it on.
We had woken up that morning rounding out almost six weeks of joy and morning sickness and exhaustion and pregnancy hormones. I had been so sick. And everyone says, being sick means healthy baby, and I was definitely really sick. So much so, that I am convinced we were having a baby girl.
We had woken up that morning with a healthy dose of nerves and uncertainty as we headed to the ultrasound and first doctor's appointments. I was almost 10 weeks. It was time to hear the heartbeat. Ask the questions about the testing to come. Share the news publicly so we could celebrate this life before we braced ourselves to potentially hear more hard news... we could learn within the next month whether or not this baby had a neural tube defect.Instead of all of that, all of the plans and questions I had prepared to ask based on my past experience, I found myself staring at a screen where a baby was clearly being formed - and so perfectly it appeared - but it was a baby with no heartbeat.
Shock.
"Those He saves are His delight! Christ will hold me fast. Precious in his holy sight, He will hold me fast. He'll not let my soul be lost; His promises shall last. Bought by Him at such a cost - He will hold me fast..."
So much confusion. So many unanswered questions. Utter, speechless, sick-to-my-stomach shock.
I mean, I knew it was a possibility. After child loss, you hear of every possible loss ever dealing with young children and babies and adult children and chronic illness and grief and pain. But I had been so sick. Even the night before as my nausea ramped up and I took the medicine I had been prescribed just a week before. Even that morning as I woke up lightheaded and hungry and already a sore back and the list goes on... my normal pregnant morning routine. It was possible, but God wouldn't do that to us. Maybe another neural tube defect. But then we'd at least meet and know our baby. And we'd face that then.Not now. Not like this.
Within the week. Baby measured just a little smaller than my dates suggested he/she should. My body didn't know yet. I'd still be sick like that for more than a week.
Blood work to double check. Follow up with my doctor on Monday. Here are the options. Could there still be a chance? But I knew in my heart of hearts - my mama intuition - I had seen it. This baby was no longer with us.
Yes, Jacob is a big brother.But now he is a big brother in Heaven. As in, Jacob's little sibling, in Heaven, with him.
And again, empty arms on this earth.
Quiet house.
Too many tears.
Hard phone calls.
Here we go again.
"For my life He bled and died; Christ will hold me fast. Justice has been satisfied - He will hold me fast. Raised with Him to endless life, He will hold me fast 'til our faith is turned to sight, when He comes at last."
Eleven days later and the heartache is just too heavy.
It's too much.
Miscarriage. Something so common. Something so isolating. Something so quiet and lonely and hard. A loss. Significant loss. Different than infant loss and yet significant and heavy and painful - not to be compared with our other loss - it's just different. Different. And painful. And challenging.
A miscarriage following the loss of our son - it just feels like too much. We were already down. We've lost others in the past year, even in that previous week. And yet here we were, here we are, God asking us to go through it again. Another life. Lost.
As if I wasn't already confused and puzzled and unsure how to answer when people ask us how many kids we have. As if family pictures didn't already feel like the worst to me because they would never be complete. As if Christmas cards were not challenging enough to print and sign. As if holidays weren't already a tricky time. As if I couldn't already get through my days without great effort to simply just continue on.
My first thought when I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test: excitement.
My [nearly] next thought: another baby to love like I love(d) Jacob.
My heart had already swollen in size.
And here I am, completely broken. At the lowest I've been. At the lowest we've felt. Clinging to each other. Taking it a day at a time. Physically healing from the loss.
And saying to God, in surrender and in a question, You'll hold me fast... (Right?) You won't let me go. (Right?) You're holding on to me (right?) because I can't hold on to anything right now."He will hold me fast. He will hold me fast. For my Savior loves me so, He will hold me fast."