The worst day.

Yesterday was not real. I never actually woke up, in a great mood, feeling frisky and looking fly. I did not go to the doctor on a sunny morning with a skip in my step and a song in my heart.

I am so tired but my heart is screaming and I feel like I am walking around in a dream. Today I hear thunder, loud and rumbling and it is going to rain so hard.

Our baby died.

At 13 weeks–one week ago today. The odds of a 2nd trimester miscarriage are slim to none.

I had only gone to this high-risk pregnancy doctor just as a precaution, because of silly things like craniosynostosis, and this was just a getting-to-know-you visit. But within 20 minutes I wanted to shout at him, I wanted to plead with him to check the ultrasound just one more time: “Are you sure? Positive? You do know we are here for just a check-up right? If my baby has ‘passed away’, as you call it, then how come I can see its head? Its little belly, little legs and arms…how come I can count its ribs?

“If my baby died, then how come I don’t feel awful and crampy and bleedy? How come I am still fat and sassy, pregnant 14 weeks tomorrow? Don’t you know that I just heard its heartbeat last week at my regular doctor’s appointment? Don’t you know that I talk to this baby everyday all day, and I take my prenatal vitamins every night? I pray, and I thank God. And we were supposedly ‘out of the woods’ at this point. How did this happen? How can you tell for sure?”

I wasn’t angry, with him or with anybody.

But I am shocked.

I don’t know why it happened so far along, I don’t know how. I just want one more picture.

I can’t tell you how thankful we are for our family and friends right now. I could say words like supportive and sympathetic, helpful or kind, but words can’t describe how cared for we are by our church family. Well, maybe a few words: bear hugs and tears from the biggest and strongest of grown men. Choked-up condolences from my sweet, sweet friends. A small group of beautiful 3rd-grade girls surrounding and praying for my 8-year-old daughter as she cried. The same people who held their breaths as we went through that first trying month of pregnancy, the same people who celebrated our good news–those same people were truly grieving right long with us last night.

I’ve never felt more loved yet broken at the same time. Last night was some serious church.

I’m thankful for the comfort that they gave us; I wish there really were a bible verse or a hug that would take it all away and make it even a little easier.

But it’s just not.

Not at bedtime, when I go back and forth, from child to child, cradling them and soothing them and praying with them as they cry themselves to sleep.

Not when I wake up in the morning and put on maternity pants, and stare at a pile of donated baby toys.

Not when I see my husband cry and make a fist at the steering wheel in the car.

You guys this is so hard and horrible. I know people go through worse things and I know there are starving children and people who need Jesus’s love and life goes on and there’s work to do.

Time has just stopped at my house.

But I know it will get better.

Caleb, in an attempt to speak words of wisdom to Mia this morning, quoted one of my favorite poems–the one about footprints in the sand. During times of troubles, our Father carries us. And so I think of Him, and I think of how much no parent likes to see their children hurting. We just want to scoop them up and carry them and dry their tears and make everything better. Their pain is our pain. And for God, nothing could be more true–He knows what it’s like to lose a child.

Because Jesus was His baby.

His precious, precious son; and God had to watch Him suffer, and He did that because of me and for all of us.

And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is cradling our baby right now, and that one day we will get to scoop up all our children and kiss their faces.

Caleb and I just want to thank everyone for…everything. It means so much to have your love and support and that we’re not alone. And we’ll be okay.

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About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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