Sunday, April 21, 2013

Life After Miscarriage: Seeking and Stuffing

No matter what it seems beforehand, there are no answers to be found half way through a container of ice cream, no matter how far the digging.

It didn't stop me from trying, though, last night after my heart felt like it dropped from its rightful place in my chest and onto the floor, a weeping mess of angry tears following closely.

This week I had to schedule an ultrasound for next week  -- part of post-operation check up -- and that was pretty much the last clipping of the final string from which my weeping heart had been hanging.

This week, I should have have been nearing 20 weeks of pregnancy.

This week, we should have been taking a longer glimpse during an ultrasound to find out whether the baby was a boy or girl ... not staring into the empty open space of my baby's former home.

I've never said "should" before because I've been busy clinging tightly to the thought that only what should happen happens.

It's not true.

Mothers aren't supposed to lose their babies to death before their babies are born.

Babies aren't supposed to die.

Bodies aren't supposed to go wonky after giving birth or ever.

Mothers shouldn't have post-partum depression ever let alone after miscarriages.

Bombs aren't supposed to go off at marathon finish lines and claim little lives and sever limbs and leave people fighting for their lives.

Earthquakes aren't supposed to shake the ground on which we're standing until we fall to our knees wondering if solid ground is a myth we've taken as truth our whole lives.

This world, these people, this very heart -- it's not supposed to be broken; it wasn't meant to be that way.

And I'm angry.

I'm angry that deception ever had the opportunity to slither into our hearts.

I'm angry that we ever bit off more than we could chew of the most tempting and destructive of fruits.

I'm angry that my heart falls off its strings when I feel like I'm being battered from every direction, an unlucky piƱata at the hands of a most strategic and skilled batter and that I pick up a box of ice cream and go digging for answers there

when my heart knows that where I'm digging just melts and gives way.

I cried and yelled and swore Friday night, my husband sitting next to me in bed, listening to me list my grievances; he listened carefully, looked me in the eye, anger blazing bright and told me what I need to hear:

"You're right. It's not supposed to be this way."

He didn't tell me to pray harder.

Or read more of my Bible.

Or seek Jesus better.

Or stop crying and just have more faith

So I raged on until the storm inside quieted for the night.

But I woke with it raging again yesterday and a little today, and it started to dawn on me that I think I skipped this part of the grieving process -- the letting myself feel and express and say and voice my outrage before I accepted the calm that seemed to come so quickly and easily in just recognizing that God is God {and I am not}.

So by the time I had pizza and wine and conversation with my brain twin Saturday afternoon, I was ready for the words I didn't know she'd share.

"It's OK to be angry. It's OK to be pissed off. What happened sucks."

I like peace. I crave calm. I mean, I felt like the word "rejoice" was my word for this year. I want for joy and gratitude and I long to live in those spaces and places, and I think I longed for those so much during the turmoil of finding out about our baby having died and giving birth and then having an emergency d and c that I began seeking that calm and peace and joy and gratitude before I ever expressed the other emotions that come

when something happens to that heart that the heart was never intended to bear.

In seeking, I stuffed down deep inside me the grief that needed to escape so I could move forward.

So I'm letting it all unravel, slowly and trusting that in the meantime

His grace is and will be sufficient to carry me through the day-by-days that seem so daunting right now.


  1. My God. Wow, I know exactly how you feel. I lived it August 2011. I'd be so glad to walk with you through it because though my husband had someone to lean on -a male relative who'd been in our shoes - I had no women I could share with. Heck, I was too angry to share.

    God bless you. And KNOW this will get better. It's not about being strong right now. It's about knowing Who you draw strength from and letting Him carry you through. Someday, I promise you, you'll be helping someone walk through that same valley. I'm at

  2. Yes it's perfectly OK to be angry. It's even sometimes GOOD to be angry; it is not always weakness, but sometimes another form of strength. Yes it's perfectly good and right that you can be honest and say THIS SUCKS, because it does. It's no fun, but there's no skipping steps in the grieving/healing process. But you're working through it, and when you finish dealing with the anger, you will find your peace and calm again, in time.

  3. For lack of better words Hy it does SUCK and you have every right to be angry. As a matter of fact, I fully support your anger. Things aren't always neat or clean and our emotions can reflect that. Just take it one day at a time. And let yourself feel ... you are feeling something and that is all that matters. Worry when you go numb. Love you!

  4. I was once told "When someone asks, what would Jesus do?" sometimes the answer is "Get angry and turn over tables!"


  5. I've been angry for a while. And I know God's waited. Is waiting. I can see him. He's letting me and he's waiting. And something about that is so good. Even as I question it all.
    I've been praying for you.


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