The question I hate the most right now is "How are you?" What do you say to that? Sometimes I don't know if the person who is asking knows what happened, or if they are just trying to be kind, or just maybe polite? I just want to yell as loud as you can "I JUST LOST MY BABY! HOW DO YOU THINK I AM??!?!"
Yet, the greatest thing is through the enormity of it all, the mind numbing swirl of facts and feelings; there is such a place of serenity and calmness right there in the very middle. God is good. Either you believe that or you don't. He is not good "some of the time", or "when it's convenient". He's either good or He is not. End of discussion. I believe He is good, and I believe He gives good things to His children. For some odd and very unexplainable reason this event was good.
However, the process is without a doubt the most physically painful and emotionally wracking experience I have ever lived through. It hurt worse then having a baby without pain medication at full term. It still hurts, I'm so very very sore.
But I have hope. When I cry there is still calmness in my heart. (And cry I do... lots and lots. I am just now starting to wear contacts again as before my eyes hurt too much)
"In every way we're troubled but not crushed, frustrated but not in despair... We know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will also raise us with Jesus and present us to God together with you... That's why we are not discouraged. No, ...This light, temporary nature of our suffering is producing for us an everlasting, weight of glory, far beyond any comparison, Because we do not look for things that can be seen but for things that cannot be seen. For things that can be seen are temporary, but things that cannot be seen are eternal."
This is terribly morbid, but I wish someone would have told me to be prepared with supplies when I got pregnant. I had nothing on hand. After all, you would use the stuff after the baby is born. It's all so terrifying, quick, and painful.
I have named her "Amara". It's Greek for "unfading, eternal".
Some things I have learned through this:
- Never, ever, ever, ever ask "How are you?" Unless maybe you are set down face to face with the person, 5 hours of time, and a box of Tissues.
- Always call. My closest and dearest friends were on the phone that day. Most said not a word, they just sat on the phone and cried with me. A few just called to say they cared and then hung up. That's it. There are no words necessary, just "I love you, and I am here" is more then enough to say. If the hurting do not want to talk, they can always not answer. Even the caller ID showing the phone number is saying volumes.
- Food is the language of the soul. I never knew why we have the tradition of sending meals, doing laundry, etc. when someone looses a loved one. I always thought, "well, they're not sick? why can't they cook?" For one thing, when your heart hurts the last thing you want to do is cook, clean, or do the laundry. However, little ones and your body still need to eat. WOW! Someone bringing supper made us feel so loved and protected like I could not have imagined.
- Flowers, cards, notes... after a miscarriage that is a pro-life statement. If a child had lived and then died of course I would send something. After a miscarriage the simple act of sending flowers or a card is saying "I believe in life at conception. This was a life, and you have lost"
- I love email, but there is something about a physical card in the mail that I never knew before. It's something to hold and put in a momento box at the end of the day. (or month, or year) It's a physical piece to pull out and weep over when you need a time to cry.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your notes, flowers, cards, phone calls, e-mails, prayers. It meant so much.
