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Nearly a month ago, we announced with great joy and expectation that our family would be growing by one more sweet little baby. When I told the kids, Valerie screamed and yelled, "A baby?!? I WANTED another baby! Cuz I really, really want a sister!" Almanzo was excited too, but Valerie was absolutely ecstatic. They decorated pumpkins and smiled for photos to share our news and we all thanked God for this littlest blessing already being knit together in my womb.
I even shared an early belly photo, laughing at how quickly my body was remembering how to change to grow a baby. Valerie would grin and tell me each morning, "Oh! Your belly is already getting bigger, mommy!" Already my pants were getting tight and I was imagining pulling out my maternity clothes and anticipating eagerly the blessing of holding another newborn baby in my arms before our eighth wedding anniversary.
Almost four years ago, in the midst of a really hard battle with postpartum depression and anxiety, I thought for sure my dreams of being a mother of four was impossibly out of reach. It is only by God's grace that I made it out of that battle victorious and I found myself daily standing in awe of the God who heard my heart's cry and placed our fourth child so carefully in my womb.
And then the bleeding started.
I choked back tears as I rushed to tell Ted and he held me as we prayed for answers...and, really, a miracle. We desperately wanted this baby, but, somehow, I knew. We were losing our precious baby. We told Ted's mom and she held me as I cried more, offering such tremendous support that only someone who has been there can do.
By Monday morning, despite Ted's best effort to keep hoping until we knew for sure, even he was beginning to doubt this story would have a good ending. After lunch, he drove me to the nearest Urgent Care and for the rest of the afternoon I was cared for so gently and tenderly by a doctor and nurses who seemed to grieve right along with us. An ultrasound and blood work confirmed our fears: our baby had died around 6 weeks and now, at just over 8 weeks, my body was accepting and letting go.
Poor Oliver didn't know how to handle seeing mommy in a hospital gown and hooked up to an IV. Ted attempted to rock him to sleep but he was not happy that mommy couldn't hold him. Ted had to finally drive around until he fell asleep and then sat in the car waiting for me. At just over 1 year old, our Ollie is still enjoying mommy's milk, especially at nap time and bed time. I'm so grateful for those quiet moments when he is still curled up in my arms nursing, because there is nothing more calming and peaceful when my heart is breaking.
After I was discharged, I walked slowly out to the car, willing myself to move when all I wanted to do was cry. When I sat down in the passenger seat, I somehow found the words to tell Ted and then he held me as the tears came rushing in and he prayed over our grieving hearts for healing and comfort in the days to come.
When we returned to Ted's childhood home, Valerie greeted me with concern in her eyes and an earnest question, "Is the baby still in your belly, mommy?" I fell to my knees and told her through broken words that our baby was no longer alive but with Jesus and I watched as her own heart broke. It nearly undid me to see her ache so much for the baby she wanted nearly as much as we did. As I finished telling her, she grabbed hold of my shoulders and pulled me close. I held her like that for a while in the silence of our shared grief.
It wasn't until bed time that her tears came, when, in her own broken words, she spoke, "But...I...but...I...just...really...wanted...this...baby!" I held her as sobs shook her little body and my own tears mixed with hers. For a five year old, she already has the most tender and compassionate heart and she understands far more than we often realize. Just like her mommy, she feels emotions so deeply, but, still, it took me by surprise how much she grieved for our baby.
Tuesday morning, we drove back home, leaving Michigan mid morning and arriving back home in Wisconsin just in time for dinner. The doctor at the Urgent Care had told me our baby was no longer alive, but I had still not actually miscarried, so the entire drive home was miserable as my body did the hard work of continuing to let go.
It wasn't until mid morning Wednesday, after Ted was already at work and our three kids were playing and laughing and filling our home with noise that my body finally let go. I rushed to the bathroom as more intense cramping took over and watched as our tiniest little one was born. Though barely recognizable as a baby, I could still see tiny little arm buds and a little body curved into a C still waiting to be fully formed. No matter how small, a mother's heart still knows and feels the tiniest little life.
I sent Ted a text at work: "Baby just passed. Bigger than I expected. It hurts..." He called me almost immediately, which is unusual for him, but we were both grieving this loss together. Somehow, I went through the motions of making lunch for the kids, putting them all down for naps, and then driving to our local clinic to hand over our baby for testing. I wrote on my facebook page about the way the nurses there treated me with so much disrespect and callousness. They didn't offer a single ounce of sympathy or support, but spoke to me in a rush as though I was wasting their time. I still have to write that letter, because no mom should have to listen to a nurse talk about her baby, no matter how small, as a piece of "tissue" instead of the lost life she is so deeply grieving.
That night, we talked with the kids more about our baby and how we were going to name our baby Hope. We won't know for sure the gender of our baby until we see our baby in heaven, but both Valerie and I have been imagining our baby as a girl. I can't explain how I know, but somehow I just know. Valerie has been insistent from the beginning that our baby was a girl too and, often, she has been right about these convictions.
Another part of the reason we named our baby Hope is because of the real Hope we have in the God who is still good and is a sure and steadfast anchor in the storms of life. We will always miss our Hope baby, but we know, even in our grief, that our baby is safe in the arms of Jesus and that one day we will be reunited. We don't know why and we will always wonder what life would be like if our baby was still here, but none of that changes who God is and the real Hope we have in Him.
