I can’t believe it’s August. It’s hard to fathom that just 6 months ago I got my positive pregnancy test. I had no clue what this year had in store for me, it was just beginning.
February 11th. Ironically I’ve never liked the number 11. Rough things that have happened in my life always seemed to happen on the 11th. One summer in college a guy broke up with me on July 11th. It’s silly, but that’s how I thought. Since it is now the day I officially gave life to my first child, February 11th will always be special to me. “11” is different now.
February 26th. The day things became so different. I found out about our son, and mentally became a mother. I knew, probably better than most, that the pregnancy wasn’t guaranteed and that anything could go wrong (I read way too much, and had a close friend who had just miscarried twice). But as the weeks went by, I leaned in little by little. By the week before my miscarriage, I was able to talk about November as if it were really going to come.
April 20th. The day that will forever be etched in my mind. Some people say years later that they had forgotten the actual day they miscarried. I don’t have that luxury since it was my birthday. Not just any birthday, but my 30th birthday. But I honestly don’t know that I’d want to forget. That day has made me who I am even now, and it will continue to mold me through the years. Every birthday going forward, I will have a reason to think about and remember my son. I almost think it was God’s way of helping me to never forget him, nor the abounding grace God gave me in that season of my life. Since that day my whole outlook and understanding of life has changed — on God’s love, on the wonderful partnership of marriage, on a mother’s love for her child, on loving others who are crying out for love, on grief and what people need, on the compassion people need and want, on tiny life and how much of a miracle it is (even though I’ve always had a huge heart for the unborn).
How has it been 4 months since that day? Some days I could barely keep my head up and my eyes dry to keep on going. Other days, by God’s infinite grace, were not just not bad, they were good. I laughed. I loved. I did fun things, and I enjoyed life. I never forgot, but I did move on.
I still cannot believe it took me almost 3 months to heal. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but looking back, it was extremely difficult for me. Mostly because I just wanted to be pregnant again, and during that time I couldn’t do anything about that just yet. But also because everything I read said that miscarriage healing can take anywhere from 2-10 days. DAYS. They lie. I learned that the hard way, but I also learned that God will allow my full healing in His time. It was extremely hard to wait on His timing, and to deal with every physical and emotional rough patch along the way,
Now that I’m at a point where I can try again, it’s a whole new stress. I’d almost probably prefer to go back to that time, because I wasn’t nervous or wanting something so badly, right then. That all took a hiatus by nature. Sure, I was scared of what my body was doing, but I was so focused on healing that I didn’t even begin to think about the whole process of trying again just yet. It was kind of freeing. Granted, I was pretty impatient and felt like I was stuck in a holding pattern, but now that I’ve been released into this next stage, it’s just as unnerving. Just in a different way. I also somehow wasn’t bombarded by pregnancy announcements during those 3 months. God was definitely steering me away from them, and I’m very grateful to Him for that. It’s hard enough seeing them now — I can only imagine how hard it would have been then.
I’m rambling. I feel like I’m rambling. It’s Saturday morning and J had to go to work for a fundraising thing this morning, so I hopped on here. I’ll wrap this up.
Yesterday I was thinking, dang, I would have been 6 months pregnant right now. All of the life things that are coming to pass are happening not the way I planned. I look down at my flat belly and think, “I would’ve been ‘this’ big by now.” I rarely think this way, but the closer it gets to fall the harder it will be. I saw pre-season football on TV the other day and thought, it’s almost fall. September is just around the corner. Then October. Then November. Then Christmas. The thought of my favorite time of year, surrounded by family I love, without the baby I thought I’d have, makes me wistful. My heart just can’t quite wrap itself around that reality, no matter how well I’m doing. And it’s only August…what’s it going to be like when November and December are actually here?
November 4th. It will be hard. Even if I am pregnant again by then (and I hope for my sanity that I will be), that day will be unreal. I wonder if they celebrate birthdays in heaven. I wonder if they would celebrate William’s birthday on April 20th or November 4th, when he would’ve really made his entrance into this world. I have a hard time thinking of April 20th as his birthday, because to me, he died that day. They aren’t one and the same. No, November 4th is his day. It always will be.
May 13th. This is the day I would be due if I conceived this cycle. It doesn’t belong with these other dates, but I’m holding out hope that it will.
God, give me grace to get through this next month. Give me the grace and strength I need to get through November 4th, to honor William on that day. Pour out your love on me through the Thanksgiving and Christmas season, when I am going to need you more than ever. Help me to love others the way You love them, no matter how much they seem to have it together. Because I sure needed love.
And please, fulfill my heart’s desire for May 13th.
You are sovereign. You are omniscient. You are all-powerful. You love me in a way I cannot fathom. I give this journey to You.
The Lord is my strength and my shield;
In Him my heart trusts; and I am helped;
My heart exults;
And with my song I give thanks to Him.
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong, and let your heart take courage;
And wait for the Lord.
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves the crushed in spirit.