As I drove to HEB yesterday morning in the chilly rain, it struck me how strange the next few hours would be. I was driving to HEB to pick up some flowers and a
sympathy empathy card for some friends who had just found out about their own miscarriage. My next stop after HEB was to grab some breakfast tacos to serve another couple of friends who had welcomed a new baby into their lives just three weeks before. The contrast was jarring. Even more significant: both these families live on the same street, literally across the road from one another. I was instantly reminded of God’s call for us: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” On the south side of the street, I teared up and expressed my sorrow for the couple who had lost their child. 15 minutes later, on the north side of the street, I laughed with the new parents as they tag-teamed a pee-fountain diaper change. It was a morning of rejoicing and mourning.
It’s been seven weeks since we found out about our sparrow, about a month since I last wrote. Seven weeks: we’ve know our loss two weeks longer than we knew our child’s life. It feels long ago and yet so fresh at the same time.
Since I last wrote, we’ve done a lot of healing. I feel a lot of closure. I’m sad, but less frequently and somewhat less intensely. But certain things over the past two months have definitely triggered that weird mix of mourning and rejoicing.
I went to Target a few weeks ago to purchase a baby gift for a coworker’s baby shower. While I was there, I picked up a little white bird ornament to commemorate our baby. I made it through the store okay, but after I got home and talked with Greg some about how we were doing, we both cried a little. I was happy for my coworker but still reminded of our lack.
Last week, in the span of 24 hours, two couples, one a little more distant and one a little nearer to my heart (mentioned above), shared with me about the miscarriages they had experienced since we had ours. I was crushed to hear both stories. I felt deeply for them and deeply felt my own sorrow for our loss. Before I had a miscarriage, I knew it was a sad thing, but since having one myself, I feel the sadness fully for the first time. I mourn for us, for them, and for the broken world that allows such loss.
At the same time, I currently have several close friends who are pregnant, and I’ve felt so joyous and happy for them. My love for those women outweighs the sadness and pity and impatience I feel for myself. But when baby announcements from acquaintances on Facebook seem to become a weekly occurrence, I have to walk away from my phone and computer and take a moment to collect myself.
Healing from miscarriage is a journey of rejoicing and mourning, highs and lows, hope and sorrow. Most days, I have a lot of hope. Some days, I don’t. And that’s okay; there’s room for both in God’s kingdom and in His community. I feel privileged to rejoice with my friends and their new babies, and I feel honored to share my sorrow and mourn with others in empathy. And so I am content with where we are for now.
On a personal note, we’re taking s few weeks off from family planning to rest and enjoy the holidays with family. We will see what 2017 brings, but we’re hopeful for more life. Thank you for allowing me to share my heart with you all.