Tuesday, December 30, 2008

A Very Serious Post, Not for the Feint Hearted

I've been debating whether to write this post, and decided for it for a few reasons:
1. So that you know why the sadness sometimes lurks in my eyes.
2. Because I need to talk about it, but I don't want to talk about it.
3. So that you who have not experienced it can hear one person's story. Not that I claim my feelings and reactions are universal by any means, but for those who care for others, maybe my story can help.

Last week Dave and I were happily expecting our second child. Today we are not.

I tuned out when the doctor mentioned the possibility of miscarriage. Hadn't I just seen the baby's little heart beating? No danger could touch its little life in my strong, healthy body, a body which was designed to bring forth life.

Which is why I feel so betrayed by my body.

For days I ignored the mounting evidence, searching internet sites for every other possible explanation. It was only the wise council of my husband a good friend from church that kept me from preaching this weekend, and the end finally came at the exact time that I would have been in the pulpit Saturday night. Thank God for clearer minds than mine.

As soon as I could steal away to a private room, the wrenching sobs which I had repressed for hours poured out. They surprised me. It's not that I don't cry- I cry quite easily over movies, Hallmark commercials, good books, a well-told story, a sermon (even my own), weddings and funerals. I just don't often cry over my own life or situation. But I cry now.

Initially, I thought I'd throw away the pictures from the sonogram with the little white blob, an arrow, and "baby," but they're still in my purse in the envelope. I can't look at them, but I can't throw them away. They're all I have left of baby.

I feel like I have a tomb inside of me. A cold, dark, lifeless tomb.

And every minute of every day, my body reminds me of what has been lost.

The other stories have surprised me. They shouldn't. It only makes sense when you look at the statistics: around 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, so of course women all around me have suffered through this. But I just never thought of how many there were. It's like I've discovered a huge underground sisterhood which I didn't want to join, but for which I am incredibly grateful. They share their stories with me, and I can believe in hope, in the return of real laughter, in a body that will bear life again.

Tomorrow I will look again for the sunshine. Maybe the next day I will even dance just a little bit. It's just life; we'll win in the end.

But tonight I'm crying again.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dear Dagney,

Clif sent me the link to this blog. We, too, went through the pain of saying goodbye before we had a chance to say hello. Like you, I had seen the baby's heartbeat and all was well until it wasn't - 14 weeks into the pregnancy. I hated my own body for failing to do what it was supposed to do, and the grieving process was a lot longer and more complicated than I expected it to be.

That was 18 years ago. God does heal. And I find myself with another reason to joyfully await an eternity in the presence of God - meeting the child I never knew, one who is being raised by God.

May God heal your heart.

Laura Guy

Anonymous said...

Dear Dagney--

I've never clicked on the personal blog link on any of the Insights devotionals before, but for some reason this morning I did. I'm so sorry for the loss and sadness that you and Dave are going through. I missed you in the pulpit last weekend--thank you for your courage and honesty in sharing the reason here.

We never experienced the pain of a miscarriage--but having a daughter with autism gives me some sense of how awful it is to have to say goodbye to a child, and also to all of the dreams and hopes that were a part of your joy in the child. Please know that you are in our prayers and our concerns. If a listening ear is ever useful to either of you, I'd be honored.

In Him,
Darrell

Anonymous said...

Dagney and Dave,
I am so sorry for your loss. I am part of your "sisterhood" and know of the pain that you are feeling. Your words rang very true to what I experienced many years ago. My prayers are with you.
Kathy Carter

Anonymous said...

Dagney,
I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing though. Reason #4 - It gives a deeper connection to those of us who have experienced such grief.

Following are the words I wrote to my unborn baby several years ago. I share this only because it helped me reflect on the whole experience as a blessing, rather than a loss.

I hope it gives you some peace. Love in Christ, Tonya H.

4/26/03

My precious baby,

Thank you for coming into my life
Thank you for what you gave to me in such a short time

Although I was never blessed to see your precious face
I’m thankful that I was able to be blessed by your heart

I hope and pray that if you were aware of me at all, you knew that I truly loved you with all of my heart

I would have given up anything to make sure you could be healthy and happy

I would have traded any possession if it would have meant that you could have had life outside of my body

We so wanted to bring you home and make a wonderful life for you

You have a big sister that loves you so much – she’s already told all of her friends about you and she’s picked out special names for you

Your Daddy has been so excited about you. He immediately began planning for your safety and comfort. He looked at car seats and furniture the very night that we knew you were going to come to us.

We began looking at names for you. We talked about whether or not we wanted to find out if you were a boy or a girl. We were both leaning toward finding out. I always felt as if you were a little boy. Forgive me if I’m wrong – I love you just the same.

You surprised me more than I have ever been surprised. I had begun to think that for whatever reason, God didn’t have it in His Master Plan that I would be a (birth)mom.

I told myself that I was so happy and complete, it didn’t matter much whether or not I would actually give birth to a baby. I had proven to myself that my capacity to love went way beyond whether or not my body was responsible for giving life. My love for S***** is as great as if I had given birth to her. Sometimes it’s hard to place where I stopped and she began in my life. It feels as if she’s always been a part of me.

It feels like you’ve always been a part of me too. Although now I know that I won’t get to hold you in my arms, feed you when you’re hungry, sing to you when you are wanting to sleep (which probably wouldn’t help you fall asleep at all), decorate your nursery, pick out your sleepers and church clothes and play clothes, give you warm baths, hold you close to my heart and pray for you to grow up to be a strong, loving man of faith. We can’t ever make mud pies or chocolate chip cookies. You won’t be able to meet your grandmas or grandpas, at least until they get to heaven

What would you have looked like? Would you have liked listening to music like Dad and me? Would loud noises bother your ears like they do S*****'s?

I’m sure you would have had a great sense of humor. You would have known love beyond anyone’s capacity to contain it

You would have been protected and kept safe from all harm

I’m sorry I was not able to protect you from the very beginning. I have prayed to God and have asked forgiveness if there was anything that I could have done differently to have made a difference in your life

Precious baby, please know that I will never stop thinking about you. Your daddy and I will have scars on our hearts forever. We long for the day that we will see you

Even if I am blessed to have another baby, it won’t take your place. You were my first. Although not born from my body the way I would have chosen, you were chosen by God. He received you into heaven before I even knew you had left me

If I never have another baby, I will be grateful that I had you, even if only for awhile. You changed my world. I felt differently knowing that I was caring for you. I ate differently and took care of myself differently when I thought I was doing it for you.

Thank you for what you gave to me. I will love you forever, with all of my heart,

Mom

Dagney J Velazquez said...

Thank to all who commented or e-mailed me. Dave and I have been surrounded by love, prayers, sympathy and empathy, and it makes all the difference.

Thank you to all those who shared with me your own stories of loss and grief. They are powerful. Tonya, your letter to your child is beautiful, thank you so much for letting me and others read it.

Friar said...

Dag and Dave -- many prayers and thoughts are with you.

Usually the phrase is "faint-hearted," meaning someone who has little courage or ability to handle tough stuff. But the way you wrote it made me think that life in all its ups and downs is not for the "feint-hearted" either, as feint means to pretend to move in a direction or fake-out. Trying to feint our way through life wouldn't work well either.

Again, so sorry for your loss.

Brett T

a child of God said...

Dagney,

I am so sorry to hear of your loss. I can only imagine how incredibly difficult this must be for you and for you family. Please know that you and your family will be in our prayers on this day, and for many days and weeks and months to come. May God wrap God's arms around you through the hearts and hands of the MANY people who love you!

Ashley Cheung

Helen said...

Dagney,

I saw your post on Andrew Conard's recent Speed Linking post. Your candid writing touched me! I am so sorry you and Dave had to go through this loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you!

Helen Ransom

Ashley said...

Hi Dagney,

My mom, Nancy Brown, sent me a link to your blog after I had a miscarriage this past weekend. It was my first pregnancy and it grieved my husband & I very deeply, but one of my co-workers told me something that helped somewhat: she grew up on a farm, and said that her family doctor always maintained she preferred working with farmers rather than 'city folk' because farmers had a far closer relationship to nature and understood that death and loss are integral to life. She also said that when something like this happens, God is just clearing the way for something much bigger.

I was angry with my body, too, but I don't feel that way anymore. After all, it is the ancient wisdom of the body that leads it to miscarry: for one reason or another, the baby couldn't have survived in this world.

I'm trying to focus on the good that came from this. I have a new appreciation for my mother, whose own miscarriage story seems to have been far more painful and more of an ordeal than mine. Not that the loss is greater, but that she suffered more because of circumstances.

Anyway, thank you again for sharing your story. I hope you and your family find peace with your loss.