I cry a lot. You might say that as a woman that’s to be expected, and you might be right. I do know that since I had kids I find myself tearing up over a lot of ridiculous things, like the sight of my two precious little boys sleeping. Really, boys are generally much more precious when they’re sleeping. It would probably make more sense if I cried when they woke up. But I will proudly take my place in a long line of women who cry over Hallmark commercials and the ends of sappy movies, even when my children and my husband laugh at me (just like I used to laugh at my mom. what goes around and all that).

I have been very blessed over the course of my life and I have had many more occasions to cry tears of joy than to cry tears of sorrow or pain. But this is not one of those times. Right now my tears are tears of grief. I have lost a child.

I passed that magical moment in my pregnancy– 12 weeks– when everything is supposed to be okay. We heard that tiny heartbeat, healthy and strong. Something like 95% of miscarriages happen before the 12 week mark. Everything was good.

Wednesday we went in for a regular, routine checkup. Went potty in a cup. Everything looks good, the doctor said. Your uterus is just the right size. I was finally feeling better after months of awful nausea. We joked about the pregnancy workout I had done that morning and how badly my legs hurt from the squats. Lay back. We’ll listen to baby’s heartbeat. Hmmmm . . . baby doesn’t want to cooperate. Let me try again. Maybe it’s hiding over here. I think that’s your pulse. Well, why don’t we do an ultrasound and see where baby is hiding. Probably he’s just at an awkward angle.

I think I knew then, but I wasn’t giving up until the doctor told me to.

It only took a moment in the ultrasound room. We saw little tiny hands– with five perfect little fingers on each. They seemed to be waving at us as the technician moved the sensor over my belly. Then she turned off the screen. “I’m going to have the doctor come in and look at this with us.” I knew what that meant. I still refused to let myself cry until the doctor came in. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news for you.”

The baby had no heartbeat. My body, which had provided a warm little home for my precious child, was carrying a body whose soul was gone.

I don’t know how we made it through the rest of the day. We made arrangements for a D&C the following day. I called my job to let them know I wouldn’t be coming in. Somehow we made it home, and then we had to call people and tell them. I heard my dad’s voice break as I told him what had happened. “Oh, baby, no, I’m so sorry.” We hung up and my husband just held me as I wept.

Right now, as I type, tears are running down my face. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell this story without them. I don’t know if I would want to.

I carried a child within me for 15 weeks. I never held that child, never looked in his or her bright little eyes or did any of those precious things you look forward to through the months of discomfort that is pregnancy. But that little person will always be in my heart. And I firmly believe, with every ounce of my being, as much as I believe that Iowa has too many cornfields, that someday I will see that child again.

Right now my little son or daughter is with my heavenly Father, the One who has promised to love me and care for me and bring me goodness and mercy all the days of my life– even on this day, when I weep and mourn for my loss. Someday we will have a family reunion, and my joy will overflow.

But today it is my grief that overflows. Right now I am walking through the valley of the shadow of death, and it is a dark valley and it is hard to walk through it. It hurts more than anything I have ever experienced in my life. But I walk with hope, because my God is with me. He comforts me and guides me and gives me all I need to get through this.

How could I ask for more?


14 thoughts on “Tears

  1. hugs! Erin it was very sad for me to read this, and I cried, but I think that writing it down will help with the healing process. I love you! You are in my thoughts and prayers.

  2. Princess E – beautifully, gloriously expressed. Your ability to put down on paper (keyboard) what you are experiencing and feeling is truly a gift. Thanks for sharing with us. I am sure those hours in the doctors office were some of the worst you have experienced in your lifetime and I certainly hope you never have to feel pain of that sort again. I would love to be able to express my feelings to you as eloquently as you can….I so wish I could find the words to warm that cold spot you’ve got right know.

    While we’ve never met in real life, you convey your spirit and soul in your words. Please know that your TC girls are crying right along with you and thinking of you often…I so wish you and Art peace and comfort.

    Yes you will eventually have a family reunion … right now you have have an extra special angel to watch over your family.

    Love ya


  3. Erin, this is so sad but beautifully written. Your perspective on things is always so wise. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. Wish I could be there to hug you in person!

  4. Oh Erin,
    You have a beautiful way with words. May God give you the strength and all the comfort, that only He can provide. You and Art are in our prayers. luv ya, girl.

  5. Erin, I am so very sorry. But you are right. God is walking right beside you, holding your hand. I know this, because he is walking beside me too, holding my hand and helping me after dad passed. Put your trust in the Lord and everything else will follow. May God bless you and your family. You are all in my prayers.

    Amy (AmyinFL)

  6. My heart cries for you! If I could be, I would be there just to sit with you or maybe clean your house and fix your meals so you could sit! 🙂
    I know that no human words or deeds can truly comfort you but what joy we have in our Faith and the assurance that we will see your child in heaven someday! Your baby is safe in God’s prescence and enjoying such a life, so much happiness!
    Thank you for sharing some of the most beautiful, sad thoughts of your experience! I love you SPFP!

  7. Erin…i am so sorry this happened…i was so shocked to hear your news…so i am sure it was a shock to you too.
    My heart goes out to you and her family. I want you to know that although we don’t know each other very well at all…i am still thinking of you and praying for you.

    thank you for sharing your story in such a beautiful way…
    i am blessed to know you.
    Take care…
    Michelle {mshell}

  8. Erin~I am so very sorry, just so sorry. Please, let me konw if I can help in any way. You know where to find me.

  9. Oh Erin, I just want to sit here and cry. I’m so glad that you are doing better, but what a heartbreaking thing to go through.

  10. Pingback: Spinning Beauty from Bitterness « Together for Good

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