It was New Year’s 2009. I don’t remember how we rang in the new year that year, but I do remember the significant new thing we were all looking forward to as a family in the year 2009. I was sixteen weeks along with our second child, and though I had felt different and been sick a bit more with this pregnancy than when I was pregnant with our daughter everything seemed to be going well. Our daughter was pretty excited about having a new sibling in the summertime.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009 was a typical day for us in ministry. Our church was full of retirees, so per our pattern we were hosting one of those couples for lunch. I scurried around getting ready as usual for our meal. Our company arrived; we enjoyed the meal and began our after-lunch visit. It was during that visit that I began to feel that something wasn’t right in my body. Nevertheless, I carried on with my hostess duties, pouring tea and making conversation.
After our company left, and as the day went on, it was apparent that something wasn’t right. By evening we had decided to drop our three-year-old daughter off at a friend’s house and head to the hospital—just to check things out. As we drove to the hospital there was a distinct spot along the way I remember thinking “My baby is already gone.” And yet…we drove to the hospital with the hope that things would work out. After all, spotting is not unusual for some pregnancies.
It was comforting when the nurse, who was at the hospital the day our daughter was delivered and who was also a local pastor’s wife with whom we were friends, greeted us in the emergency room. With the doctor trying to find a heartbeat, my friend hovered around, too. I think she knew. They knew. We all knew, but we still hoped.
And they sent me home. So…with hope but with a body in increasing pain I returned home, laboring to deliver a little one who never had the chance to breathe outside the protective bubble God had formed in me for the purpose of nurturing and giving life.
As we returned to the hospital for the routine checks to ensure my health after the delivery, I lay in bed—stunned. Empty. And yet…I had peace. Why?
Before going to the hospital the second time I had tucked my precious toddler into bed, reading the nightly Bible story to her from her children’s Bible, as usual. As I lay in bed in the hospital knowing my baby was gone, I recalled the story I had read to her that night—it was the story about how Jesus told the disciples to let the children come to him, though the disciples tried to shoo them away. The illustration in this particular Bible portrayed Jesus with children of various ages all around him, and a baby sitting on his knee.
In that moment, I knew that God had been faithfully preparing the way to assure me of His presence by His sovereign placing of that story on that night in our readings. My baby was with Him.
In that moment as I lay in the hospital recalling His tender voice to me on the way to the hospital the first time, and remembering that picture of the baby on Jesus’ knee, I knew God’s presence and peace in a way I have never known Him before. It was the warmth of His incredible love wrapped up in the sadness of grief, the assurance that though I grieved the loss of my precious second child he was already in the arms of Jesus, never to suffer in this world but gone directly to serve Him in His heavenly kingdom.
In the subsequent weeks of recovery a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions swirled about me, but my ever-faithful God was present.
He was there when we returned home to a house without a baby.
He was there when I cried on my husband’s shoulder.
He was there when we had to tell the excited sister-to-be that her much-anticipated sibling’s arrival wasn’t going to come.
He was there when I had to go to church that following Sunday with everyone knowing and everyone feeling they needed to say or do something.
He was there when the well-meaning people said insensitive things like “This is God’s way of taking care of a baby that wasn’t right”. AH!
He was there in the quiet, tear-filled look from one of the most soft-spoken men in our church who said nothing, but everything as he sought to comfort me.
He was there when I shared with others how empty I felt.
He was there when I cried again and again.
He was there when I asked all the hard questions—like, could it have happened because I had slipped down the stairs a bit the day before? Could it have been because of the stress we were under with our church leadership being in conflict and my husband in the midst of it? What if…? How come…
He was there when the many visitors and flowers arrived, and I had to tell my story again and again even when I felt like just being alone.
I was able to tell the story of His faithfulness to me–of His Spirit speaking so clearly to me that my baby was with Him; of His warm and loving presence pouring over me in the midst of the grief; of the opportunities to testify of Him and bring comfort to others as they shared their own painful stories of miscarriage.
Yes; we were anticipating in the year of 2009 that a new life would enter our family. Instead God wanted to bring new life in a different way. We learned that we could trust His faithfulness even in deep disappointment and grief, bringing new life to our faith in Him.
And we could never have known the new life that He’d bring our way in His time.
December 6th 2009, eleven months after we said goodbye to our child, God blessed us with a new little one who continues to grace our home with life and vitality and goodness. Truly, He is faithful to do new things—in His time. In His way. And even if He hadn’t blessed us with a new little one, He still would be good. He still would be our faithful God. We could still trust Him.
Thank you for sharing this. I have never lost a baby to miscarriage or other. But my son and daughter-in-law just lost a baby (right before Thanksgiving) after 10 weeks. I cried and felt sadness. But i don’t feel that i am sharing in their grief the way i should as the Grandmother. They do have two awesome sons, my little grandsons whom i adore. I wonder if you could share some thoughts on what i could/should be saying/doing as Mom/Grandma. What could i be asking her or him; what could i be saying? I just don’t feel like i am feeling sadness anymore – i believe my grandchild is with Jesus and am glad for that. We don’t live nearby – about 1 1/2 hours away and we have our ministry to attend to, but i still feel inadequate. All my kids are believers in Jesus, so we do let them know we are praying. Since you made a few comments in your blog, i hope you can share some thoughts for me. Peace, Love and Joy to you! Linda
Hello, Linda!
I’m glad the article was of some help to you. I am sorry for your loss of a grandchild.
Everyone responds in a different way to the loss of miscarriage just as people do with the death of any loved one because each person’s grief is as unique as the relationship they had with the one who has died. I didn’t talk about that a lot in the articles I wrote for the blog last spring about the sudden death of my sister, but we saw this as we went through her loss (see the archived blogs– April 16 and 22, 2019). I grieved the loss of a sister; my parents, a daughter; my daughters an aunt/friend–each of us loved her differently and thus grieved differently.
The same thing will happen for your family with this loss. Your daughter-in-law was more connected to this baby than anyone so her grief will be different than her husband’s, even. I know my husband said he struggled when we had our miscarriage because he hadn’t really had a chance to bond with our baby like I did since I was carrying the child. He felt a bit guilty for that, like he should feel worse than what he did, but I didn’t expect him to feel the loss like me because he hadn’t held our baby yet or known even if our baby was a boy or girl (we still don’t know), whereas I had carried the baby from conception and was very aware of the presence of a new life in our home and family.
So…I think the best way you can encourage your son and daughter-in-law is to relate to them in the same way you would to anyone who is grieving but also remember that what they are grieving is not so much the loss of what they had but what could have been. I remember feeling the loss of all the hopes and dreams I had for what my baby could done and been.
As far as what helps the most for those who have had a miscarriage.. I can only speak for how I felt, but what I wrote here in this blog expresses what things gave me the most comfort–basically those who were just there for me with compassion in their eyes. Those who tried to offer answers or were dismissive and said things like “you can always try for more children later” only left me frustrated and hurting more, though I know they meant well. Being some distance away, I know it might be harder for you to show that, but even checking in on them frequently just to talk–not necessarily about what they are feeling, but to just be there for whatever they need to say or not say is the best thing you can do, I think.
This got a bit long, Linda, but I hope this helps. I will be praying for you and your family as you go through this.
Blessings, Wendy