Opening up about this hard week

This week, tragedy struck our dear home. 

Thursday, on a whim, I took a pregnancy test, and to my great delight, it was positive! I really wasn't expecting it to be, even though I'd be hoping, for I'd been testing for months to no avail. 

I waited a painstaking two hours for E to wake up from his nap, and then bought a salted caramel mocha from Starbucks, drove 30 minutes, and met up with Aaron to "give him coffee". He thought it was just a special surprise visit, but I surprised him with even greater news...we were going to have another baby!

The line was faint, but it was there, and we rejoiced together with full hearts. I imagined driving my minivan with two carseats, brainstormed how we'd make the nursery work, put Ezra in a "big brother" shirt that I'd had hanging in his closet for months just waiting for this occasion. I got Aaron's whole response on video, we went to a celebratory lunch, and we smiled til our hearts nearly burst through our faces. They were the smiles of folks crazy in love, like those early September days when we first met. But now, we were meeting a new soul for the first time. 

I went crazy taking tests because they were faint, and a few had been negative. It was a confusing few days. By Saturday, I started to suspect that something was wrong. By Sunday, a negative test. By Monday night (our second wedding anniversary!) I had started bleeding. 

The Lord gives, and He takes away. Blessed be His name.

I know it's normally taboo to talk about early miscarriages. It's hard for anyone to grapple with the idea that you only knew you were pregnant for five days, and then you lost your little one. What does that even mean, so many wonder?

And I know that my pain doesn't compare to those who birthed and raised a baby, to lose it short days or months later. Or even to those who have suffered miscarriages more than 4 1/2 weeks along. I can't really imagine their pain. 

But a wise woman in our small group comforted me so well with a simple idea:

It is right to mourn, for this is not the way the world should be. And God is mourning with us. 

What relief, what beautiful comfort in those words. 

It is ok--no, it is right--to mourn. It's somehow the reflection of God's image in us, and somehow a reminder of the promise that one day in the grand setting-of-all-things-right, He will wipe away all tears.

And because of that, dear reader, I share my grief here. 

I did not know my sweet baby, but I want to honor the memory of him or her. This child will forever have a special place in my heart. 

My heart is still raw with grief, and yet the mourning takes on different forms. Tuesday morning, when I found out, I bawled my eyeballs out. Tuesday night, I shared the grief, without even tearing up. That scared me a little. Shouldn't I be sadder? Or should I act like it was no big deal? It was so hard to know. 

And life kept going on and on. Still bills to pay. Still work for Aaron. Still a speeding ticket to resolve. Still dishes to wash and a broken dishwasher. Still recipes to plan, gifts to buy, emails to respond to. Ordinary life. No chance to pause, save for the space we try to make.

Wednesday and Thursday, I barely cried, barely felt the heart shattering, heavy weight of pain I had felt Tuesday. Sweet little Ezra keeps me dancing and singing and playing and laughing hard all day long and it is so hard to sulk when I have so much joy. He is like a ray of unadulterated sunshine that has passed through no clouds. A pure ray of joy oblivious to the sufferings of this world.

But then Thursday night at the tiniest little thing I completely lost it, the most heaving sighs I could muster breaking upon me like a summer thunderstorm's suddenness. Thank goodness for my loving husband who could comfort me in that moment. 

Today, the weight of grief is back. I make breakfast, busy with the morning routine of laundry, and dishes, and diaper changes, and think, oh, I wish I could just go cry. 

And so I steal away now, during naptime, to tell you--tears streaming down my face--that this grief is ok. The same Savior who mourned for Lazarus mourns with you and I in the smallest and earliest of losses. Let us praise His name and cling to His comfort in these times. Through the tears I will be compelled to seek Him, and through these tears I will remember my tiny babe.

I loved you little one.