Dearest World,
If I knew how to turn the pain off, I would.
If I knew how to have hope for the future, I would.
If I knew how to stop hating myself for being unable to have a child, I would.
If I knew how to stop feeling like a disappointment to my husband, I would.
If I knew how to stop the fear, I would.
If I knew how to keep from falling apart in a room full of strangers, I would.
If I knew how to fix my womb, I would.
If I knew how to finally be a mother, I would.
The trouble is I don't. I don't know how to move on from this. I don't know how to make it all go away. I don't know how to hope that one day I will get to be a mother. I just don't.
I can fall apart at a moment's notice, no matter what is being said. I feel raw, over-emotional and utterly ruined. I keep trying to do and say the right things to make it all go away but it won't.
It still hurts just as much as the day I lost you. I think of you almost every day - both of you. I love you so much even though I'll never get to see you and hold you. I'll never get to count your fingers and toes or dream of your future. It was over before it even began and I'm left here, alone. Just wishing I could stop loving you for one second, wishing there would be a moment that I didn't feel the darkness and unyielding pain at the back of my heart just threatening to break me.
If I knew how to end it all, I would.
In sorrowful weirdness,
Alissa
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Last night
Dearest World,
Well, last night was a miserable night. Full of the worst pain I have ever experienced, both physically and mentally. No one told me that miscarriages were this painful. The last miscarriage I had was complicated with a cyst on my ovary and I thought that was pain.
Nothing prepared me for the horrific-ness of last night's (or early today's) events. Aside from the intense waves of pain that rocked my lower abdomen every few minutes, every single moment of that pain reminded me of what I had lost, of what I was losing. Our child.
David was amazing (as usual) and stayed up with me, comforted me, and asked every few minutes if I wanted him to take me to the emergency room. Eventually after much bargaining with God to make it go away (you know, the usual "help me and I'll do whatever you want, I'll go to Africa, I'll build an orphanage, etc...") and 6 magical pain relieving tablets, the pain subsided to a dull ache and I was able to sleep. Thank heavens! Though last night was not the greatest, I am feeling incredibly blessed this morning.
First, because I have an amazing husband who serves me through Christ's love on a daily basis. I will honestly never stop thanking God for His provision in giving me David. (If you hate braggy-sounding wives and stories of great men, feel free to skip waaaay down in this post!) David is an amazingly talented man, he is an artist, a musician, a fitness guru, a motivator, a hockey player, a hard-worker, a leader, and the list goes on and on. He is creative, playful and silly, loving, serving, strong, thoughtful, and all around wonderful. The most amazing thing about him is how much he loves God. And second most amazing is how much he loves me and shows me his love on a daily basis. This morning I awoke to a yummy coffee and a picture of us on our wedding day. Next to these items was a letter from my loving husband reminding me that he still means every word he promised me on that day. This letter praised me for my strengths and urged me to find God's grace and goodness in our suffering. What an amazing, truly humbling thing to be loved so well. :)
The second blessing came through my devotional this morning. I am incredibly blessed through God's peace. So blessed in fact that I have decided to tell my close friends and family about this blog. Sharing my innermost thoughts with them has always been something I've shied away from but now I feel differently. I want to share the glory of God through my suffering. Yes, this is a rough time and I'm not out of the woods yet but I know that God will bring glory to himself through this experience. I have been reading (thanks to a very new and dear, dear friend) a devotional blog entitled "She Reads Truth." This morning's devotional began our introduction to Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. The passage we read in Matthew speaks of a light dawning on those dwelling in the shadow of death. The Light came to release the law and fulfill it Himself. No man is capable but our God is capable. I am so thankful for that.
We were also led to Romans 8 and I read a verse that struck a chord with me this morning.
This doesn't mean there won't be pain or suffering in the Spirit but that we still have hope. The despair that tries so valiantly to pull you under has no victory against the grace and peace of Christ. The last words I'll leave you with today are from the She Reads Truth devotional,
Well, last night was a miserable night. Full of the worst pain I have ever experienced, both physically and mentally. No one told me that miscarriages were this painful. The last miscarriage I had was complicated with a cyst on my ovary and I thought that was pain.
Nothing prepared me for the horrific-ness of last night's (or early today's) events. Aside from the intense waves of pain that rocked my lower abdomen every few minutes, every single moment of that pain reminded me of what I had lost, of what I was losing. Our child.
David was amazing (as usual) and stayed up with me, comforted me, and asked every few minutes if I wanted him to take me to the emergency room. Eventually after much bargaining with God to make it go away (you know, the usual "help me and I'll do whatever you want, I'll go to Africa, I'll build an orphanage, etc...") and 6 magical pain relieving tablets, the pain subsided to a dull ache and I was able to sleep. Thank heavens! Though last night was not the greatest, I am feeling incredibly blessed this morning.
First, because I have an amazing husband who serves me through Christ's love on a daily basis. I will honestly never stop thanking God for His provision in giving me David. (If you hate braggy-sounding wives and stories of great men, feel free to skip waaaay down in this post!) David is an amazingly talented man, he is an artist, a musician, a fitness guru, a motivator, a hockey player, a hard-worker, a leader, and the list goes on and on. He is creative, playful and silly, loving, serving, strong, thoughtful, and all around wonderful. The most amazing thing about him is how much he loves God. And second most amazing is how much he loves me and shows me his love on a daily basis. This morning I awoke to a yummy coffee and a picture of us on our wedding day. Next to these items was a letter from my loving husband reminding me that he still means every word he promised me on that day. This letter praised me for my strengths and urged me to find God's grace and goodness in our suffering. What an amazing, truly humbling thing to be loved so well. :)
The second blessing came through my devotional this morning. I am incredibly blessed through God's peace. So blessed in fact that I have decided to tell my close friends and family about this blog. Sharing my innermost thoughts with them has always been something I've shied away from but now I feel differently. I want to share the glory of God through my suffering. Yes, this is a rough time and I'm not out of the woods yet but I know that God will bring glory to himself through this experience. I have been reading (thanks to a very new and dear, dear friend) a devotional blog entitled "She Reads Truth." This morning's devotional began our introduction to Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. The passage we read in Matthew speaks of a light dawning on those dwelling in the shadow of death. The Light came to release the law and fulfill it Himself. No man is capable but our God is capable. I am so thankful for that.
We were also led to Romans 8 and I read a verse that struck a chord with me this morning.
Romans 8:5-6, "For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on flesh is death but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace."
This doesn't mean there won't be pain or suffering in the Spirit but that we still have hope. The despair that tries so valiantly to pull you under has no victory against the grace and peace of Christ. The last words I'll leave you with today are from the She Reads Truth devotional,
"Moses had presented he law all those many years before, and the people did - and do - fall miserably short. Jesus Christ came to fulfill the law - down to the letter! - so that we might gain His reward (Matt 5:17, Romans 5:17). The reward was freedom. Freedom from sin, freedom from self. Freedom from hopelessness and death. Freedom from rule-based religion. Freedom to love and be loved by a holy and merciful God."
Wow. How lucky and blessed we all are to have a love like this.
In weirdness and much grace,
Alissa
Monday, June 30, 2014
My Biggest Struggle
Dearest World,
This entry will be long but I need to say every word.
Now, I'm not perfect. I wish I could say that I felt the same amount of immeasurable presence of God in my brokenness. But I didn't. Graciously, God found me in the midst of all my misery and reminded me of His love for me and for my child.God is still good, even when life is horrific. The strength we find is in Christ alone. Only He directs our paths and calms our souls. "From life's first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny." His love cannot be stopped by my prideful, stubborn heart and I've never been more thankful for this than in the past few days.
This entry will be long but I need to say every word.
This is just the beginning of my story and I don’t yet know how it ends. Wouldn't life be so much easier if we did? My husband and I have been trying to conceive a child for almost 4 years. I try to cling to the hope that one day my dreams of having a family of my own will come true but I’m struggling. We've had two very exciting pregnancies that both ended before we were able to hold a baby in our arms. The first time it happened was early on, (we had barely found out and then it was gone) and the loss was rough but easier. This last time was different. We had planned and prayed and loved that child for a few weeks before it was taken from us. I know I’ll remember that day for a lifetime. Each moment and every labored breath is etched into my mind for eternity...
He came in with that look on his face. The one that tells you its bad news before a word is even spoken. I knew in that moment my baby was gone. Anguish ripped open that place in my soul, the one place that was holding out hope that the baby – our baby – was okay. My world emptied and I couldn't respond. This wasn't a movie scene; no one wanted to see this young woman wail at the loss of her unborn child. No, this is the real world. This is the world where you smile and you act like you didn't just shatter on the inside. This is the world where suffering is done in private.
The doctor smiled tentatively as he went over hormone levels and numbers. It was all a blur to me; it was meaningless chatter, I already knew the end result. As I sat there I could feel the hysteria rising up from within me. “Your pregnancy has been unexpectedly terminated…” The doctor went on about going to a fertility clinic. I stopped listening. He was trying to offer me something I was tired of holding on to: hope. This wasn't the first time we’d lost a child and a fertility doctor had tried to help us. He was a nice man but he didn't have a clue. He had no idea that at this point my husband David and I were basically fertility experts. He sympathetically patted my arm and as he left the room so did my self-control.
“Babe…” David reached for me but I grabbed my clothes and ran into the sanctuary that was the adjoining bathroom. I slid on to the tile clutching my grief in the clothing I held. My shoulders heaved and my stomach turned. My soul had lost another fight to my body. My body refused to bear a child. It was impossible to escape the pain. I would never be whole again.
A small and confident voice stirred within me. How? I do not know. “Change,” it said, “just change out of this gown and get the hell out of here. You can do that, you’re strong.” Those words repeated over and over while I unclasped and re-clasped and danced into my too small pants. I stood in front of the tiny bathroom mirror and gawked at myself. I’m not different but I am. Why doesn't our outward appearance reflect inward change? It would be easier if I was missing a limb or my chest was torn and bleeding. Actually it would be better if someone had just ripped out my heart. My soul wouldn't have known the difference.
We tried to escape from the cell that held us before the nurses were ready “This will be quick; we just have to get your final blood pressure before we can release you” the blond nurse wrapped the cuff around my arm. My resolve was weakening and tear by tear my face began to speak the words I couldn't say.
“That’s fine,” I managed.
“Don’t worry I’d want to get out of here too,” she said.
I refrained from looking at her directly and just nodded a bit through my tears. We got the all clear and I practically jumped out of our room. David and I raced through the halls, him mostly chasing me and me trying not to break into an all-out run. Once we got outside David could wait no longer but I could have waited forever. I didn't want to hug him - touching him would make all of this real. I didn't want to be comforted; I wanted to run. But David pulled me into his arms and I broke. I sobbed in his arms and he serenaded me with choruses of “it’s okay,” and “we’ll be okay”
Somehow I ended up in the car and we began the drive home. I succumbed even further to my misery the moment the crunch of gravel sounded under our tires. Home. Just yesterday I loved this place. I had spent days scouring for Pinterest projects and arranging the baby’s room in my mind. I knew on the counter there was a bottle of prenatal vitamins. The Tylenol purchased specifically because it wouldn't harm the baby. In this house there were memories of countless excited moments we'd shared as we planned for our child. Too many desires that had been halted. I couldn't go inside. How could I face this? The death of future plans? The death of all my hopes and dreams? The death of my sweet baby? Emptiness swallowed me whole. I sealed myself in the car and cried.
Though I have no idea how, that small voice softly began, “Just get out of the car and face the house. You can do this, you’re strong.” My heart ached and somehow pulled all the energy from my already tired body and I began. The journey towards the door was bleak. In each step I confronted the memories and sorrow. In every stride that small voice repeated my new mantra, “you’re strong.” But I wasn't.
Thank the Lord that we don't have to carry these burdens alone. I'm still devastated but with each passing moment it gets better. A few days before the loss of our baby, I'd shared a wonderful time with God. I was driving home from leading a training in Denver. A storm accompanied me on most of the 4 hour drive and during one of the loudest moments of thunder the song "In Christ Alone" by Shane & Shane (you can play this song from the link at the bottom) came on my radio. It was a glorious experience. Words cannot truly express the amount of grace, love, and peace I felt in those moments.
He came in with that look on his face. The one that tells you its bad news before a word is even spoken. I knew in that moment my baby was gone. Anguish ripped open that place in my soul, the one place that was holding out hope that the baby – our baby – was okay. My world emptied and I couldn't respond. This wasn't a movie scene; no one wanted to see this young woman wail at the loss of her unborn child. No, this is the real world. This is the world where you smile and you act like you didn't just shatter on the inside. This is the world where suffering is done in private.
The doctor smiled tentatively as he went over hormone levels and numbers. It was all a blur to me; it was meaningless chatter, I already knew the end result. As I sat there I could feel the hysteria rising up from within me. “Your pregnancy has been unexpectedly terminated…” The doctor went on about going to a fertility clinic. I stopped listening. He was trying to offer me something I was tired of holding on to: hope. This wasn't the first time we’d lost a child and a fertility doctor had tried to help us. He was a nice man but he didn't have a clue. He had no idea that at this point my husband David and I were basically fertility experts. He sympathetically patted my arm and as he left the room so did my self-control.
“Babe…” David reached for me but I grabbed my clothes and ran into the sanctuary that was the adjoining bathroom. I slid on to the tile clutching my grief in the clothing I held. My shoulders heaved and my stomach turned. My soul had lost another fight to my body. My body refused to bear a child. It was impossible to escape the pain. I would never be whole again.
A small and confident voice stirred within me. How? I do not know. “Change,” it said, “just change out of this gown and get the hell out of here. You can do that, you’re strong.” Those words repeated over and over while I unclasped and re-clasped and danced into my too small pants. I stood in front of the tiny bathroom mirror and gawked at myself. I’m not different but I am. Why doesn't our outward appearance reflect inward change? It would be easier if I was missing a limb or my chest was torn and bleeding. Actually it would be better if someone had just ripped out my heart. My soul wouldn't have known the difference.
We tried to escape from the cell that held us before the nurses were ready “This will be quick; we just have to get your final blood pressure before we can release you” the blond nurse wrapped the cuff around my arm. My resolve was weakening and tear by tear my face began to speak the words I couldn't say.
“That’s fine,” I managed.
“Don’t worry I’d want to get out of here too,” she said.
I refrained from looking at her directly and just nodded a bit through my tears. We got the all clear and I practically jumped out of our room. David and I raced through the halls, him mostly chasing me and me trying not to break into an all-out run. Once we got outside David could wait no longer but I could have waited forever. I didn't want to hug him - touching him would make all of this real. I didn't want to be comforted; I wanted to run. But David pulled me into his arms and I broke. I sobbed in his arms and he serenaded me with choruses of “it’s okay,” and “we’ll be okay”
Somehow I ended up in the car and we began the drive home. I succumbed even further to my misery the moment the crunch of gravel sounded under our tires. Home. Just yesterday I loved this place. I had spent days scouring for Pinterest projects and arranging the baby’s room in my mind. I knew on the counter there was a bottle of prenatal vitamins. The Tylenol purchased specifically because it wouldn't harm the baby. In this house there were memories of countless excited moments we'd shared as we planned for our child. Too many desires that had been halted. I couldn't go inside. How could I face this? The death of future plans? The death of all my hopes and dreams? The death of my sweet baby? Emptiness swallowed me whole. I sealed myself in the car and cried.
Though I have no idea how, that small voice softly began, “Just get out of the car and face the house. You can do this, you’re strong.” My heart ached and somehow pulled all the energy from my already tired body and I began. The journey towards the door was bleak. In each step I confronted the memories and sorrow. In every stride that small voice repeated my new mantra, “you’re strong.” But I wasn't.
He was.
Thank the Lord that we don't have to carry these burdens alone. I'm still devastated but with each passing moment it gets better. A few days before the loss of our baby, I'd shared a wonderful time with God. I was driving home from leading a training in Denver. A storm accompanied me on most of the 4 hour drive and during one of the loudest moments of thunder the song "In Christ Alone" by Shane & Shane (you can play this song from the link at the bottom) came on my radio. It was a glorious experience. Words cannot truly express the amount of grace, love, and peace I felt in those moments.
Now, I'm not perfect. I wish I could say that I felt the same amount of immeasurable presence of God in my brokenness. But I didn't. Graciously, God found me in the midst of all my misery and reminded me of His love for me and for my child.God is still good, even when life is horrific. The strength we find is in Christ alone. Only He directs our paths and calms our souls. "From life's first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny." His love cannot be stopped by my prideful, stubborn heart and I've never been more thankful for this than in the past few days.
In weirdness and mutual suffering,
Alissa
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