Writing Grief

 Our first blurry shot of our little Peanut November 2011

This new year, I had planned to tell you I was pregnant with our fifth child. I was waiting, for the first time ever, to share the news only after I was out of my first trimester. I was waiting because even though we want to welcome as many sweet babes as the Lord gives us into our family, I was scared and in shock,  processing about what life would look like having five children in the city (read: freaking out about how crazy it was all going to get!). I needed a sense of quiet to bond and attach and begin to ready myself for this new little person.

The journey to welcome this child was a deep one inside my heart. I think in a way my fears about logistics and stares and the “can I really do it all with five?”  kind of questions that came allowed me to embrace this baby with added sweetness. Because, to be honest, it wasn’t natural for me. It was something I fought for, intentioned in my life. Welcoming this sweet one was, in many ways, a battle wrought in my heart to trust God fully, to receive the gift of a life and to choose joy.

And it changed me. I experienced such peace and expectant longing for this sweet baby. I started having dreams of holding a newborn close on my chest. I began shopping for the latest technology in cloth diapers…

But, today I am not writing to tell you that I am pregnant. I am wriitng to tell you of our loss, at 11 weeks , of this sweet child. I really don’t want to be writing this here. Some days, I don’t want to engage or write at all. I would rather go on not talking and going slow; staying home and relying on the comfort of my family and a few good friends for times when the tears flow. But, writers…we annoy even ourselves with the compulsion to tell a story.

And, I think this is a story that needs to be told. Because of the mamas I have met in the last few weeks that have honored me with their own stories, with their own wounds, some never feeling they could say out loud that they grieve still… I know I can not be silent. 

So for the next few days, I’m sharing the story of my miscarriage here. Boldly, earnestly, and above all with hope. Hope that those of you who need more space to reflect and grieve might carve it into your regular life somehow, that those who want to love alongside a hurting mother will be further equipped, and that in sharing my story, it will prompt you to share your own. My greatest hope is that as we trust one another with our words that we will love and listen well and bring honor to the memory of our little ones.

I would love for you to join me.