Thursday, June 30, 2016

Everything is perfect...until it isn't

This was our last chance, our miracle waiting to happen.

Everything was perfect...until it wasn’t.

Until that dreaded ultrasound where these words are spoken:  
A miscarriage is imminent. We are so very sorry.

Sorry? Imminent? How imminent. Like today? Tomorrow?  

It will happen when your body is ready. 

So, there’s time for God to do a miracle? Please God, a miracle. We need a miracle.

Yet the quiet whisper of Thy will be done fills my heart. I want to question it. How could a beautiful baby not be His will for us? Yet, I hear the whisper again, Thy will be done...

It will happen when your body is ready. Ready? How can you ever be ready for a miscarriage? Apparently my body is ready seven days later. But my heart will never be ready to let go of this beautiful baby; this glimpse of hope in a span of two years where we’ve had little hope to hang on to.

The physical pain is numb compared to the pain of heartbreak shattering my soul. Miscarriage and ectopic pregnancies are often a silent loss. No one knows except the people you choose to share the loss with. But why do we keep these losses silent? Perhaps it's those looks of 'pity' or the painful platitudes that people often feel the need to use to fill the awkward silence. That's almost enough for us to keep the silence, yet this baby was. It existed. The loss of an unborn baby is a deep loss. It changes you forever.

We’ve lost three children and the loss of each was very painful in its own very different ways. The first loss (2008) we mourned quietly with very few people and I mourned for months, fear gripping me that we would never have another baby. Our second loss was the loss of Mikail and that was a very public loss because of the sudden tragic nature of it. It was okay to mourn that loss in this way. Expected even.

Today’s loss comes with tragedy too. It was such a long, painful journey, and a miracle I even got pregnant, that there was so much hope in that tiny little baby growing in my womb. Hope to grow our family. Hope for Olivia’s nightly prayers to be answered. Hope for our hearts to grow bigger with more love. Hope in having a tiny slice of heaven on earth with us once more.

Yet, He knows what His good and perfect plan for our lives is, so I whisper through the pain:

Thy will be done... 


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1 comment:

  1. I ache with you, Iris. It is so hard to let any of our precious ones go, even if they get to be born into Jesus' arms. Thank you for sharing this with us so we can grieve with you and lift you up in prayer. Wishing I could give you a big hug right now.

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