Anniversaries of losses are tough. Fortunately, most of my family and friends are still walking this earth, and I’ve only been to a handful of funerals in my life. However, I have experienced the great pain and sorrow of losing a child. Three years ago today, I endured my second miscarriage. It’s been three years, and the pain is still great.
After getting a surprise “Pregnant” on a pregnancy test earlier in the year, only to lose that baby, God had it firm in my heart that I would be a Mommy someday. So we trusted and hoped in our almighty god and got pregnant again. So thrilled I almost peed my pants, we began imagining our lives with a baby. This was no dream of a pregnancy–but of a living child in our lives. One who would giggle, run around, make messes, and graduate from high school.
A few weeks later that dream was shattered as we stared at the dying baby on the ultrasound screen. My heart still crushes as I remember my husband, with hope in his eyes, as he joyfully exclaimed that the baby’s heart was beating. Her heart was beating at a mere 66 beats per minute–far from the normal range of 120-160bpm. Our baby was dying, and we watched it happen. By the time we left I was sitting in blood and her heart was beating at 45 bpm.
I spent the next week at home. I didn’t go into work. I didn’t call in. I should have been fired–but everyone knew what had happened. My child died. I would never get to hear her heartbeat, feel her kick, anticipate her arrival, hold her for the first time, and watch her grow up. She was born into the arms of Jesus–never to experience the sorrows of this world. For her, everything is perfect.