I’ve Been Dreading This

I couldn’t turn the page. I looked at it and tried, but I just couldn’t turn the page. Usually, the first day of the month I turn the calendar and just wait for Farmer Boy to notice. He gets really excited when he sees the picture each new month brings and almost always says something along the lines of, “I just can’t believe we’re already on a new one mom!” (Join the club buddy- time flies!)

You see, the month of July usually symbolizes days of visiting the zoo, the splash park, cook outs, and ice cream cones. And while we are still enjoying all of those things, this year is different. Instead, this month serves as a reminder of what should be, but what’s not. I should be very pregnant at the moment and just days away from giving birth, but I’m not. God had other plans. Plans that have been painful, but plans that I can trust. Plans that have been messy, but plans that are bringing forth beauty underneath all the rubble.

We found out I was expecting in early November and couldn’t have been happier. Farmer Boy had been asking and praying for a baby for months, and we could not wait to share our news with him. We decorate for Christmas early here at the Farmhouse, so I went to Home Depot and bought a little 3 foot Christmas tree, made fresh cocoa, and put some store bought cookies onto a plate. As we sat admiring the brightly colored tree and enjoying our goodies, my husband and I both agreed it was the perfect time to tell him.

In my head the moment felt so right, and I had envisioned this magical moment of jumps and shouts of joy, but instead he responded with, “Have you tried dipping these cookies into the cocoa? It is SO good!” Maybe he was just in his own little world, but looking back I firmly believe with all my heart that in some way God was guarding him and put up some kind of wall between reality and understanding. I kid you not, the boy had asked at least once a week for at least the seven previous months when we would have another baby, so he thought about it and we prayed about it- Alot! Nevertheless, we went on about our days and I would bring up the baby, (mostly as a reminder to him that we couldn’t play as rough and tumble as he was used to),  but never tried to force excitement onto him. I figured it would come in time as he saw the progression of mommy’s growing belly.

Thanksgiving day arrived and we were so excited to tell our parents. Of course they were thrilled and my mom wanted to get pictures. That’s when it hit me for the first time. This out of nowhere thought that went something like this- it’s okay to celebrate this, but this is not something that is going to happen. I truly can’t explain the feeling, but it shook me to my core.

I tried my best to shrug it off because I can be the girl who lets her mind run away with her and go down the path of worse case scenarios. And even though that feeling never fully left me, I continued on as normal and listened to multiple podcasts on natural birth and was very focused on how to best prepare my body to give birth naturally to this baby. Plus, it was the holidays and Farmer Boy’s birthday falls smack in the middle of all the hustle and bustle, so my mind did not have time to be idle.

It was a few days before Christmas when we were gathered at my aunt’s house for our annual family gathering, and in the midst of gifts and talking about our future baby, that awful, gut wrenching feeling hit me again. I did my best not to dwell on it and enjoy time with family. There was just something so very different with this pregnancy than there was with my first. It was like no matter how hard I tried to shake those fearful feelings, they were always coming back at the strangest times- especially when people congratulated or gave gifts.

With my first pregnancy, it was all smiles and uncontainable excitement and anticipation. But with this pregnancy, I felt so guarded. It was as if there was this constant barrier between the excitement I cautiously felt and the maternal instinct I just couldn’t deny. Looking back now, I can see that this was God’s way of preparing me  for what was to come.

I began to have some symptoms of miscarriage on the evening of December 23rd. After breaking down and speaking to an after hours nurse, I was assured that what I was experiencing could be a very normal part of pregnancy and not to panic about it. Thankfully, after that initial scare I did not experience anymore symptoms until Christmas night. I am so thankful to God that even though I was a mess on the inside from worry and anxiety, that we were still able to have a very good and normal Christmas day with our family.

The following 36 hours were without a doubt the longest hours of my life. I tried reaching out to the Birthing Center where I had planned on delivering, but they refused to see me, even though it was only 2 days before my scheduled appointment. The lady on the phone was very to the point and told me that even if I was having a miscarriage that there was nothing they could do to stop it, (which I already knew full well and I was not asking for a cure, but was desperate for some help and an explanation) and, once again what I was experiencing could be very normal.

Then, in the early hours of December 27th, things began to get past the point of “normal,” and I was instructed to go to the emergency room. I had the kindest and most sympathetic doctor that I could have ever asked for. He was truly the hands and feet of Christ to me on that day and I will be forever grateful for his humble and soft spirit. And while no confirmation was needed,  I will never forget the words that he spoke, “there are no fetal heart tones detected,” along with his hand on my shoulder as he looked at me in the eyes and said in the most genuine tone, “I’m sorry.”

If it wasn’t for the presence of the Lord in our midst, along with my husband by my side, crying with me, and holding my hand as he prayed over the sorrowful situation, I could have never withstood all of the physical discomfort and emotional anguish. My husband is strong and faithful and on that day we truly lived out “for better or for worse.”

When we finally made it home, I began to earnestly pray for two things. I prayed that my body would be able to naturally take care of the miscarriage, and that my husband and I would be able to peacefully and quietly lay our precious baby to rest. And while I know it’s not true, there was a sense of feeling like my body had failed the baby and laying him to rest was the one thing I wanted to be able to do for him. I can thankfully say that God answered both prayers.

That day marked the most heartbreaking day that I’ve lived in my 31 years on this earth. The last several months have been long and hard. If it hadn’t been for my gracious and loving Father who has held me tight in His care and fully provided the peace that passes understanding, my husband who has been my faithful confidant, our Farmer Boy who had no idea what had happened but instinctively knew his mama needed extra TLC, and an amazing group of family and friends who continually prayed for us, I would have never made it through the days of darkness and despair.

God has truly been so gracious to us through this process and has reassured me over and over again that His plans are good and that He has a purpose I won’t fully understand until I’m home in Heaven with our precious one. How I long for that glorious day. The death of our baby has given me a renewed passion for the Kingdom of God, and a whole new level of thankfulness for what Jesus did for us when he died on the cross. It is because of His sacrifice that I can hold fast to the hope of Heaven and know that I will be reunited with our dear little one.

How my heart longs for the day when we will all stand before the throne as a whole, complete family. I cannot wait to fully see our baby’s face, and more than that, to see our son with his brother. Until then, I will continue to cry bittersweet tears. My heart breaks here on earth, but also greatly rejoices. For I have a child who is secure in God’s presence at this very moment that I’m writing these words. What more could I ask for one of my own children? My cup runneths over when I sit and ponder the sights and sounds that he is experiencing. Things that I have only read about, but things that are his reality every moment of every day. I rejoice in knowing that Heaven is his home and is all he will ever know.

As we laid our baby into the ground, 1 Corinthians 15:55 kept running through my mind. O death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory? Thanks be to God that death does not win. That day did not mark the end of our families story. Our baby is the one who won the victory and who now dwells in the presence of the Victorious One! And I am certain that in time, I will be there to hold him. Until then, I rest assured that he is being safely held in the arms of Jesus.

There is so much more to this story that I simply cannot fit into a single post. I will share more in time, but until then, I will end by saying that God is good. He is good in the grieving and the endless tears, and He is good in the rejoicing and in the walloping laughter. On our darkest days, and on our brightest days, He remains the same… good.

Abide in Him Always,

Ashley