(mis)Carried Away

{Lucy Snowe Photography}

With one phone call, I found myself to be a member in a new group. I found that I could participate in forums, join support groups, and seek advice on how to cope.

One phone call.

The thing is, I can't be a part of the forums. I can't read how other women feel or have felt. I can't seek advice on how to cope because, well, I'm certain that I am in between what is real and just a dream.

Last Tuesday I believed I could hope my way out of a situation. I believed that staying positive would buy me a one way ticket out. Mid sentence and loss of verbal ability, I knew - hoping was over and it was done. I felt the beginning of the end. As in a movie, I collided (literally) with a waiter and as he balanced his plate of food, my insides flipped onto the floor. I wanted someone to fix it. I wanted someone to make it right, however, all I could do was wait.

It was a night of restless sleep. I wandered our small home and fought the urge to know NOW. To have someone confirm what I knew was slipping away. I waited until the morning and at 8:47 it was confirmed:
"I don't believe you need to go to your ultrasound appointment. You are having a miscarriage." My world went a little fuzzy as the doctor's words continued. I just needed to breathe. I needed someone to remind me how.

What do you do when you learn that life that you had kept a secret for a Christmas reveal was gone before anyone could know he or she was a reality in your heart?
What was I supposed to do?!

I cried out loud. I cried hard and buckled half broken to the floor but I was desperate to worship. I would NOT surrender my hope for His goodness. I would proclaim my love for Him and His plan in spite of this unbelievable ache. I turned the music on. Wanting to soak myself in music that would help me cry I claimed this moment as God's, turned worship music on, and let truth reign. He would be victorious and I would survive what I still don't understand.

It was December 23, 2009.
As we prepared our homes and hearts for a season of celebrating the birth of Christ, I mourned the loss of my 8 week old secret. While I thought I would never have the chance to see another pregnancy test come back positive after the one I took on December 9th (this would be our last addition), I had no idea that I would just stop being pregnant. I would walk with this internal wound that would persist for days and not a soul would ever know what I was losing.

I wasn't a victim of a playground accident and would wear a cast to visibly show my pain. What I would do is join a rank of women who walk with a loss they feel slipping away every second for days and no one can see the injury. I would curl up inside and pretend that I was ok. I would attend Christmas parties and be who people wanted to see. I would hug and say Merry Christmas wishing you could know but begging for you not to. This was embarrassing. This was no one's business. I would fake it til' I made it and cry only in the arms of one man who would hold me together. I wanted to hide and shout to the world, "Don't tell me statistics on how normal it is because this isn't normal for me. Don't tell me you're sorry because I will absolutely fall apart. Don't--just don't... I won't survive what you're saying."

It's almost over now. The aching and contracting- it must be close to over. Soon I can bury this. I can plan for the day I will meet that baby in heaven. I can think in my heart that my healthy and perfect son now has a guardian angel. I can praise Him because "Oh no, He never lets go through the calm and through the storm. He never lets go through every high and every low, no He never lets go of me."

I can give myself the time to grieve, I can ask my husband to let me talk, and I can hide this from my physical world. I will unravel here and work to understand what all of this is. I will not tell myself I am required to speak of this with anyone before I do what I have to heal- write. This pain isn't anyone else's to own or define their relationship to me by. This is my ache and one day at a time, in my own way, I'll make my way out in true glory.
Be patient with me....a polite pleading and a vehement demand.