Grief is the price we pay for love – Queen Elizabeth II
Warning: This post deals with the sensitive content of miscarriage and grief. Please protect your heart, friends.
A year ago, we were expecting a baby. It was a surprise, and while we had discussed “trying to start trying,” it was still a few months early. That little pink line left us floored and scared and happy and anxious and nervous.
A year ago, we were expecting a baby. And then suddenly we weren’t.
Moving the Furniture – January 2020
We’re rearranging the furniture – by we, I mean me, with husband reluctantly agreeing to help me lift the heavy stuff when I ask. Nothing was wrong with the set up before. But new year, new me, right?
I wanted to see if our space could do more for us. Or, maybe, my soul needed some rearranging.
So, I hid all the knickknacks, emptied the bookcase, washed the windows and the drapes. Using old cardboard boxes, I slid furniture across the floor, working up a sweat and wondering if this rearrangement will really be worth it in the end.
Happy with the general configuration, I spend a week slowly sliding things a foot this way, meticulously measuring to center the couch with the window, the bookcase with the clock, the photos on the wall.
At the end of the week, we had the perfect arrangement. Enough space behind the couch, which was now centered with the big picture window. Every seat with a resting spot for a drink. New corners for plants. Everything was centered and evenly spaced.
It was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
The new arrangement means this seat gets full morning sun, making it too warm to comfortably use. Two other seats now have a glare on the TV. And, let’s face it, we all like tv more than we should, so that just won’t do.
Disheartened and annoyed, I slide everything back a foot, slowly taking things off-center. We successfully rearranging some big pieces, but it’s not as perfect as it could be.
For me right now, grief looks a bit like moving furniture around.
The furniture’s all askew. The pieces are familiar, but their placement is different.
I keep accidentally walking into the corner of the couch that didn’t use to be there. Things look similar, but they don’t quite feel right. I’m a little bit lost in my own house.
Looking in from outside, or even walking in the front door, things feel normal. Welcoming, open. It’s only when you pay close attention that you see things aren’t quite centered, and everything is a little bit off.
Grief, a permanent resident
By God’s grace alone, the physicality of our miscarriage happened in the best way it could. Of course, miscarriage or loss of a child is never good, easy, or desired. But with all the possible paths we could have walked, the one laid out for us was the best it could be. I could feel God’s protection over us even in the worst of times.
Even still, we were not spared the grief that comes with loss. No one is. Grief is a product of love, of caring, of losing something that matters.
Grief will come, making a home in your heart and mind for a while. Then, like a stray animal, it starts coming around less and less. Until one day, it shows up again, unexpectedly, wanting to be fed. Sometimes it will stay for an hour, sometimes a week.
Grief looks different for everyone. It dresses differently, demands different things, pops up again for different reasons. Grief brings questions, but almost never helps find the answers. And it never truly goes away.
But we learn to live with it. After the rearranging of our hearts and lives, we learn the couch sticks out a little more on the left. We find our way again in the new layout.
You are not alone
If you’ve suffered a miscarriage or loss of a child, please know you aren’t alone. I see you. God sees you. Grief is an expert at stealing community, tricking us into believing we’re walking this wilderness path alone.
Don’t believe it.
Words often fail in times of sadness. Nothing seems sufficient to ease the sharp pains of grief.
But maybe today, these words will help you know you’re not alone. Maybe they will encourage a conversation, a connection, a small step on the path to healing.
The days do get brighter, eventually. But for now, I’ll sit with you in the darkness, so you know you’re not alone.
Resources
Some information, podcasts, and writing I found helpful in the early days of grief.
American Pregnancy Association – Personal accounts and resources on pregnancy loss.
Ectopic pregnancy trust (UK) – Our pregnancy was deemed ectopic initially, and this site was a huge source of information.
The Next Right Thing Podcast by Emily P. Freeman – You can listen at the links below or wherever you get your podcasts. Transcripts are also available.
- Ep. 66 – Don’t Let the Ending Define the Whole Story
- Ep. 82 – Find the Beginning in the Ending
- Ep. 85 – Hold Space when Someone Dies
- Ep. 93 – Borrow Prayers
New York Times You Know Someone Who’s Had a Miscarriage – From October 2019. Personal testimonies that helped me feel less alone.
Military One Source – Mental health resources for military members, veterans, and families.
National Institute of Mental Health – Crisis lines, tips for finding a provider near you, and information on federal resources.
Pregnancy After Loss Support – For families both celebrating and mourning.
My “mourning” Spotify playlist – Songs that take me back to that time, for better or worse, and give words to some of what I couldn’t name.
Prayer Cards for Anxious Times – some prayers I frequently borrow when I can’t find the right words.
