Lost Hopes and Dreams
Trigger warning: This blog post talks about miscarriage, infant loss, and infertility.
A fair warning, this blog post is not going to be particularly cheerful. I’m going to be sharing my deepest thoughts about this subject in a raw and vulnerable way. I’m asking for you to hear my story, take what you want, and move on. But please read it with an open mind and a willingness to learn about this often-taboo subject.
Why would I choose to write about a subject so depressing as miscarriages and infant loss? Well, because for the past seven years, I’ve lived in this curious world of loss and heartache, of tentative hopes and crushed dreams. I suppose it’s only right to start at the beginning of my story, the fall of 2012…
I met my husband Josh for the first time in October 2012 when my brother brought him home from college on a fall break (thanks, Danny!). We had a blast together but parted ways and didn’t think of each other much beyond the break. Josh was deeply involved in his classical violin performance major at a Christian University in Ohio, and I was just entering the exciting world of becoming an EMT. We saw each other off and on over the next year, and Josh returned in October 2013 for another fall break. At that point, he was beginning to be interested in me as more than just his friend’s sister. To make a long story short, we started dating in February 2014, got engaged in July, and were married on December 20, 2014.
We moved to Ohio so Josh could finish up his last three semesters. In stereotypical newlywedded bliss, the first months of marriage seemed like a dream come true. We truly had SO much fun together being married and setting up our home and life together as the new Mr. and Mrs. Joshua John Taylor. I worked in the cafeteria of the university and got to have a taste of university life without paying thousands of dollars to do so. Life was great! We wanted to start a family at some point but weren’t really trying to because of being in school. Let’s just say we weren’t doing anything to prevent it either.
The expectations before marriage were that I would get pregnant immediately as my mom and older sister had before me. Month after month we didn’t but neither of us gave it much thought. Then in August 2015, I woke up early to take a pregnancy test in the tiny bathroom in Apartment 32 of married housing while Josh slept. I was shocked and ecstatic when the little plus sign showed up. I called my older sister to tell someone and then drove straight to the little Dollar General in town to buy some baby clothes and sugar daddy candies for a surprise for Josh. I drove home and woke him up to give him this special present. He pulled out the items and was confused ‘til he saw the pregnancy test. I think he knocked me over in his huge hug. We were both SO happy and excited. I set up an appointment for eight weeks in September to make sure everything was fine. But the Friday before I noticed I was bleeding. I thought no, God wouldn’t do this to me. By Sunday it was over. I remember sitting in our bathtub feeling numb. I withdrew from most of my family and friends and tried to process that grief. Josh was devastated but also was my rock during that time. I went and got checked out and everything was fine. Everything ended perfectly in the medical world. No D and C were needed. My blood levels returned to normal. But I knew I was forever changed.
Gone were the carefree days for Josh and me. I grieved so hard. Any little thing could turn me into a sobbing puddle. A friend’s pregnancy announcement, seeing baby shoes, hearing about a mom killing her baby, milestones that I knew in my heart I should be meeting. Our baby’s due date was Josh’s graduation weekend, and Mother’s Day. What a cruel irony I thought. Just the time when I should be celebrated as a mom, all I have are empty arms and an empty womb. I felt robbed and cheated out of this gift of motherhood. But what could I do about it?
People told me many things that were meant to be comforting. “Well, at least you know you can get pregnant!” “The baby was probably deformed so it’s a good thing you miscarried.” “You were only 7 weeks? Why are you still grieving that?” “You can always just adopt.” “You’re young so there’s plenty of time.” Here’s a pro tip for when handling a grieving mom and dad: Don’t say anything at all if you can’t think of anything beyond these trite, although well-meaning phrases. I’ve often said I could fill a book with what not to say to a mom who’s lost a baby. Don’t feel the need to share in detail your experience. And please remember that everyone grieves differently from you! Just because it might not look the same as when you’re grieving does not make it wrong.
In the ensuing years, Josh and I have still not had a baby. I’d like to think I’ve grown through this experience. I no longer cry at the drop of a hat like I did. I do still avoid baby showers and the Mother’s Day service at my church like the plague. But I think the Lord has been healing me. The funny thing about infertility though is that you can never get over it. It is a never-ending cycle of feeling hopeful that maybe just maybe this is the month I can surprise my husband with a pregnancy announcement. Then feeling that crushing disappointment when there’s another negative pregnancy test. There have been many months and years now that I have felt like a shell of the girl I was. Some days I have not been able to get out of bed or do simple tasks like brushing my hair because it seemed like too much work. But you know what dear reader? I serve a God who is so faithful to me. He knows my heartache. He hears my anger and my pain and still shows me every day in some way that He loves me. He has given me a wonderful life with one of the best men I could ever have dreamed of for my life partner and husband. I am truly thankful to God for this life.
I am writing this because in less than a week it will be the seventh anniversary of my sweet precious baby’s death. If you had told me seven years ago that I would still not have any living babies I wouldn’t have known what to do. But we take it “un dia a la vez” (one day at a time). I am also reminded that I can share my story and maybe be a help to women who have lost babies or are struggling with infertility.
I want to remind us of two things: First, God has given me so much that I can love and praise Him for. My life hasn’t ended up like I thought it would when I was that young, naïve girl back in 2012, but He has given me a good life and I’m so thankful. Also, to my sweet little baby, your mommy loves you so much. I wish that we could have known you and held you and loved you. We would have had a lot of fun together. But I know you are safe with Jesus, and I cannot wait for the day ‘til I can meet you. Until then, my precious baby, until then.
And for you reading this, thank you for listening. I appreciate it. I pray that God can use this to maybe encourage someone out there in their struggles. I want to always point people to Jesus. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to find some Kleenex and maybe some chocolate and have a good, cleansing cry.
Until next time,
Abby