Sorrows Like Sea Billows

Six years ago, I shared about my first miscarriage in the hopes that it might help some other woman walking the same valley of grief. Five years later we lost a son, and we lost two more babies in June and November of 2019. I shared about each loss because it would have seemed that not sharing would somehow mean that they were somehow less important. By sharing, I've connected with other grieving mamas, and it has given me the opportunity to pray, encourage, and be encouraged. But as motherhood and homeschooling and life have limited the time I spend here, I feel my blog has morphed into a place where I share a project now and then, punctuated (too frequently) with yet another announcement of yet another loss.

As you may have guessed, this is yet another announcement of yet another loss.

We were blessed with another pregnancy just a month after our loss in November. This baby's due date was Rainbow Baby Day, just a few days before my own birthday. I'd finally been prescribed progesterone, and we saw our little one alive and well at 9 weeks. But our 13 week ultrasound was the same nightmare that we've lived on repeat for over a year -- no heartbeat on the doppler, no heartbeat on the ultrasound.

Our experience of loss has made me treasure my living littles all the more. I feel a bit guilty sometimes, longing for more children while some women are dealing with infertility or pregnancy loss without knowing if they'll ever cradle a living child in their arms. But already having children doesn't make losing a baby easier. I can (and do) acknowledge how blessed we are, while still aching for the babies we've lost. Gratitude and grief can coexist.

A blessing in the midst of the heartache was that our son was born at home a few days after I stopped progesterone, avoiding the need for hard decisions about medical interventions. I've always wished for a home birth, and it struck me recently that I've had three -- but all to babies who had already died in my womb. I hoped for a large family, and I am the mother of nine at the age of 31 -- but five of my precious babies will never call me "Mama." Sometimes, getting what we want doesn't look the way we expected.

That shouldn't come as a surprise, because Romans 8:22-23 tells us that "We know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies." Living in a fallen world involves heartache, because sin and death have wreaked havoc on a planet that God created perfect and whole. The Bible teems with assurances of restoration (Acts 3:20, for example), promising a day when God will make all things new (Revelation 21).  Recurrent miscarriage has given me a deeper understanding of what it means to groan inwardly and wait eagerly. The strains of "This Will End" by The Oh Hellos echo through my mind sometimes (even though it's not a song about loss):

No, I am not afraid to die.

It's every breath that comes before.

Heartache I've heard is part of life.

And I have broken more and more.

Right now, I struggle to envision healing. Four of our children have died in the past 15 months, and I wonder how my heart can ever be made whole again. As loss follows loss, the grieving process starts afresh before I've even "finished" grieving our last baby. At some point this valley will end, this storm will be over -- but there's no knowing when, or what that "end" will look like. Even if modern medicine can find a solution to prevent further loss, on this side of eternity there will always be scars. I'm so grateful for the eternal weight of glory that I've been promised in Christ, because one day I'll be able to leave these scars behind forever.

If you've experienced pregnancy loss, you may have felt more/less grief than I've described -- every situation and person is different, and I am not suggesting that my experience is the norm, or the "right" way to feel following loss. Also, if you've had a miscarriage, please don't let stories of recurrent loss cause you anxiety; it is most certainly not the norm. Just putting that out there...

I've shared the song "Weep With Me" by Rend Collective before, but I thought I'd include the lyrics here -- it's a modern lament in the age-old tradition of David and the psalmists, a lament that aches deeply and hopes deeply, too. It captures the essence of grief, but I think it applies to so many situations. I hope it blesses you, no matter what burden you're bearing today:

Weep with me
Lord will You weep with me?
I don't need answers, all I need
Is to know that You care for me
Hear my plea
Are You even listening?
Lord I will wrestle with Your heart
But I won't let You go

You know I believe
Help my unbelief

Yet I will praise You
Yet I will sing of Your name
Here in the shadows
Here I will offer my praise
What's true in the light
Is still true in the dark
You're good and You're kind
And You care for this heart
Lord I believe
You weep with me

Part the seas
Lord make a way for me
Here in the midst of my lament
I have faith, yes I still believe
That You love me
Your plans are to prosper me
You're working everything for good
Even when I can't see

You know I believe
Help my unbelief

Yet I will praise You
Yet I will sing of Your name
Here in the shadows
Here I will offer my praise
What's true in the light
Is still true in the dark
You're good and You're kind
And You care for this heart
Lord I believe
You weep with me