life goes on

We’re going through one of those situations where life just stops for a while.

We were bumping along, a sunny, beautiful day (metaphorically of course- c’mon, it’s still bloody winter in IL), and then something horribly unexpected diverted us from our normal trajectory.

And unfortunately all that comes to mind are cliched sayings.

I wish something profound or amazing came to mind.

But now: just cliches.

This too shall pass.

Everything happens for a reason.

And maybe these cliches come to mind because they are true, or because they are comforting, or because they are both.

I was talking to my dad this morning and he was explaining to me a little bit about how he is grieving.  He said, “Emily, you remember that scene in Back to the Future* where the family members start to disappear from the picture because things weren’t changed in the past?”  “Yeah?” “That’s what it felt like to find out that you lost this baby.  Like someone who was supposed to be in our family suddenly was not. They were just erased from the picture.”

One week ago, our sweet baby stopped growing, but I had no idea.  I was still dreaming of what she would look like and what a hot summer pregnancy would be like and what it would be like to be in the delivery room with Frank holding our baby for the first time.

And now, just one week later, that whole reality has been altered.  In September none of that will happen.

It was all just so quickly erased and replaced with a new reality.

And we will be ok.  Slowly but surely, everything is coming back into focus and we are realizing that for this baby, this was the plan all along.

But man, I wish I had something profound to say about it.

*My dad raised us on sci-fi and time travel.  The first chapter book he read to me was The Time Machine by HG Wells.  It’s not surprising at all that Back to the Future came up as part of his analogy. 🙂

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abundance.

Frank and I have been amazed by the response from our family, friends, coworkers and even total strangers to our loss.  In a time where we are experiencing such a loss and great sadness, our cup still runs over.

We’ve had countless people tell us they are praying for us.  People have opened up and shared their own experiences so that we would know that we are not alone and that we would be comforted.  Family and friends have offered to bring over dinner and just come and sit with us.

While we haven’t been able to take everyone up on all of their kind offers, mostly because sitting together and just watching bad TV (turns out FK may secretly like the show Greek, but you didn’t hear that here…) seems to be the most comforting thing we can do.  We have found that leaning on each other is just about the best thing that we can do right now.  But I am sure that we will come out of our little cocoon sooner or later.  I mean, we will eventually run out of milk…

So – thanks to everyone who has called, emailed and texted.  It means so much to us right now – more than you may ever know.

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loss

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear

On January 22nd, 2010, Frank and I were blessed more abundantly than we could even fathom.  For the first time, we had a BFP: big freaking positive.

We couldn’t believe it.  We were in between fertility treatments.  This pregnancy was truly unexpected.

We had three ultrasounds, two that showed the perfect heartbeat of a sweet baby that we lovingly referred to as “Bean.”

Last night, after hours of unexplained cramping, an ultrasound technician was unable to locate the heartbeat of our sweet baby.

We are both crushed.

And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know you are near

As I sat in the ER with my dear friend Meghan, I kept wondering:  “Is this really happening?”

Frank was in Atlanta and caught the first flight he could catch home, arriving in the ER at 12:30 a.m.

We held eachother for a long time.

And I wondered where God was.

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

And even though Jesus couldn’t physically come sit with us, He was there.  He was there in the form of friends who dropped everything to sit with me for 5 1/2 hours in the Emergency Room.  A sweet friend who sat with me during the ultrasound.  He graciously helped Frank make it home last night, on the last flight out.

During church earlier yesterday morning, the worship team played the song whose lyrics are interspersed in this post.  It was a song that carried me during our fertility struggles.  And God lodged that song in my head and my heart yesterday, a lyrical security blanket that I fell asleep singing and woke up singing and can’t get out of my head.

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare

Of course I wonder why this happens.  But this morning, while I was curled around Frank, wondering why 16 year olds who have no idea what they are doing have perfectly healthy babies, it occurred to me that this was all the life that this sweet baby was supposed to have.  God knew the number of days for this sweet baby before I even knew that I was carrying her (I’ve just always thought this baby was a girl).  This sweet baby only had a few weeks to live and I see it as a heartbreaking honor to have been able to be her Mom, even for just a short 9 1/2 weeks.  Of all the people who could have been chosen to give her a home and a soft place to live on this Earth, God chose Frank and me.

I took excellent care of us during these past 9 1/2 weeks.  I took all my vitamins and medication.  I didn’t drink my favorite beverage (Diet Coke) because I didn’t want the caffeine to negatively impact her. I gave this baby the best life I could possibly give her.

She wasn’t meant to be born.  I know that in my head, but my heart is still trying to make sense of it.  Something was probably wrong with her that would have made surviving outside of the uterus impossible.  But while she was here on this Earth, she was loved.  We talked to her, we dreamed of her, and we loved her, sight unseen.  She had a whole family that loved her and cared for her, even though they had never seen her.

And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

I don’t know why these things happen.

But maybe it doesn’t matter why.

These things just do happen.

Frank and I were meant to be her parents, even though it was just for a short time.  And even though this breaks our hearts more than anything ever has, we know that she is with our Savior in Heaven and that we can one day hope to meet her face-to-face.

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