I’ve always been a daddy’s girl.
Imagine one end of a string tied securely around your heart and the other end tied to your loved one miles away. You’re connected. Now imagine what happens when your loved one’s spirit suddenly, without warning, leaves their body. That’s what happened in the first morning hour of Oct. 16, when I was jolted awake simultaneously by the sound of my parent’s address coming through the emergency pager my volunteer firefighter husband keeps in our bedroom, and a parent’s sudden death.
As I sprang awake, I gripped at my chest. My heart was gone. Following that trail to where my loved one’s soul flew, far in the heavens above. But they let go, sending my broken, bloody heart back to earth, where I waited with held breath for it to return. THUMP! It …
When. She used the word when, not if. “When you deliver your third child, we’ll need to be prepared for a possible transfusion. You lost a lot of blood with that surgery, and we need to be ready if that’s going to be an ongoing issue.” My mind stuck on the “when,” rather than on the large blood loss and possible future complications. I appreciated her optimism. My OB, reassuringly cheerful but professionally somber when appropriate, has always advocated for me to have more children. We enjoy each other’s company, and she knows that when everything gets off to a good start, my body handles pregnancy and childbearing beautifully.
Except this time. This time, I lost my baby at 8.5 weeks, and continued carrying completely unaware, hormones still in full …
When the sun goes down, the loneliness rises.
I kept wondering when I would cry. From emotional pain, not from physical. The surgery went perfectly. I’m surrounded by family and friends who’ve brought meals, desserts, flowers, cards, and even offers to clean my home. My husband has been my rock and comforter, tending to me with such a gentle nature. I am blessed. And for a long time, from yesterday morning before the surgery, until just half an hour ago, not one tear fell. I felt at peace, and I knew God’s grace was allowing me to focus on physical healing, before licking my raw emotional wounds.
I was not expecting my body to feel this rough. A D&C and laproscopic cystectomy aren’t fun to recover from separately, but together they …
Two sisters dancing. One momma smiling.
Brown Eyed Girl pulsed from the band shell while my two little blue and green eyed girls spun around the dance floor with their daddy. As darkness descended on my hometown, swirling, patterned lights bounced off the towering trees above the concrete slab in front of the stage. I sat on a bench, just 10 feet from the action, mesmerized and peaceful just taking it all in. I relaxed my shoulders, and set the half-eaten plate of funnel cake down beside me. I smiled, as a tear threatened to find its way to my eye. I felt the beat throb and bounce and jump, letting it pass through my body, the rhythm settling in my belly, that full yet empty space where our lost …
When it comes to preparing us for the moment of tragedy’s impact, the movies really do us a disservice. Foreshadowing, strategic camera angles and carefully orchestrated suspenseful music lead you to a logical conclusion. Something bad is about to happen.
But it doesn’t happen that way in real life. In real life, the room is quiet, the view is singular, the fluorescent lights blare overhead, and the moment of impact comes softly through an ultrasound tech’s whispered, “I’m sorry.” There was no foreshadowing in the plot, no indication that a sudden and life-altering blow would be delivered. Our baby was gone. Slipped away some time ago. No heartbeat. No movement. The sorrow is silent.
I’m still wrapping my mind around what happened yesterday. A happy, belly-bulging mother-to-be entered the OB’s office for a routine exam, and a …
Coffee cup given to me by my amazing coworkers, who gave me a “surprise support” party. It was perfect. Still my favorite cup.
Be warned, there’s some harsh emotion/language in this post. If you’ve been through it, you understand. If you haven’t been through it, try to understand.
I still remember the look on the bakery lady’s face as she handed me the small cake with the words “We’re Having a Baby” scrolled on it over the counter. “Good luck,” she said, as she winked and smiled at me. Little did she know how much I was going to need it. Not that it would have helped any.
I knew. I already knew something was wrong. I knew the moment I could barely discern a second pink line on the stick that something was wrong. Shouldn’t I …