The Sorrow is Silent

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 sobbing, belly-still-bulging, mother-no-longer-to-be moved in a numb fog to the parking lot, and called her husband. “We lost the baby.” It was all I could say. And he was broken. The shock and deflation in his voice will haunt me. Somehow, I drove. Somehow, I picked up my girls. Somehow, I crawled into bed last night, and slept surprisingly peacefully.

I’m not angry, and at no point did I wonder “Why me?”

Why not me? So many friends have walked down this road before me. I’ve been here, too, although in a more physically painful and tragic way. The grief hits me in waves, a hard crash followed by a rapid succession. But no rhythm. I’m just so damn sad. And not just for me and the baby. Mostly, not for me. For everyone else. This joy was shared, and shouted from the rooftops. And now, the sadness is spoken in quiet tones.

So much more is unfolding beyond just this tragedy. Big discussions with our preschool daughter about death and loss. I told her tonight that Mommy and Daddy would be sad for awhile, and maybe a little grumpy. She asked why, even though she already knew her sibling was no longer. “Because we didn’t want the baby to die sweetie.” She looked at me and in a voice beyond her years said, “Sometimes, that’s just God’s plan.” I asked her where she learned these kind of things. “You taught me about the Bible, mommy.”

We need a lot of prayers right now. Not only for healing, but for a successful procedure next week that will salvage my fertility. I only have one good side remaining after my right tube was removed with the ectopic pregnancy five years ago. When the doctor goes in to remove our baby, she must also remove a large cyst on my left ovary. If it doesn’t go as planned, future children won’t be possible.

But I must listen to the four year old, and trust God’s plan. I will cry, and I will mourn, and I will grieve. But I will trust.


16 responses to “The Sorrow is Silent

  1. Oh, Cat, I am so sorry. I wanted to leave a comment so you could feel my love and my compassion for what you and your family are dealing with. I’ll keep you guys in my thoughts and prayers. You are a gift in this moment just like all the others. Thank you for being so generous and open with us. May the love you send out come back to you and offer you comfort.

  2. That you can write so eloquently at such a time as this is a testament to both your faith and your talent. I applaud you for your honesty and forthrightness. And those words from your daughter? They were placed in her heart by you, dear friend. God has spoken to her heart through you. My prayers continue to be with you and your sweet family as you walk this journey together.

  3. I’m so very sorry for your heartache, Cat. I am sending you all of the positive energy I can for your procedure. If it is a typical water- or blood-filled cyst, it can usually be drained and the remnants reabsorbed with very minimal short-term or long-term trauma. Hang in there!

  4. Cat so sorry to hear the news. I love reading your blogs, I can feel a connection as if sometimes we r going thru the same things but differently, if that makes any sense at all. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. And trust your daughters words, that was the good Lord speaking thru her to you. God bless and take care!!

  5. Cat, I’ll continue to keep you and your family in my prayers. May God continue to help you through this very painful time of loss. I’m sending my deepest sympathies to all of you.

    1. So sorry Cat. This brought tears to my eye as I remember very well the feelings that you have right now. Sometimes you just want to curl up in a ball and die too. But–that is not God’s plan and you still have other children to live for. It will definitely take time and I wish you well in the weeks to come. Take one day at a time and grieve and mourn as you must.

  6. Keeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers. Your writing is so beautiful and meaningful. May God be with you now and always.

  7. My heart hurts for you. Praying you find glimpses of grace and hints of peace and joy in this journey. It’s been 15 years since we lost our first and 11 years since the last and their little footprints are still deep in my soul. My prayers are with you. ~Heidi

  8. Cat,
    I met you while you were briefly in the next cube over at work and truly enjoyed speaking with you. My heart and prayers go out to you and your family. I am SO glad that you know and trust that the Lord will continue to carry you through this time in your life. One verse that brings me comfort, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

    May He wrap his loving arms around you.


  9. I’m heartbroken for you and praying for your healing both physically and emotionally. Might as well through mentally in there too, why not? You’ve taught the four year old well.

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