Pregnancy After Loss (Our Story) Part One
Many of you walked with me through the heartache of our miscarriages. The first one, second one and the third one. For that I am thankful and also really glad I that I shared about our experiences publicly. Not only was/is writing therapeutic, but I also felt comforted knowing I had so many friends in my corner—I knew I was never alone and wasn’t the only one who had been through it.
Our third miscarriage was in February 2018—one year ago. From there we found ourselves in an exhausting cycle of “let’s try again soon” to “I think we should stop trying”. We were constantly changing our minds, making up our minds and changing them again. With every conversation we would reframe how we saw our future, and it was draining us.
WE DECIDED TO STOP TRYING FOR ANOTHER CHILD
Eventually we just stopped talking about it. It wasn’t intentional, I think we were just too emotionally tired! I mean, I did still think about it occasionally… but what I thought about the most was that I was fairly certain I didn’t want to try anymore. Our boys had gotten older and life finally started to feel a little less chaotic. I was in a healthy place mentally, after a long road of struggling. We had a good routine and I was ready to start taking on more work and build up my photography business even more. It all felt “right” and I was happy with our decision… maybe even relieved? Paul felt the same way as me. We were at a crossroad and just couldn’t decide on which path to take, as both options had their pros and cons, so where we landed felt like a comfortable choice.
BUT THERE WERE OTHER PLANS FOR OUR FUTURE
It was the day we moved from Vancouver to Langley. Paul was driving the U-Haul to our new house, while I drove the minivan with the kids and as many boxes as we could fit in the back. The kids had fallen asleep as I hummed along on the highway, enjoying the quiet time to myself. I thought I would be a lot more sad on the day we moved, but I felt content. I started thanking God for this new chapter in our life, for the one we were leaving behind, for the opportunity to live in a house, etc. And then—I remember it so clearly—the feeling of peace washed over me. Like time had been suspended and there was only right then and there. Nothing else but that moment. Peace, gratitude, joy, contentment. I soaked it in, sat in it, embraced it. I didn’t know how long it would last so I just revelled in it. And then… for the first time in a long time, I started thinking about another baby. It actually caught me off guard since I was so sure I had made up my mind. Looking back, I can see that God was softening my heart, preparing me for what deep down I still desired, but had packed away and put somewhere safe. So safe I forgot where it was.
THEN THAT CRAZY THING HAPPENED AT CHURCH
We moved into our new home on a Thursday and on the Sunday I decided to check out the church across from our house. I thought, hey, if we like it then it would be pretty convenient! Paul was working that day so it was just me and the boys. I took them into the kids rooms where they got to play, sing, listen to stories and do crafts. Then I went and grabbed a seat in the back row of the church. As happens from time to time, on this particular day my heart was heavy as I thought about Sparrow and our other two earlier miscarriages. It had been over a year since we lost Sparrow but grief knows no timeline.
At the end of the service, everyone was getting their coats on and filing out, when a lovely and friendly lady approached me and introduced herself.
She told me she saw me in the foyer when I came in, and then again during the service. She said I stood out to her each time with a pressing on her heart. She explained to me “this might sound strange” but she had a strong feeling of imagery for me, and if it didn’t resonate with me that I should just forget she said anything and move on. I nodded and welcomed what she had to say.
He was softening my heart and preparing me, nudging me to hear the whisper that I had silenced.
She continued to tell me about how she saw me (metaphorically) as a plant, that was planted in soil but covered with a glass jar, which was my protection. God was keeping me tucked in and safe. But, she said, that was before—and now she sees me heading into a season of life where I am planted in “fertile soil” (cue the water works) growing, spreading, thriving with life.
Tears streamed down my face. I wept because in that moment I knew that God saw me. I was not lost in the crowd. He knew my broken heart. He knew where I had been and where I was going. And once again, He was softening my heart and preparing me, nudging me to hear the whisper that I had silenced. Maybe I do want to try for another child.