“There is a unique pain that comes from preparing a place in your heart for a child that never comes.” – David Platt

I wanted to take the time to honor all the grieving mothers this week. Unfortunately, I know way too many. It is every mother’s worst fear, only when it happens, it becomes the nightmare you can never wake up from. 

I remember once after a family friend  had lost her elderly mother, I said to my mom that she was lucky to have had her mother for so long. My mother responded with, “Oh honey, it was still her mother, no matter how old she was, it still hurts just the same.” That statement has stayed with me ever since. Some people will claim that losing your child at a certain age would be easier. Those people don’t understand, and they are fortunate. 

Losing your unborn child or losing your adult child, is still losing your child.

My mother in law, Todd’s mother, lost her oldest child at age 3. Larrelyn died after having a seizure.

Neal was 46 when he took his life. He was the youngest of five children.

My mom lost Lindee at age 52, ultimately to cancer. Lindee was the second child of six. 

My niece Rachael was murdered at age 29. Her mother’s only child.

My niece Parthenia died from a long battle of idiopathic pulmonary hypertension at age 41. Her mother’s youngest child.

Talking about our children’s death to each other is helpful, it hurts like hell, but a little easier to talk to someone who has experienced the loss. We did not experience it in the same way, nor in the same timing, but a part of our self was ripped away in an unimaginable way and somehow we know the others in our circle must have that same aching pain that is so indescribable. 

There are more losses in this circle… I am not sure how many, but I know there are many more. The losses of many unborn children. The secret losses that are more often than not, dehumanized by calling it a miscarriage, or failed pregnancy. The children that nobody else got to see or touch or know their names…

 “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou

I was 3 ½ months pregnant when I lost my unborn child. I was so very happy to be pregnant again. Ryan was 2 and I knew he was going to be such a wonderful big brother. I was in college and finishing my last week at MSU with finals. My mom was with me so she could help me with Ryan and pack to be out of the student housing by the end of the week. As I was getting ready to go to class, I went to the bathroom and saw blood. I was so worried, scared, and stressed. I called the doctor and they said it is not uncommon, and not to worry. They made an appointment for me to come in later to check it out. I went to one of my finals and then, on my own, to the doctor. My mind was chaotic, trying not to think about the worst case scenario. The office was a bit chaotic too. As I was being led to my room, a nurse came out of another patient’s room and told the receptionist, “We need the doctor now! She is crowning!” 

The nurse that had taken me started the exam. She had me change into a gown and started the ultrasound. It was a transvaginal ultrasound, I had never had one of those before. By definition, it is said to be a “wand-like device.”  I most definitely feel like it should be compared to something else. Especially, due to the fact that the probe cover itself is literally a condom. She inserted the “wand” and looked for the heartbeat. I honestly felt violated. She didn’t find the heartbeat, and said she couldn’t find the baby. As I lay there with my legs in the stirrups, another nurse came in and told my nurse, “We need you to come help, right now.” She laid the “wand” (now covered in blood) on the ultrasound cart, quickly put a paper sheet over my legs and said she would be back. 

I started to shake and cry. I sat up. I was alone and just got the most devastating news I had ever received. I needed my mom right then, with me. I needed her to tell me I was going to survive this. I wasn’t sure. I saw the phone on the counter. I picked it up, chose a line that wasn’t in use and called mom. I told her what was happening. I don’t remember anything that was said, but I remember that she stayed on the phone with me. It took 30 minutes before anyone returned to my room, this time, it was a doctor, one I had never seen before. She reexamined me, told me I had a miscarriage and that I would have to schedule a D&C. I told her I was moving back to Wyoming and she said that I could just schedule it there. That meant that I would continue to miscarry until I could have the surgery. She was so matter of fact with all the information. She had no empathy for what was happening to me. Just another day in the office. 

“It is estimated that as many as 26% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage.” – Dugas C, Slane VH, StatPearls Publishing.

I was already starting to show, I was planning our future, I was picking out names, I was excited. But it ended in just one day! 

So what was next? Inside, I was soo angry, soo very heartbroken! Outwardly, I didn’t talk about it. I felt it was my fault, I must have done something wrong. I had failed. I kept thinking that my baby must have been flushed down the toilet, unbeknownst to me. Did it happen that morning, when I started bleeding? Did it happen sometime earlier while using the bathroom? Why didn’t I know? I should have known!  I was alone with my grief, feeling like I shouldn’t be so sad, I didn’t even know whether my baby was a girl or boy. 

“In society, much emphasis is placed on privacy, such as not announcing pregnancy until the second trimester when the risk of pregnancy loss is reduced.  Unfortunately, these hidden miscarriages – and the result of hidden grief – serve to keep miscarriage a taboo topic, not often discussed openly in society. As a result, many grieving parents feel isolated and unable to seek the support they may need.  Breaking the taboo and talking about miscarriage helps to normalize the experience, combat misconceptions and validate people’s emotions.” – Miscarriage: why it’s important to break the taboo, patient.info.

I had only shared this loss with a few people, until after Ryan died. I felt guilty that I was grieving for Ryan so outwardly, but had kept the loss of my unborn baby such a secret. I finally shared my story with some family members and some close friends. I still felt like talking about my grief was unjustified, especially 20 years later.

Today, I am sharing my story with the world. I do not think this happened because God wanted to punish me, but I do believe that it was part of His plan. I know that every experience in my life has led me to my next chapter. If my life had different experiences, I would not be who I am or where I am today. I believe I am right where God intends for me to be. 

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” – Ecclesiastes 3:11

I know that we are all children of God. I believe that the moment we conceive, is the moment we become a mother. God chose me to be that baby’s mother, and I will know that child when we meet in heaven. I would have done anything for that baby, just the same as I would for all my children. 

To all the moms out there who have lost a child, even those that never had the opportunity to hold your child, you are loved! You are eternally recognized by God as one of his chosen mothers. I pray for peace in your heart and wish you a happy Mother’s Day!