Some time in the early winter of 2015/2016 my wife and I found out she was pregnant with our fourth child. Our twin boys were just about 18 months old and Maddie had just turned 3. I know, I know, cue the “don’t ya know what causes that?” jokes, but hey, look at Liz, she’s gorgeous. And… I am remembering this is supposed to be for my children. (I can safely assume even my adult children will not be interested in such explanations.) Ahem, I digress. In all seriousness, we were spacing this one out twice as far as the last ones so, kudos to us right?
This time we were not nearly as phased as we were with the twins. I remember going on a date with Liz after she told me. She wasn’t sure, but she thought so. It was wonderous. She hadn’t yet confirmed with a test so we ran over to a Dillons. We laughed with the cashier as I bought a lottery ticket along with the pregnancy test. Hoping for good luck with both.
We soon went in for a very different experience with an ultrasound technician. I honestly don’t remember whether this was the first or second ultrasound. (I’ve attended a lot of ultrasounds over the years.) But I do remember that this ultrasound hadn’t been planned. There had been some bleeding and we were called in to “check on the baby.”
The technician who had been initially chatty soon got quiet. That was the first moment I knew for certain something was wrong. She asked to be excused and came back with an APRN, after a few more checks. They took us to another room and the APRN explained that there was no heartbeat. She said out loud what we had already feared. Our baby had died. In between Elizabeth’s sobbing they explained they needed to give Elizabeth another drug to make sure the babies body completely passed through. (The details of this I don’t fully remember and I don’t care to research it.) They admitted Elizabeth to the hospital for observation because of deadly complications which could arise still because it was also ectopic. I updated my parents and called Liz’s. I called her work to tell them she was in the hospital. After Liz was settled in and as ok as she could be, I went home to get some things for Liz for the stay. The weight of everything had not hit me yet, I had been focused on trying to comfort Liz.
As soon as I walked in the door to my home, I saw my parents and sweet little Maddie ran up to me and asked me how the baby was. I felt it all in one huge rush of emotion. I cried bitterly and hugged Maddie. She struggled against my hug. I don’t remember what I told her to explain.
After I returned to the hospital, Liz and I sat in silence the rest of the evening. I can’t describe that night except for the numbness and the helplessness. I wanted to relieve Liz of her pain, but I couldn’t. I’m not sure we would even want to erase the pain if we could.
The most surreal aspect of losing a child during pregnancy is grieving what you never had. Our baby was in a sense both alive and not. We never met this child. We felt deep grief.
I hope I meet this child upon my death. I hope to tell my unmet child of my other four wonderful kids and of her mother. (Because, lets face it, the odds are vastly in favor of me dying before Liz.) I cast this hope upon my faith in the goodness of God.
Life has death. It is unavoidable. It is awful. It is painful. I will never pretend to understand all of the reasons or why. I do believe in God’s goodness. I believe he comforted Liz and I through the pain of this loss. A loss which is common to so many couples and yet so few people talk about it. I think this is because it’s difficult to explain a loss of a child in pregnancy. The loss of what you never fully possessed. I have tried to explain it here…
God’s exceeding graciousness to us came in the form of yet another child, Olivia. Her name is from the reference in Genesis to the olive branch after the flood, a promise of new life. We first discovered her in February or March, short months after the loss. “The Lord gives, and the lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21
The strangest piece of all of this is that Olivia could not have existed if we had not lost the other child. I don’t want to imagine a world without my sweet little girl. The girl who courageously throws firecrackers and raises her hands in triumph. If there is a lesson in all this, I am still learning it. I have no answers. It is a terrible mystery. I am grateful for my beautiful daughter. And that helps.
My advice is this, when you experience grief, and you will, do not turn inward into your darkest thoughts. Turn outward to those around you. Lend your ear and your arms to those who are mourning with you. Express your feelings of doubt, fear, anger, depression, or whatever you are feeling. In this expression and joint mourning, there is deep and beautiful meaning. Tell it also to God. I think he mourns with us. In this we see, “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.”
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