I’d be a liar about what I’m going through if all of my posts were my positive outlook on my negative experience. I still have bad days. Days with questions taking over my thoughts. Days with sadness. And days anger peeks his ugly head out and those questions swirling in my head are questioned with an indignant undertone.
It’s been over a month now since I gave birth to our deceased son. Yes, I understand that I could have just said ‘miscarried’..but for those that have never gone through a late miscarriage I think that is an important piece of insight to include. I was clueless to what my sister and close friends went through. And talking about it was taboo. So, I need to share it with you.
I was taken to the labor & delivery department to give birth to our son. I was consoled by a bereavement nurse providing cremation options and going over when and how long I would be able to hold his tiny lifeless body in my hand. I gave birth to my son 6 months early…contractions and all. My amazing nurse, Mary, told me that my body hurt more than it should because it wasn’t ready for labor. Not to mention the emotional pain associated with such an experience.
We counted twice. 10 fingers, 10 toes. Two tiny little hands and two tiny little feet. By all appearances a perfectly viable fetus. (Why?)
Today is a day with questions and anger. I do believe His plan is bigger and better than mine. And that everything happens for a reason. But, that’s one of those sayings that you say with your head and not your heart. And I’m angry. I’m angry at the Lord for not allowing me to watch my son grow up. I speak for my husband as well. We are angry at Him for allowing this to happen to us, twice. For giving the precious life of a child to crackheads and dope fiends; but denying that right to us. And guess what, He loves us despite our anger towards Him.
Admitting that I’m angry at the Lord is something that I’ve struggled with since this happened. It felt wrong to be mad at my Savior; because after all, He knows all to well what it’s like to lose a son. To lose a son for crackheads, dope fiends, and people like me, so that we all have the opportunity to live eternally. I didn’t lose my son the way He did either. What a brutal death. But, that still doesn’t take away the deepest aches in my soul. The ache that wants my son to still be inside of me developing. The ache that wishes to take away the horrific memories I have of laboring my son. And, to be honest I don’t think it’s suppose to.
I’m reminded of Jonah. If you’ve never heard about Jonah (and the whale); here is a brief synopsis: God spoke to Jonah and told him to go preach repentance to his enemies, Jonah found that order unbearable so he got on a ship heading in the opposite direction of his enemies. In response to Jonah’s actions, God sent a storm with enough power to break the ship to pieces. The crew members on the ship determined that Jonah was the cause of the storm God sent, so they tossed him overboard and Jonah was swallowed by a whale. Of course, Jonah began repenting and and crying out in prayer to the Lord. After three days, God commanded the whale and Jonah was free. Then Jonah obeyed the Lord’s command and his enemies repented. Jonah became angry about this; and God explained to him that He loved even Jonah’s enemies and so should Jonah. So the point is this; Jonah was angry at God, but God didn’t reject him. Instead, Jonah needed to trust God; even if he didn’t like what was going on.
So here we are with days like today, where anger shows up. We allow the anger, because it’s good and we believe it’s part of our healing process and we know that God still loves us; because He’s big like that. But we don’t let the anger consume us. Instead, we trust in the Lord, even though we don’t like what has happened to us.