As I mentioned in a previous post, October is quite possibly my favorite month of the year. But as it comes to a close, the last day is always a difficult one for me. Not because November is looming, with its bare trees, brown lawns, and colder weather. October 31st is a reminder…an anniversary of sorts that I would much rather forget.
On October 31st, 1999, I had a miscarriage. As too many women have come to know, this is an event that we don’t just “get over”. No matter how much I try, I cannot erase the slow-motion playback or the sentiments of that day.
My husband and I had been married a little over a year and I wanted nothing more than to give him a baby! I yearned for the opportunity to raise a child together and prove my worth as a woman, wife, and mother. So as soon as we found out I was pregnant, we shared our happy news with EVERYONE! Our parents, our friends, our work associates…everybody was overjoyed!
I had two weeks until the first appointment with my doctor, but called to get a script for the pre-natal vitamins so I could start on them right away. I immediately changed to healthier habits and paid close attention to how I was treating my body. After all, on November 1st, we would be listening to our baby’s heartbeat for the first time!
I do remember being scared and wondering if we were “ready” for this major milestone…we were living in a rental house on the east side of Detroit with three dogs and about an ounce of maturity between us. We were blessed to both have good, stable jobs, but our sense of responsibility left much to be desired. How fast could we grow up? How much “sacrifice” would this new little person demand? Was our marriage and friendship strong enough to withstand the pressure and stress of having a child? But for all the apprehension, excitement and anticipation won over, and my mind filled with the promise of being someone’s mommy.
As Halloween approached, the company I worked for, at the time, went overboard with their Halloween activities. Office cubicles were decorated and everyone was expected to dress up in costume for that Friday’s festivities! Already feeling “fuller” in the mid-section, I convinced my husband to let me borrow his elastic-waisted chef pants and coordinating chef coat. With a chef’s hat to complete the ensemble, it was cute and showed off just the slightest hint of a baby bump:)
But on the way into work that morning, I began feeling uncomfortable. Though fairly innocuous at first, and really barely noticeable, cramping had begun and uneasiness washed over me. I started to pray.
As the day progressed, there was more evidence that something was awry. I called the doctor, explained the symptoms and was reassured that some of the things I was describing were “perfectly normal”, especially with a first pregnancy. I was ordered to go home, put my feet up, drink lots of fluids, and relax. So I did.
Despite rest however, the symptoms did not go away. Every twinge, every ache, every trip to the bathroom was met with anxiety and despair. Middle of the night phone calls to the emergency line on Saturday still advised us to stay calm and wait for Monday’s doctor’s appointment for more in-depth exams and conversations.
Sunday morning, the sun rose bright and beautiful, and the day held renewed hope. The symptoms had seemed to subside for the most part, and I was looking forward to a relaxing afternoon, followed by an enjoyable evening of handing out candy to all the trick-or-treaters. My husband had to work in the evening, so before he left the house around 3pm, he made me some tea, took the dogs out, propped the pillows up under my feet, and gave me strict orders to just rest and ignore the little goblins coming to the door.
Always one for following orders, I nodded off for a bit. When I awoke, the symptoms were back…stronger and deeper than before. My heart was pounding as I gently rose from the sofa and made my way to the bathroom. I knew what was happening and was quickly confronted with undeniable proof. Shaking, weeping, barely able to stand on my weakened legs, I dialed the phone to call my husband. As he picked up, no words escaped my lips. How could I tell the man that I love more than anything in the world, that I just lost our baby? How could I express to him how sorry I was? How could I possibly put the horror, disappointment, loss, and fear into words?
As it turns out, I didn’t have to. My dear husband knew, just as I had known. Hearing my tears fall on the receiver and my breath catch as I tried to speak, he said simply, “It will be okay. I’m on my way home. I love you.”
The few minutes between ending the conversation and hearing our front door open, seemed to take hours. I hadn’t moved from the middle of our bedroom. The phone lay on the floor next to my feet where it had dropped from my hand moments before. I was numb and lost. My husband walked slowly toward me and enveloped me in his long arms and broad chest; holding me for a very long time as our hearts broke.
The obligatory trip to the hospital was a solemn, silent ride. Our hands intertwined in a show of strength, faith, and unity. Our trip made formal what we were already trying to comprehend. We knew the next hours and days would test our resolve as we delivered the devastating news to our families and friends while still trying to navigate through our own mourning process.
Eventually (as time has a tendency to do), days became weeks and weeks became months. Our mourning turned to guarded celebration and excitement as we were blessed with another pregnancy. We waited to share our news this time, hoping to circumvent any unfortunate events. Forty weeks later, we gave birth to our beautiful, healthy son, who continues to be a source of pride, love, joy, and wonder for the entire family!
My story is neither unique nor exceptional. This scenario plays out in various forms in millions of families every year. While we can’t possibly understand why, I take solace in the fact that God’s plan is His alone. I am not meant to fathom its meaning, but through faith, accept its truth. By God’s grace, I stand here today both humbled and grateful; a woman truly blessed beyond measure, reminded daily through the gifts of my beloved husband and two precious boys that this life is full of adventure, passion, laughter, and love.
The smallest of souls still has a name and it is written in the same book as mine, and all believers. And one day my family will be complete…all together in one place. We will meet for the first time, but our spirits will hold the familiarity of mother and child.