Today is hard. Writing this is hard. But today is real, and
is worthy of my recognition.
The last day of February, I sat impatiently in rush hour
traffic praying desperately to see a flutter on the monitor. The week before, I
was so sure I’d lost my baby. We spent several hours in the ER as they ran test
after test. They had given us hope. No heartbeat, threatened miscarriage, but
stable. This would be sono #3, and I was yet to see the heartbeat that would
make this pregnancy feel safe. I was a half hour late to my appointment, and so
anxious as the elevator doors opened and I wished I had just a few more minutes
alone. I laid vulnerably on the table, still praying. But once again there was
no flutter, and this time I was empty.
It’s hard to believe how quickly love can be forged.
The following months were a blur. Heartache. Grief. Loneliness.
Before, miscarriage seemed so small. Like waking up from a dream and wishing to
fall back asleep, but eventually moving on and forgetting. But now that I carry
this loss, my perspective of life, of love, of hope, of peace has been shaken.
Today, I am due. My tracker app reminded me this morning while
I sipped my coffee, but I already knew. I've prayed for peace over this week
for months. Though the Lord has granted me peace and perspective, I also feel
the heaviness of grief. I believe it will always be a part of me, but I have come
to make room for hope, for love, for joy.
