I can’t find the way to write this down, but I need to. I’m hurting in places, in ways, I can’t deal with without the comfort of words.
This time, it was the profile picture I had on facebook. I actually used it here a while back, too. This one:
This was my secret, hidden way of telling you all I was pregnant again. The momma duck, with five ducklings on her back? Isn’t it cute? It’s how I felt, it’s how my heart squeezed at the thought of five children. And when I saw it again today, whatever ground I had gained, I lost. Whatever small steps I had taken towards healing, I stumbled back again.
I was around 7 weeks. My belly was rounding out a little bit. I still keep running my hand over it, the small curve that seems so empty to me now.
Here I am, All Saint’s Day, and I’m saying goodbye to what would have been. I’m hurting, body and soul. I don’t want to be angry, but I am, though not at God exactly. It’s just that my grief doesn’t know what else to be. It’s too big, and I just want to yell it out of me.
How do I face that box of maternity clothes when it comes in the mail this week?
How many people will I assure that I’m okay, when I know I’m not?
How long will I watch and feel this pregnancy leaving my body? How many times will I sit in the bathroom, trying to Visine the red out of my eyes, trying to reign the pain in so my other children don’t worry? How much will I hate that bathroom, because what I long for is just a piece of ground, a decent place to put something that I love? Death deserves more honor than what has happened the last two days. I have nothing to give this baby- I think that’s what hurts the most. I couldn’t give it a life, or rest… or anything.
I don’t want to see anybody or do anything, I don’t want life to go on like nothing happened. I want to say goodbye and grieve over this baby, but I have nothing to hold, no fingers to kiss, no small cheek to stroke– I have nothing. So my grief races around looking for a place to land, weary, desperate.
Four healthy, beautiful children make me a mother. But so did this one, this one expanded me, expanded our life. This one was as much a part of me as the others are, and I just… I wanted to be mama duck to this one, too.
Three paragraphs later, and I’m going to assure you that I’m going to be okay. Even though I don’t feel like it right now, I know I will. Even though I’m not okay, I am.
God is still good. He still cares. He knows my heart and what will heal it, and I trust Him with it.
To God be the glory in all things, even in this. Even in this.