I never knew how many times I would repeat that sentence in my mind. I had a miscarriage. I had a miscarriage. I had a miscarriage. I have tried it in different voices, with emphasis on different words. I have whispered it. I have yelled it. It never gets easier.
I knew it was happening before it happened. I mourned this sweet baby when it still had a heartbeat. I mourned it again when the rhythm had stopped. I have sobbed. I have slept. I am hollow.
There are three dates I will never forget.
September 16, 2015 - I took a pregnancy test at school, convinced of a faulty pregnancy test the night before. A faint pink line showed up. I checked it twelve times throughout the day. Still there. I was pregnant.
October 21, 2015 - Our baby only measured six week four days. I am a planner. My planner said nine weeks. I knew something was wrong. The doctor assured me that it wasn't. We heard a wonderful, steady heartbeat of 129 beats per minute. I swallowed what my mama heart feared. We celebrated our new baby.
November 1, 2015 - I lost my baby. I sat in a plastic chair in the Emergency Room, and I allowed myself to accept it. Three hours later, I listened to the doctor say it. My baby had stopped growing. There was no heartbeat. I should have been eleven weeks.
This past week I have learned that life will go on. Without the new baby. The sun still rises and sets. We still need groceries. We still have to pay bills. The laundry does not do itself. I found myself sitting at an intersection the other day. I wanted to get out of my car and scream to anyone that would listen, 'Do you not know what I'm going through? Do you not know that I don't have a baby anymore?" Lest you think that I've gone off the deep end, I should tell you that it was only a fleeting moment. The light turned green, and I continued to my destination.
"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; (Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4) I have mourned. Yesterday, I danced with my son. We laughed.
To all the mamas of unborn babies, stillborn babies, living, breathing, kicking babies. To all the mamas of lost babies, children, adults - you are not alone. We are not alone.
My sweet baby, I weep for all the times I didn't get to hold you here on Earth, but I rejoice because, one day, I will hold you in Heaven.