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Well, it has been two months since we lost our precious little one and I no longer cry every day.  I am learning to maneuver through the waves of grief.  It's not over, but the intensity has begun to dissipate.  For a while, all I wanted to do was crawl into a cave and sleep all day and all night.  I felt so alone.  And it seemed that my only comfort was reading stories of others who had gone through the same pain and grief.

Reminders seem to be everywhere.  I continue getting baby updates from online companies even after I have unsubscribed.  I secretly weep when I see pregnant women.  It seems like the whole world is expecting a baby...apart from me.  I have packed up the few baby items I purchased and tucked them away for another time.  The painful details are replayed in my head over and over.  I remember the sonographer's face when the tumors were found.  The expression on the doctor's face when she told me I was having a miscarriage and explaining what would happen next.

Unless someone has been through a miscarriage, they will never truly be able to understand how different the loss of a child is to every other situation.  And I'll never be able to explain it to them.  Babies are not supposed to die.  But they do.  Every single day.  People don't know how to respond and many have become very awkward around me.  Some try and act as if nothing happened because they simply don't know what to do.  People are insensitive, but not on purpose.  Though it is hurtful, I try not to take it personally.

Losing our baby has changed us.  I don't yet know or fully understand any of it and I may never know, at least not in this lifetime.  This baby of ours is gone, but not lost.  My arms are empty, and my heart is heavy.  I'm weary, and hurting.  Sad.  Angry at everything.  Breathing in.  Breathing out.  The emotions come and go, come and go, come and waves in the ocean.  Despite the pain and the heartache, my husband and I remind ourselves that our son or daughter represents many.  We are not alone.  How many of us have felt this anguish of losing a child?

Sometimes God calms the storm.  Sometimes God calms the sailor.  But sometimes He makes us swim.

Let me add a little side note about the tumors.  About two weeks ago I saw my gynocologist and was told that my uterus has decreased now to the size of a 13 week pregnancy (initially after surgery it had ballooned up to a 15 week size).  The most recent ultrasound showed that my tumors are beginning to decrease in size!  They have now found five, not four like initially thought.  The doctor believes that there could be many more, as they seem to cluster together, but we won't know until the next ultrasound next month.  We have scheduled the second surgery for Mid-July and I am getting to the place where I can begin to see the future and know that healing is coming.

A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor.

The following song, called Oceans, by Hillsong United, has ministered to my heart and I pray that it ministers to yours.  No matter your circumstances or your suffering, you can call upon the Lord, and He will answer.  His grace abounds in deepest waters.  Let your soul rest in His perfect embrace.


  1. Hi. I recently found your blog and your words melted my heart. Why? I've been through same, so I can relate. Don't lose hope. I have two beautiful children, after suffering a first trimester miscarriage, and also a blighted ovum. My fibroid was pregnancy induced, and shrunk right after I gave birth to my first child.
    I concur, "nobody will understand". I encourage you to cry when you feel like it, and let it all out. It's really important to grieve, and in the end, you will be ecstatic when you get to hold your first baby...God bless :-)

    1. Hi Delia. Thank you for your words of encouragement, they are comforting. Sometimes it's hard to see the forest through the trees, but each day I am becoming more and more hopeful for the future and our future little ones. Thanks again, I appreciate your time in commenting here.


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