Why is it that something so loudly devastating is such a silent topic? Why is it that something 1 in 4 women experience is so rarely discussed out loud? For some unfathomable reason, women don’t speak openly about miscarriage. Why?
We share news of loved ones passing away--grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. But when we experience the most intimate loss possible, we are silent. In her book Held: 31 Biblical Reflections on God’s Comfort and Care in the Sorrow of Miscarriage, Abbey Wedgeworth wrote, “I’ve never been this close to death. It’s literally inside of me. Where life should be. Apart from dying ourselves, I’m not sure it’s possible to experience death more personally than to have it occur within us.” I cannot wrap my mind around the silence that women take upon themselves when they miscarry.
November 9, 2020, at nine weeks pregnant, we went to the doctor for a second ultrasound. The previous week, the baby measured smaller than we felt was normal. So, being the high anxiety person I am, I requested a follow-up the following week. At that appointment, my suspicions were confirmed. Our baby had stopped growing at 6 weeks and 3 days. The heartbeat we had seen one week prior was now gone. I was having a missed miscarriage. My body hadn’t realized what was happening and was continuing to grow and develop as if my baby was still living. It wouldn’t be safe to wait and see if my body would work things out naturally. Our options were Cytotec (a pill) or a D&C. I elected to take the pill. The pill ended up failing, so we had to do a D&C on November 18.
A miscarriage is uniquely isolating. There is a “hidden nature of what is lost. The life you mourn never existed outside of you.” This can make it hard to open up to others. Wedgeworth says, “from the outside, no visible change seems to have taken place, and to anyone else, it’s as if [this baby] never existed. No one else felt its presence. Am I alone in missing him or her?”. With both of my miscarriages, I needed to know I wasn’t alone. I needed to know that, even though I was the only one to feel my babies’ presence, others felt the impact of our loss.
But...
The beauty in the darkness is that we can rest knowing that our pain and heartache isn’t hidden from God. God knew the moment my babies ceased to live. Nothing is hidden from Him. He sees the sorrow, the pain, the “untellable” details. And He also sees the future. He knows what beauty will come from the brokenness and the ashes.
When our first miscarriage occured, He knew that Liam would one day become a part of our lives. He knew that we would know the joy of having a healthy pregnancy and bringing a child into the world. The day we were told our third baby had ceased to grow and no longer had a heartbeat, my world did not implode. Yes, my heart broke, I felt immense grief, and my hopes were dashed, but I also was able to find peace. I remembered the goodness of the Lord after our first miscarriage. I remembered his faithfulness to redeem our pain. I remembered the comfort I found in His words and in His presence. I know that this is not the end.
“Even there your hand will lead me, and your right hand will hold me.”
Psalm 139:10
