Didn’t think it would end this way

 
These past few months have been heart-wrenching.

We’re clinging.  Remembering the promises, repeating them over and over.  He’s good.  He loves us.  He fights FOR us. 

This road of infertility is never ending.  Getting pregnant doesn’t change anything.  The same sense of anticipation mixed with fear settles around you.  You might wonder how I know.  We’ve been pregnant twice in these past months.  And both have ended far different than we ever imagined.

They say you never really get over infertility.  You have to grieve it.  Because it becomes an identity marker, no matter how hard you try to fight against that.  You recognize this, begin to embody this and get comfortable, and then things change.  You see, even more fear needing to rest diligently in trust sets in when you realize as soon as two lines appear, that now it’s not just about the two of you.  There’s another life you are fighting for.  Petitioning for the Lord to sustain.  And you have no control over the outcome.

And you never forget when you hear the nurses words coming across the lines that connect you both, “I’m sorry.”  Or when your RE glances into your eyes and says with tenderness “This doesn’t look good.”  The tears fall, ever so gently even though you are both trying to hold it all together.

Our first little one lived for mere days.  Jesus beckoned little b home, to a better place, with Him.  Oh what a glorious place to be.  And we saw joy in the aftermath, I ovulated.  I was able to get pregnant without medication.  We were saddened, yet astounded and sorrowful, yet full of hope.  This last time I was 7 1/2 weeks along.  Before our Doctor came in, we bowed in prayer asking Jesus to calm our hearts and to give us peace.  Instead of a heartbeat, beating fast and strong at our first ultrasound, we were faced with ill-timed news and decisions we didn’t want to make.  Our precious Dr. with so much tenderness, shared the news we did not want to hear.   It didn’t look right.  And she looked worried and uncomfortable with the image in front of her.  In this case, she shared her initial diagnosis of Molar Pregnancy. If this were so, then my body never created a little one, but created something else, an intruder mimicking life.  As we let the news sink in, our hearts broke.  Unsure of what lay ahead, the only thing we knew was that He knew. 

And we, with strength that was not ours, took steps forward.  One foot in front of the other, leaning wholly on Him, we journeyed forward, beckoning Him to change the diagnosis.  Days later, we learned of our silver lining.  It was not molar.  But silver linings only do so much to spur up joy.  There was a little one, a life growing inside of me, a little life we will never meet or hold. 

And now we are faced with the gentle aftermath.  I’m not sure which one of us said it, as our minds tried to process the news and our hearts grieved what we thought would be, but one of us echoed our hearts cry “Can we ever catch a break.”  And the lies come one by one.  Day after day.  And we try to feel, to grieve, to take it all in.  It’s the little things that do me in, the storing of baby books, filing of baby lists and names, unsubscribing from email newsletters, and hearing, as my blood is drawn, the steady and loud heartbeat from the ultrasound in the next room.  And my mind wonders, will we ever get to bring those books out again, or hear that sound.  I wanted so to hear our baby, strong and full of life.  I want to wake up to some different reality.

I don’t need answers and I don’t need to know why.  He knows.  I’m content right there, but I struggle to find hope.  How to hope that He might in His tender mercy create life again, only to sustain it this time.  We won’t know the answer to this, to whether He will create life again.  We pray He will.

And down this road we will continue to walk, step by step, hand in hand.  Trusting in His mercy, in His timing, in His will, in His character, in His love.  There is no other option.  I’m not letting Him go because of this.  Alex isn’t letting Him go because of this.  We’re not letting go because He won’t let us go.  Because two are better than one.  And a three cord strand who could break.

Pray for us.  For healing and joy amidst sorrow.  For life abundant.