A sad story, but it's ours

I went in for a routine doctor's visit exactly a week ago. I was only thinking about getting the appointment out of the way, so I could go home and grade papers and clean my house. Bethany and Michael and their families were coming in, and I wanted to be free to play. I went in alone, sat in the waiting room alone, and then went in for my check-up. When my Dr. couldn't find the baby's heartbeat, she assured me that this was the third baby of the day who was "hiding," and she would go get the ultrasound. The baby was moving around too much to hear a heartbeat--that's what she said. She got the ultrasound machine and looked. When I saw the picture of the baby on the screen, I knew. It was moving at all. I knew. No heartbeat. No sparkle of life on the middle of the screen. My fears and doubts brought to life in nightmarish reality. It all happened in the space of five minutes, and I flew out to the car and picked up the phone to call Dan. Our baby had died. No heartbeat.

I had a long, long drive home. At first, I couldn't get ahold of Dan. His phone was off, and I sobbed and drove and prayed. I prayed that Heavenly Father would be with me--that I wouldn't be alone. I finally got in touch with Dan, and all I could tell him was that I was so sorry, so sorry, but our baby had died. I sobbed and sobbed. I called my mom. I was in shock. But there is only so much you can talk about, and I hung up. In the silence as I drove along the ocean road, I prayed for something, anything to help me. Truly out of nowhere, the words to a song I've never paid attention to came to my mind. It's a hymn . . . though never one of my favorites. "When dark clouds of trouble hang over us, and threaten our peace to destroy, there is hope smiling brightly before us, and we know that deliverance is nigh. We doubt not the Lord nor His goodness. We've proved Him in days that are past . . . " In the middle of my worst nightmare, God sent me a penetrating and simple ray of light. There is hope smiling brightly before us. I am holding onto that hope.

They sent us to Honolulu for a more in-depth ultrasound. We found out that the baby had probably died in the last 24 hours. We found out that the baby's body was perfect with no signs of abnormalities. And we found out is was a girl! I'm in love with her, though I never got to know her. The doctor said there was nothing I could have done. There was no way to prevent this from happening. I try not to wonder what it was that went wrong. What could I have done or not done to make it better? What did I do wrong? But he told me I would never have an answer to what really happened. It was just bad luck.

Our kids took the news in different ways. Jane and Sam both had long, hard cries. Jane had such dreams of a sister! but after the crying, they went out to play. Colin got a headache and fell asleep on the couch. Charlie, who never understood the whole pregnancy anyway, just kept asking if the baby was still dead. They all seem very resilient. Still, we put our kids to bed that night, and one by one, they appeared downstairs again. I think that though they can overcome something like this quickly, they all felt the need to be together that night.

My family came into town the next day. Though I wouldn't have wished for the timing of this to coincide with their vacation, I have felt so grateful to have them near. They make me feel strong and kind, and they've made me laugh. I can't give into sadness too completely, when I have so much to be happy about. I think I'm just going to have to accept that I can be intensely happy and intensely sad at the exact same time. We spent a few days at the beach over the weekend, and I watched the water. I am the sand. Different sets of waves wash over me, and like a broad beach, I take in each wave, and let it pass away to find what's left underneath.

It helps to have people know what happened, to say something, to hug me. It helps that Dan is the greatest man I know, and that despite his own sadness, he gives and gives and gives and fills up the empty spaces with love. It helps to have people's prayers or good thoughts. It's so hard, and to anyone who has gone through this, I wish I'd known how hard it is! I would have been a better friend! But I also feel normal at times, and I know it's not the end of hope. It's not the blow that's going to devastate us. It helps to feel God's love, and know that He is near.

I may erase this post. It is personal, true. But it is part of our mango season. Part of the sweet and the sticky. And even though it's a sad story, it's ours.