God is Still Writing My Story

If certain years were given chapter titles, I would call my 2003 "The Year of Tears."

Why am I telling you about 2003 when it is almost 2009?  Because everything that happened that year has everything to do with what will happen this year.  Let me explain:

2003 was going to be one of those milestone years. 

I was turning 40.  And I just knew that somehow there were some good changes ahead.  I was so ready for good things to happen. My children were older: 9, 14 and 16.  We'd been working hard in our business and I was tired.  I'd loved the "stay at home" years but was willingly juggling a new career to help keep our family afloat financially, and I was looking for a different avenue to magically appear.

The first tears fell when my sister called to tell me that she was expecting her 5th baby.  I couldn't understand why I got so emotional over the news, except that I suddenly realized that those "baby" days were over for me.  I didn't expect to grieve it, but it felt like something had just... slipped away.  In the midst of working and raising kids and living, too many years had gone by to think about more children and it made me wistful for those wonder years.

But no wonder why I was so emotional:  You see, I didn't know it right then, but I was pregnant, too.

The next tears came when I took my third home pregnancy test because I didn't believe the positive results of the first two.  OK, yeah.  I'd been sad about not getting to have any more babies, but not nearly as sad as I was to find out that I would be 40 and having one, 10 years after my youngest child. My husband and I sat in stunned silence that first afternoon and then went to Applebees and talked through our tears.  This isn't what we planned.  This isn't what we wanted.  We certainly could not afford it. We were going to look like grandparents instead of parents. What would people think? My horror was complete.

But in the midst of my worry, I felt the words "this child will be my delight," just drop into my heart as I drove one day.  The fog started lifting.

As we settled into the idea of having a "caboose" baby, we started to embrace it.  It really didn't take long to start getting excited.  I was due within days of my sister AND my sister-in-law!  Three babies were coming at the same time!  We surprised my mother with three phone calls on Mother's Day, each of us telling her our news.  It was incredibly fun.

I'll never forget trying on maternity clothes with my teenage daughters helping me pull things over my head in a tiny dressing room.  We laughed at the absurdity and I closed my eyes to capture the wonder of a new baby and the beauty of my almost grown girls.  Heavenly.

But everything changed in an instant when, on a spur of the moment trip to Blockbuster with my son, we were hit in a head-on collision by a distracted driver.  The car was totaled, but other than bumps and bruises, we felt fortunate to walk away.  A quick trip to my midwife to hear the baby's heartbeat reassured us that the baby was fine.  I fell more and more in love with this baby and could hardly believe the blessing we were going to have.

I was so excited about the next appointment with my midwife!  It was scheduled several weeks after the accident, and I brought Grayson and Lauren along so that they would be able to hear the baby's heartbeat.

As the midwife moved the Doppler around my abdomen, she said maybe the placenta was in the way because she could not pick up the heartbeat.  I felt my own heart start beating faster, but she seemed so calm as she sent me to the Doctor's office nearby to get a sonogram, that it MUST be alright.  Please, be alright. Please, God.

We waited forever in that waiting room.  I mentally denied that anything could be wrong, but my daughter called my husband and told him to come and meet us.

Finally, I was led to the exam room and the sonogram confirmed my worst fear. I will always remember seeing the lifeless little form on that dark screen. Tears fell like torrents from both my husband and I as we clung to each other. The baby had died weeks earlier from an abruption of the placenta as a result the accident, and we hadn't known it. It must have died right after my visit to the midwife.

I won't describe the awfulness of going through an induced labor, when you know that at the end of all the pain there will be no baby to hold. Or the despair of having your milk come in when there is no infant to nurse. The sorrow is more than a person can take.  I wanted to wake up and have it all be over, but I had to live through each of those days with a giant weight on my heart.

We had a little boy, Collin Joseph, on August 8. There was a funeral in the rain and a very tiny box that was put into the ground.  And more tears.

The approaching holidays put new dread into my heart.  The thought of seeing my sister and sister-in-law, with their billowing stomachs made us decide to not join our family for Thanksgiving or Christmas.  It would be too awkward for them AND us. Somehow we made it through the holidays and the births of their beautiful little ones.

And this is the part that has always made it hard for me to share this story, because it is so easy to sound trite.  It is tempting to package it up and wrap it all up with a tidy bow, even though the healing has been anything but tidy. I know that God was there for us, and He comforted us in unexpected and wonderful ways. But there was also deep, deep sorrow.  Tears that would come at the oddest moments. Anger and despair. Questioning and loneliness.  Trying to understand why something so wonderful could appear so unexpectedly...and then be taken so suddenly.  Pangs over what we missed and simultaneous relief that our parenting journey was nearing an end.

I wish I could say that our faith soared in the midst of it all.  Instead, I can only say that we experienced God's grace in sorrow, and His strength in weakness.  We experienced what it was like to know that our friends and family shed tears with us. We knew the "right" answers about all things working together for good, and we did our best to focus on our blessings.  But my demands for answers came back empty.  It was as if the Lord said, "why do you NEED to know why?  Will it make any difference? You'll have to trust me just the same."  Strangely, I found comfort in that.

The years have gone by.  Our nieces are now 5 years old.  Our two oldest children have gone off to college and one is married.  Our son is in high school.  Time does have a way of healing.  Perhaps the "delight" I thought would be for me is bringing delight to my Father in heaven.  Though long in coming, I cherish the thought.

A friend asked me the other day if I still wished I would have another baby or if I was kind of "over" the whole baby thing.  I was watching her struggle to put a car seat in her car and lug all the baby gear around.

A million things flashed through my mind as I thought for a second and said, "No, I think I'm pretty much over it."  It felt good to say it and finally mean it.

But that brings me to another chapter.