Do You Have Any Kids?

It’s a question I dread hearing. Its one I hate answering. Its one that inevitably comes up when I meet new people, especially whenever Sam and I are together. I guess it’s a pretty standard question. Generally pretty harmless. For me, it’s like a knife to the heart. 

We’ve been married almost three years now, and have been together almost six. Its natural that people wonder where our little ones are. I mean, generally if you see two people under 25 married for longer than a year, it’s expected that they either have a baby, or have one on the way. 

Sometimes, both of us just end up defaulting to the answer no. I’ve noticed we both often answer with “Unfortunately, no” or a wistful “Not yet”. I’ve taken to replying with a “I don’t have any little ones around the house.” Because really, that’s the only truthful way I can think to answer without telling them that we have a baby in heaven. 

Which brings me to my main thought. No matter how many children God blesses us with, they will be next in line, not replacements. So yes, I will be one of those “odd” people who counts their miscarried baby in their line of children. 

I want to recognize every single life lost, especially my little one’s. And I can’t ever forget my precious baby. But I find that the rest of the world has moved on, and I’ve moved along with it, though it feels like a piece of my heart is missing. 

And so I truly don’t know how to answer that. It’s a legitimate question, and I’m certainly not suggesting that people tiptoe around and avoid asking questions just to spare my feelings. I’m not “triggered” and I don’t need to go into a “safe space” (that’s a post for another time), but of course it’s a painful question. And so I want to be honest, and honor my child, and never pretend he didn’t exist. At the same time, especially with strangers, I don’t necessarily want to share my whole story. A lot of people don’t want or need that burden, not to mention it makes for awkward conversation. 

I guess I’m playing by ear. I really don’t have a solution to this. 

Thankfulness in Grief

It’s one of those things you never think can happen to you until it does. I’d known women who had miscarriages. I was saddened by the loss of nieces and nephews, and siblings who I didn’t know about until they were gone. Its a strange thing, to grieve other’s children who you’ll never meet on this side of eternity. 
You hear about how this is national-whatever-awareness-day/month, and maybe you share a Facebook post or something, but you haven’t experienced it, so it really doesn’t affect you all that much. And honestly, I tend to ignore most of these things because sharing a post online or walking or buying a shirt with a catchy slogan on it really doesn’t make a difference. Not to mention, I personally would rather focus on sharing the gospel than on social issues. Because these are all earthly things, and yes, you should be aware of what goes on and if you can do something about it, then do, but ultimately, I’m at the point where I want to focus on heavenly rather than earthly things. 

Today hits home though. A year ago, I read stories of women talking about their experience with infant and pregnancy loss. I cried reading them, and felt sorry, all the while hoping that would never be me. Now I’m the one writing that story. I’ve had fertility struggles resulting from other health issues, and I guess I always assumed that because I had hardship in one area, that if I could overcome that and actually get pregnant,  then everything would be fine. We’d have our babies and that would be it. 

But that’s not how it works. Jesus does not promise us an easy, comfortable life. We will have trials, we will feel pain, and loss, and sorrow. Having a trial in one area doesn’t guarantee that you’re safe in other areas. 

I rejoice in the fact that Sammy will never have to feel pain and sadness here. As difficult as it is, I’m thankful that I will have at least one child that the Lord has mercifully brought home to Him. 

It doesn’t make the pain go away though. I do not mourn as the heathens do, with no hope. My hope rests in Him, totally, completely. A dear friend advised me to find things to thank Him for when this happened, even in the tragedy. I didn’t understand how I could when it first happened, but now, in spite of the pain, I’m am truly thankful that God spared my child, and took it home, even if it meant I never got to hold it. 

I still grieve though. These last few weeks have been difficult for me. I’ve rejoiced in the birth of my friend’s babies, but so often I’m met with the reminder that they get to hold and kiss their sweet babies, while my arms remain empty.

 If Sammy had lived, we would have found out the gender, and started decorating the nursery. I imagine seeing my belly swelling, sending family ultrasound pictures. I see Juliet love on children and babies and mourn the loss of my baby and puppy growing up together as best friends. 

When it happened, I wanted to cry out and ask what was the point of this? What was the point of only loving my child so desperately if I only got a few weeks? I thought I would rather forget it happened.

I’m so, so thankful. Because even if Sammy died, and I never even got an ultrasound picture, I got a few weeks. I had some time. And I will never, ever regret the time I had. 

It changed me. My heart was filled with a different kind of love. I got to spend a small amount of time loving my child and rejoicing in its little life. Sammy made me a mother, although a mother of a child in heaven. 

My heart was broken that day in a way I never imagined possible. I rejoice in God’s mercy in bringing Sammy home, and grieve every day for the same reason. My baby’s life had value, and it was indeed a person, fearfully and wonderfully made by our merciful, gracious, loving Savior. 

I observe the infant and pregnancy loss day for that reason. Yes, I’m a mother, full of grief at losing her precious child. But at the heart of it is recognising that every single child’s life is important. Age, size, location, development, and circumstance have no bearing on the value of someone’s life. God has known everyone since before time began. We need to recognize each little life as His unique, precious creation.

My Child’s Life Mattered, No Matter How Short it Was

Two weeks ago I sat in the urgent care room, numbly listening to the doctors and nurses tell me there was nothing that could be done, that this was probably an isolated event, that I needed to come back to get my hormone levels checked, to make sure that my body was indeed getting rid of my baby effectively. They sent me home, and said that I would likely be fine, that my body seemed to be “doing what it was supposed to”.

 I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to scream that no, expelling my child is not what my body is supposed to do. I’m supposed to protect it, nourish it, not destroy it. My instincts were already in play, telling me to guard my child’s life at all costs. Instead, I sat powerless, feeling that tiny life slowly ebb away, feeling as though my body was betraying me, betraying my baby.

 I had had a feeling for days before that this was coming. The weekend prior, I’d suddenly come down with a high fever. Knowing that this was a potential danger, and that I don’t get fevers unless there is truly something wrong, I panicked. Everyone kept telling me that everything would be fine, that I needed to calm down. On Monday, the spotting came. That’s when I knew. We went to urgent care, and all they could tell us was that they weren’t sure what was going on, that it was too early to tell, but most likely it was nothing. Not good news, not bad news. 

I kept hearing stay positive, that this was very common, that the baby would probably be just fine. But I felt it. When I saw that pink line the first time, I immediately had an explanation for several things. In the week that followed, I felt so different. Every wave of nausea, every bout of ravenous hunger, the complete exhaustion filled me with joy. 

As soon as I got sick, those feelings started going away. I kept trying to explain them away, and still held out some hope. But I knew. In the days preceeding, I begged God to please let me keep my baby, to protect it from my body. Still, I knew how it would end.

On Thursday I started bleeding. There was no more hope at that point, and the doctors at urgent care later that day confirmed it. My baby was dead. 

As I spent the next few days watching my body get rid of my baby, I tried to understand what the point of it all was. I was angry at God, and asked why. Why, why did I get pregnant when we didn’t think it was possible yet, only to lose my baby so quickly? What was the point to this grief? Why did I have to deal with infertility for the past two years, only to lose the baby I so desperately wanted when I was actually able to conceive? 

I’m not angry at God. I still don’t understand what the point is, but I know that my baby is with Him. It’s devastating to me, but my child is with the only One who could ever love it more that I do. It won’t know pain and suffering out here. For whatever reason, it was in His sovereign plan that this little one wouldn’t live here on earth, but reside with its heavenly Father. 

In His divine plan, this little one had a purpose during its short few weeks on earth. My baby’s life mattered. I only got a few weeks with this one. I will never be able to hold him, kiss him, tell him how much Mama loves him. But my baby’s life was important. It touched us in ways we couldn’t have imagined. It changed the very core of my being. 

I’ve heard multiple times that one day I will be a mother. But that statement doesn’t make sense to me. I recognize the humanity of my little one. God knew my baby before it was conceived. My baby was a person, and the fact that it was about the size of a sesame seed when it died has no bearing on its personhood. I am a mother, but my baby is not in my arms, but in my Holy Father’s. I felt the rush of a love so powerful, so protective. The responsibility of guardianship over another life. I pray that we have more children here on earth, but they won’t be a replacement for this one. They will be an addition. I didn’t know this baby well, but I know that its life was distinct, and that it mattered. 

I have been torn between wanting to talk about it, and wanting no one to know. Although it doesn’t make for a very happy conversation, I feel like not sharing undermines the value of my baby’s life. We don’t talk about miscarriage, because to most people, its just not a baby yet, especially early on. But that’s just not true. “Before I knit you in your mother’s womb, I knew you.” 

So I will talk. Because every single baby’s life is precious, no matter how short it is, or how developed. And every child’s life should be celebrated. 

I will cry, and I will have days where the grief overwhelms me. Because no matter how tiny it was, I have lost a child. 

And I will rejoice in the fact that my precious baby is with the Lord, and look forward to the day I meet it in heaven.
And I will thank Him for those short weeks I had to love my baby and celebrate its life. And I will praise God for his grace and mercy, and for his blessings, even in the midst of tragedy. 

For Sammy Angel Clements- home with the Lord on August 11, 2016.

A Little Line That Changes Everything

I am still in some disbelief. The lines are pale, but clearly visible. Three tests over the last couple of days and the line is still there. I don’t quite know how to feel. I’ve wanted this, prayed for this, for the last two years. My heart has ached and my arms have felt empty. But I’m so worried.

For the last four years my body has hurt me. Everything kept going wrong, and I still have no answers. Its been attacking me, and rebelling against me. So now, I’m terrified that it’ll destroy my child, in the same way that it destroyed my health and even my hope for awhile. 

I didn’t think it was possible. At least not now. I’ve been disappointed so many times in the last couple of years. I don’t dare to hope right now. Every fiber of my being is racked with doubt and fear. 

Sam was excited. He’s concerned as usual, about supporting us, and worries if he will be a good father. I have faith in him, and I even have some faith in myself that we can handle this. Easy? Not at all. But I don’t want easy. I want a family. 

We’ve told a tiny handful of people. My family doesn’t even know yet. And honestly, although at first I wanted to share it, I’m almost regretting it now. Because I don’t trust my body, and I don’t want people to get excited for nothing. More so, I think I don’t want to get too excited. I want to guard my heart and my emotions before I get too attached. 

On the other hand, I think about how that’s silly, not getting too attached. Because I already am. From the second I saw that line, after my jaw dropped in disbelief,  my world changed. This little peanut is ours. And no matter how long the Lord entrusts us with this little one, whether its a few days or many years, I will love and protect this child with everything I have. 

And though it’s so early, and so many things could go wrong, I want this child’s life to be recognized. “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jer 1:5). God knows my baby, it is His creation. No matter what happens, this child is a person. And obviously I’ve been pro life for quite some time now, but this solidifies it. It’s a different ball game now. I want to celebrate and rejoice in my baby’s life, regardless of how long or short. I don’t trust my body, but I trust God. And He will work this for good, for His glory, in whatever way that may be. 

Lord, watch over my child. Protect him or her from the dangers of my body. For years I’ve prayed for this child, I’ve ached for it. You know the deepest desires of my heart. I know that whatever may happen, it will be made to bring You glory. I pray that whatever the outcome, that I continue to trust in Your sovereignty and grace, and that I be steadfast in my faith in You. If it is according to Your will, I pray that You let this baby grow healthy and strong, and let us raise it according to Your will. Thank you, dear Lord, for blessing us with this precious child. Amen.