Silence Explained

I will be the first person to admit that when someone likes to write as much as I do, not knowing how or if to even write about what is going on in my life and desperately wanting to write is a real dilemma. It's why I haven't written for a while. I'm ready to open up a bit now, even though right now that is no easier than keeping silent.

Daniel and I have had a whirlwind of changes in the last six weeks or so... much of it has been exciting and miraculous, and some of it has been exceptionally hard. Currently, we're in one of those exceptionally hard patches.

We found out at the end of December that we were expecting a baby. That was very welcome news, but it has been a very bittersweet journey, both because the pregnancy itself was very hard on me physically, and because it has come to an end much sooner than we had hoped.

An ultrasound yesterday morning, at what would have been 8 weeks 6 days, confirmed that the baby had stopped developing at 7 weeks 4 days. It's rather hard to describe how painful it was to see the all-too silent and still ultrasound before walking through two long hallways of very pregnant women and their beautiful babies and then waiting in line, face red and puffy, to check out. I really don't begrudge them their happiness -- in fact, I need to know it doesn't always end like this -- I just wanted to disappear.

The process isn't over yet. We've chosen to let nature take its course and check back with the doctor next week, at which point we'll decide how to proceed if my body hasn't managed to complete the process naturally. I understand the science, I know the statistics. I'd hoped to be fortunate enough not to face this outcome, but now that it is here, I'm quite resigned to doing whatever needs to be done and moving on as best I know how.

People who know me well enough to have known about this sooner have called me or messaged me online, most of them asking how I am doing, and I think I can honestly say that while I am heartbroken, I actually feel a great deal of peace about the situation. It's still rather emotionally exhausting to talk about, so if I decline to take a call or delay answering an email, I hope you'll understand that it is not at all personal and that it doesn't mean I am cutting myself off from you or from others. I really only have so much desire to talk. I communicated with no fewer than 30 very kind and supportive people yesterday in various ways, including 2 priests and a couple of women who have been through similar circumstances, so I am genuinely not feeling isolated or unsupported.

About 2 weeks ago I posted a rather philosophical post on a pregnancy message board about my deep conviction that even painful things like miscarriages, as senseless and difficult as they must feel (no matter how easily and handily science dismisses them), happen in the greater context of God's perfect plans. Around that time my prayers changed, too... from pleading that God would work things out my way, to accepting that my way may not be His way and asking instead for grace to handle whatever He may have in store for us: difficult pregnancy, easy pregnancy, a healthy child, a child with special needs, a miscarriage or some other outcome I couldn't imagine. I still feel that way. We're all in His hands.

I lay in bed last night thinking about some of the other deep disappointments in my life: the long-term boyfriend who didn't want to marry me, the exciting move that didn't happen, the transfer to college that fizzled... each of them were devastating to me at the time. However, from this distance in time, I can see very clearly how each of them fit in the bigger picture, and, in every case, something wonderful was brought into my life later on. Dare I say something better? In many cases, that is absolutely true. I don't know why this baby wasn't meant to thrive. I'm not sure it matters to me, really. I'm content to know that this baby wasn't meant for a longer stay and that the choice was never mine to begin with.

I expect I'll have my moments as time goes on. I expect to grieve -- with all that that entails. But I also know that we'll be okay, and we'll open ourselves up to the possibility that next time may be different. Those of you present at our wedding probably recall the dozens (hundreds, perhaps) of reminders that children absolutely must, somehow, be a part of our marriage. We're confident that they will be...

Finally, I know this is one of those uncomfortable topics that prompts one to say, "I don't know what to say." Please... you don't need to feel that you need to say anything, or that you need to come up with the "right" reply. The "right" reply may simply be letting us know you are there and praying. That's comfort and support enough.