“I Know How You Feel”

When bad things happen, the last thing someone wants to hear from someone who has never experienced what they are going through is, "I know how you feel." I can honestly say there is no way you can know how someone feels unless you yourself have walked through that experience. I know this and can say this because before I miscarried, I had no clue how it felt to miscarry. I had no clue the sadness, disappointment, grief, frustration, anger, and hurt that went with it. I had no clue that I would think, "Will I ever have children?" "Is there something wrong with me?" "Did I do something wrong?" "Am I not meant to be a mother?" I had no clue that trying again would be scary and overwhelming. I had no clue that when I got pregnant again I would be nervous every second until I saw those beating hearts at 8 weeks and the risk went down (and then until 12 weeks since there were two and the risks were higher). I had no clue.

Before I delivered Alexis Faith stillborn, I had no clue how it felt to have a stillborn child. I had no clue that I wasn't safe after the 12 week mark (the 18 week mark, the 24 week mark, the 32 week mark). I had no clue that I would feel her one day and she would be gone the next. I had no clue that I would see a fuzzy spot on the screen where her heartbeat was supposed to be. I had no clue the intense pain and heartbreak that I would feel with just a few little words, "Baby B doesn't have a heartbeat." I had no clue how hard I could cry in just a few minutes. I had no clue how painful it was to call family and say, "Alexis passed away." I had no clue the numbness I would feel as I walked out of the doctor's office, drove the 20 minute drive home, and then back to the hospital, and waited to deliver. I had no clue how horrible not hearing my baby girl cry in the delivery room would be. I had no clue how holding a baby with no life would feel so surreal yet so real. I had no clue how painful it would be to go home with only one baby. I had no clue how awful it would be to walk in the nursery and see her things everywhere. I had no clue what I would be like to bury a teeny tiny baby (I had no clue that they made caskets that small). I had no clue how hard it would be to try to hold it together every time I hugged someone and heard "We are so sorry for your loss." I had no clue that it would rip my heart out packing up all of her cute pink and purple baby clothes and bedding and gear. I had no clue how awful it would be to have to talk to my 4 year old son about his sister's death. I had no clue that for months my heart, my arms, my body, and my soul would ache for Alexis so bad that just breathing would feel impossible. I had no clue.

Now I can say, "I know how you feel," when a friend has a miscarriage or stillbirth. Although our situations can be different, losing a baby (or babies) puts us in a unique club that no one wants to be a part of. Every time I hear, "I had a miscarriage," "I lost my baby," or "Our baby might not make it," my heart breaks all over again. I hate hearing those words from anyone. I wouldn't wish baby loss on my worst enemy (not that I really have any enemies that I know of). Even though no one wants to lose a baby, I am thankful that there is compassion and understanding and support from people who've been through it. It's my prayer that I am able to help those who miscarry or birth a still baby. I pray all the time that God uses my suffering for His glory. I often think of that song, "Lord I Offer You My Life," by Hillsong. I want to give Him all that I've been through to use it to His glory.