Gone too soon

How do you process the loss of a miscarriage?

This week, I have prayed for two precious sisters who have lost a baby in the womb. The heartache and the sense of loss is tremendous.

I would like to share my testimony in the hope that I can encourage the women who has lost one or more of their babies through miscarriage.

Our plans for a family were to get married and have five years together as a couple before starting a family.  We wanted to enjoy one another, get on our feet, and then raise a family.

We planned our babies a few years before I conceived.  We planned to have two children close together.  My prayer was to have a boy first, so that he could look after his sister.  I was the eldest of five and always wished that I had an older brother to look out for me. We chose the names for our children – a boy and a girl.  When my grandfather asked us about our plans for a family and we told him of our plan to have two.  With tears in his eyes, he said – “You will have as many children as God wants you to have.”  (I think he prayed for us – because our plans changed with time).

 After five years of marriage, we still did not feel ready to start a family and decided to give it another year.  A year later, I stopped the contraceptive pill I was taking, and we waited in anticipation to conceive.  About 5 months later we found out that I was pregnant.  Our firstborn, a son was born the following year, healthy and strong.  I had a wonderful pregnancy and natural birth and my gynaecologist said I could have ten babies with the way everything went.   

I had to start bottle-feeding my son from 7 months, because I was not producing sufficient milk. I went back onto the contraceptive pill.  It messed me up emotionally and I struggled so much so, that I decided it was not worth being on the pill if I was an emotional wreck as a mother.

11 months after our son was born, we discovered I was pregnant, and our butterfly princess entered the world 19 months after her brother. As I sat holding and cuddling her in the labour ward, just minutes after she was born, I looked up at my husband and said, “I can’t believe that this is the last tiny baby of mine I will hold.” He looked at me in the eyes and said he would not do anything until I had peace.

When our little princess was 6 months old, I was once again not producing sufficient milk and we discovered that I was pregnant.  If I was surprised, my husband was in such shock.  He went to the early morning men’s prayer meeting and only when he came home later, did he take me in his arms and congratulate me. 

Our flower princess burst into the world 14 months after her sister. I felt I was done.  I was content with having three children. My family was complete.

I was still at home on maternity leave and my mother, who lived a few blocks away from us, would come and fetch my son to take him to pre-school.  He has always loved talking in the car, he still does – he has a captive audience. 

One morning he said to his granny, “Granny, do you know that my mommy has a baby in her tummy?”

My mother, humouring said, “Oh she has, has she?”

“Yes,” he said, “it is my brother. His name is Hosanna.”

We laughed about it because his baby sister was only about 3 or 4 months old.

Six months after our flower princess made her entrance into the world, once again I was struggling to feed her and … I found out I was pregnant. 

I found out on the 13^th of July, but on the 17^th of July I began to bleed.  I called my mother to come and watch the children for me and made an appointment with the doctor.  The doctor showed me my baby on the ultrasound with its little heart beating.  I sighed a sigh of relief and was given strict instructions to go home and rest (to the best of my ability with 2 toddlers and a baby). 

As I lay on the floor in the lounge while my babies played around me an over me, I suddenly felt the life draining out of me.  I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to believe it could happen to me.  I believed that God’s word said I wouldn’t lose my young, I wouldn’t miscarry. I couldn’t.  I shouldn’t.

I phoned my doctor and she told me to come in, that they would stay open until I got there.  My husband arrived home from work to fetch me.  I was received so caringly at the doctor and as we once again looked on the ultrasound, the reality hit me – there was no heartbeat, my baby had died.  I began to shake from the shock.  My wonderful doctor and her receptionist organised for me to go to the hospital for a D&C that evening.  I remember seeing her talking to someone and she look so sad as if it were her own baby that was gone.

I spent the next 3 days resting and working through my emotions, mourning the loss of a little one gone so soon.  I asked the Lord why, when His word said we would not miscarry, had I miscarried?

I repented for saying that my family is complete with three children and that if it is His plan for me to have more, I will happily mother His children.  I wanted to name my baby and I asked the Lord what I should call it.  He told me, “Your baby already has a name,” and He reminded me of the conversation my son had had in the car with my mother.

“Hosanna” is not a name one would think of to name a child.  It is a word we find in the Bible.  I took out the Bible concordance and my Bible and I began to do a study on the word “hosanna”.  “Hosanna” is a cry out to God “O save!”  The people cried “Hosanna” to Jesus when he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey.  The root word for Hosanna in Hebrew means to be safe and free.  My baby was safe and free in heaven, I knew that.

The Lord taught me through this journey, that He is sovereign and that I need to trust Him, even if I don’t understand.  Just as I don’t understand why my baby died.  He is Sovereign and He knows.  I had a distinct impression that my little one is in the arms of Jesus and in the best place he could be and that one day he would run into my arms when I graduate to be with him.

Three months later, I discovered that I was pregnant again and I was nervously excited.  A day or two later as I was teaching dance and movement at the pre-school, I felt something change inside of me. I knew the feeling.  I went to my friend, the headmistress, she prayed with me and sent me home.  I took the next two days very slowly and stayed home.  On the Saturday morning, 28 October 2007, we were having breakfast when I felt my uterus contract and I felt life leaving me, draining from me.  I knew the feeling, but I did not want to accept it.  Not again.  I went to the bathroom and knew my baby was gone. 

I told my husband and he prayed with me, but I could not rest, because we were celebrating my parent’s 60^th birthday at our house that afternoon.  When my sisters arrived to help set everything up, I told them my sad news and they took over while I sat in a chair.  I had no time to process or mourn the miscarriage as I had the previous time.  The school had its annual concert coming up at the school and we had 3 weeks before showtime. 

On the evening of 25^th of December, we were at home.  The TV was on, I don’t know if it was a Josh Groban concert or not, but he began to sing “To where you are”, tears coursed down my cheeks as he sang the chorus:

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for a while
To know you’re there
A breath away’s not far to where you are.

My children were playing in the lounge, and I went outside, sat on the edge of the veranda, and just released my pain, my grief, and the loss of another baby to the Lord.  I asked Him what the name of my baby is, and He reminded me of a name I had on my heart – Joel.  Joel means ‘Jehovah is God”.

Jehovah is God.  He is sovereign.  He knows, even if we don’t and one day when we see Him face to face, maybe then we will know too.

I know that I will hold them in my eyes one day, but until then, I have four children to raise to adulthood in this world.

Yes, four.  In April of the following year, I found out that I was pregnant.  I told my mother because I knew I had to fight the fear and could not do it on my own.  So, I told her to pray that I would have morning sickness (yes you read it right), because the morning sickness is a sign that it is going well with the pregnancy.  I rejoiced when I experienced morning sickness and evening sickness, because I knew my baby was growing.  Two years after his sister was born, our string-bean, tall, skinny boy made his entrance into the world in his own way and in his own time.

Why do I share my story with you? I share my story because it is a testimony of healing.  Healing from fear and healing from grief.  It is also a wonderful lesson learned about the heart of God for us His children.  There are just some things on this side of eternity that will not make any sense to us right now, but through it all, we need to trust our Father to guide us, to carry us and help us.

My precious sister, Melany, sat with me and helped me scrapbook a page for Hosanna.  I would like to share my scrapbook pages I made to honour each of my babies in heaven.  It was part of my processing of my loss and honouring their memory as part of my life.

Do I miss my babies?  Yes, sometimes I think of them, and I miss them, but I have a picture in my heart of them with Jesus and I know that they are in the best place they could ever be – heaven.

A few years later, I attended a ladies meeting, and someone shared their testimony of how she had gone through counselling and learned that she needed to name the babies she had lost and to light a candle to acknowledge their life.  I attended a separate meeting about a week later with two other ladies and we were able to share our experiences with one another, pray for one another and together we lit a candle for each of our babies gone too soon.  We rejoiced in the fact that we will see our babies one day in heaven.

I want to encourage you to process your grief, name your baby, release your baby into the loving arms of Jesus.  Light a Candle. Write a memorial on a stone. Paint a picture.  Plant a tree.  Do something that is significant to you that will acknowledge the little one you held not in your arms, but in your womb and in your heart.