That Friday before Mother’s Day was one of the darkest of my life. And it will forever be filled with thankfulness and awe.
You see, eight years ago on this day, I began experiencing all of the signs of miscarriage during the pregnancy that caught Craig and I by surprise.
It was still early — so early, we hadn’t told many family or friends at all. But I already loved this little life.
We had lost our first baby to miscarriage in 2004, and that was an extremely dark time in our lives. So when the symptoms began to appear, I thought I knew what to expect.
I called my doctor, and as predicted, she told me there wasn’t much we could do. It was simply wait and see.
That Mother’s Day was a rough one, to put it mildly. I was caught between wanting to enjoy the day with my nearly 6- and nearly 3-year-old boys, all while believing the baby we didn’t even know we needed was likely to pass.
I went the entire next week believing we had lost this baby. It was an ugly time. Questioning God. Grieving the baby I had never met.
But my doctor wanted me to come in for blood work and an ultrasound to ensure all had passed. I was beyond annoyed to have to go through this step — I “knew” the baby was gone. I didn’t want another D&C (a surgical procedure to ensure a woman’s body has cleared all remnants of a miscarriage) as I had with that very first baby.
Craig offered to go with me to the appointment, but I told him there was no need. If we needed a D&C, we would set that up and he could be with me for the procedure. But there was no point in going with me for the ultrasound just to prove the inevitable. I would just get through it.
Our little fighter.
Eight years later, I am still in disbelief at what happened next. At what that ultrasound technician and I saw on that screen. It was a tiny baby, with a tiny, strong heartbeat. Our baby was alive. She was a fighter.
My doctor had no explanation for what had happened — for why I had experienced every symptom of a miscarriage, all while our baby was thriving. It truly was a miracle.
The remainder of that pregnancy was as normal as they come. Morning sickness that was more like day-long sickness. Heartburn caused by any and everything — including a slice of bread. (No joke.) Braxton Hicks contractions that sent us to the hospital twice before the actual birthday.
Now, that little miracle is our 7-year-old daughter, Caroline.
God knew we needed this little tomboy princess to complete our family. And I spent last night just staring in wonder at our daughter, and the place I was in 8 years ago this day. Hopeless. Yearning. Believing that dream was gone.
I have many friends who are in various stages of grief, loss and waiting for a baby — for a family they’ve only dreamed of. And I will never even pretend to know what you’re going through. Each journey is unique.
I see you.
But on this Mother’s Day, please know I see you. Going through the motions on this day when the reminders of your loss and struggles are highlighted to an unbearable level. Praying fervently. Wondering what the future may hold.
I don’t know how your story will play out. But I do know that God is with you, even in those deepest, darkest moments.
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6.
That Mother’s Day was the darkest I’d ever experienced. But the most incredible joy was just on the other side.
Never lose faith that your miracle could be coming, too.