words…

So lots of people will already know this from facebook. TOday we found out that 2 weeks after the due date of the baby I miscarried in July, I’ve miscarried again.

I’ve shared a lot of difficult stuff on this blog before. Partially because I’m an extrovert and silence scares me, and partially because I’m a firm believer in the gift of honesty – that if there is any redemption to be found in life’s darkest moments, it’s in the support and encouragement that openness about both the joys and the sorrows of life can provide.

For the first time in a very long time, I find myself without words. Well, no, that’s not quite right, I’m writing words. But I don’t have the words to frame the way I’m feeling right now. A tangled mess of grief and anger and sadness and resentment and wistfulness.

There’s a guilt there too. I’m meant to be a Christian, and right now I swing wildly between asking God to be close and telling Him to piss off. People tell me that God loves me, that he’s close, all that. And whilst my head assents to it, my heart wants to scream and rage and walk out stomping.

I guess – I guess right now, if I see God anywhere, it’s in other people. The guiders that took over my Brownie meeting last night whilst I feel apart. Our lovely deacon who sat with me in the hospital and prayed with me and distracted me and just mummied me, so I didn’t need to hold it all together but could just rest in being looked after for a bit. My incredible husband who has held me, prayed with me, got angry for me, laughed with me, distracted me – and got the laundry up-to-date on top of all that. The incredible outpouring of love from facebook. Friends who’ve looked after Isaac so I can have appointments without having to worry about him too. Isaac himself, and his child faith that it’s all going to be ok, even when I can’t see how it can be. Maybe that’s what Paul meant in 1 Corinthians – “And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it”. If there’s one comfot, it’s that knowing that I’m not carrying this alone.

I guess, maybe the thing about being a mother is that losing a baby hurts, at whatever stage. It doesn’t matter that this one was only around for 9 weeks – he or she had a place in my heart, and now, without that, part of me feels – I don’t know, incomplete somehow. Something’s missing. I never met him or her, but they were already part of my hopes and dreams and future planning, and now, that isn’t here. It feels like the world should stop, pay tribute somehow. A real grief. But of course, that’s not how it works. The world keeps going. Three year olds need playing with. Washing up needs doing. All the little pieces of minutiae exist, however irrelevent they seem.

I don’t know, I’m waffling. But this hurts, and I’m struggling to see the hope. Maybe that’s ok for now. Lent is meant to be a time of testing – the translation of the Greek (I knew a theology degree would come in handy eventually!) talks about testing up to the point of endurance, almost beyond what we can bear. But maybe it’s that point where we can truly come close to God – when we’re at the outermost limits of our own strength, so all we can rely on is His.

Easter’s coming.

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One Response to words…

  1. wonderfully honest as always, my thoughts and prayers are with you

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