Katie’s Story

It was the first pregnancy test I had ever taken, and I was shocked to see two strong pink lines.  I sat on the bathroom floor in stunned silence in the wee hours of the morning, trying to comprehend the excitement and terror that accompanied that second pink line.  I remember crawling back in bed and telling me husband, Jonathan, and immediately bursting into tears, and seconds later giggling uncontrollably.  Needless to say, we were very excited and spent the rest of the day driving to our nearby family members’ homes, telling them the exciting news in person.

I had my first ultrasound early on, and was thrilled to see a healthy heartbeat.  They told me my due date was November 12, a date forever etched on my  mind.  I just knew our baby was a girl, and began to think of her as “Sweet Pea.”  She was already incredibly loved, and I did everything in my strength to have the healthiest, safest pregnancy possible.

Slowly the weeks rolled by and I was thrilled to make it into the second trimester.  Sure enough, just like many people had reassured me, the horrible symptoms started to wane, and I gained a bit more energy.

I confidently walked into my 15-week appointment, proudly sporting my cute baby bump.  I began to get a bit concerned when my midwife couldn’t immediately find the heartbeat with the Doppler. She told me not to worry, that this was very normal since the baby was tiny, yet. She had me move to a different room where they could do a quick ultrasound to check.  After a couple long minutes of silence, she confessed that she wasn’t an ultrasound technician, but she wasn’t able to find any heartbeat on the screen.

She told me it could be her lack of skill, then she looked at me and said, “but it doesn’t look good.”

She told me to go immediately to the hospital and get a better quality ultrasound. I knew there had to be some mistake.  I was choked up a bit, but still managed to hold on to hope in a miracle, that this baby was alive and well, and just possibly hiding.  I called my husband at his work and he was able to leave immediately and meet me at the hospital.

As I waited for the appointment, a song I had sung as a child, a Maranatha classic, entered my mind and played itself over and over.  “In His time, in His time, He makes all things beautiful in His time….”  It quieted my spirit, even though I was still tense with anxiety at the possibility of losing our daughter.

Jonathan arrived right as the ultrasound was starting, and he held my hand as our eyes were glued to the screen, searching for a sign of any movement or a heartbeat.  I saw a perfectly formed baby, but I couldn’t admire or enjoy her… I held my breath as I tried to hold real still in order for the technician to get a good image.  She silently took measurements, and then she pulled up the graph that was supposed to show the pheartbeat.  It was completely still and silent.  That’s when it sunk in that our baby was no longer with us.  With a painful sob I cried out, shaking uncontrollably, so that it interfered with the testing.  “Are you okay?” the technician asked coldly, and I couldn’t respond.  She left soon after, and Jonathan and I were left in the room together for what seemed like an hour, crying and holding each other.  Yet throughout the shock and fresh grief, I could still hear the words “He makes all things beautiful in His time” singing softly but clearly in my head, reminding me that no matter how painful and horrible this loss is, My loving Father has promised to create something beautiful in my life through it.  I could not comprehend at that moment everything he had in store for us, but He gave me the strength to choose to trust him.  I had nothing else I could reliably trust and put my hope in.  I had trusted my body, supposedly the safest place for my child to be, but it had deceived me, giving me the impression that the life I had inside me was thriving, when in fact our baby’s soul had departed over two weeks before the ultrasound revealed it.

I was tempted to put my hope in my ability to conceive, and surely down the road we would have more children.  But I knew that hoping in my health or fertility could very likely disappoint me again.  We named our child “Baby Hope” to remind us that our true hope can only be found in the person and work of Jesus Christ, who died in our place, to make us fit for heaven.  The verses in Lamentations 3:21-23 became very dear to me at that time.  “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

After that most difficult day of discovering no heartbeat, we waited an agonizing two weeks, praying that my body would gently release the baby.  I so much wanted to meet her and touch her, take some pictures, and bury her.  I so longed for the closure, but God had other plans.  My body was hanging on tightly, so I made the decision to have a D&C.  The hardest part emotionally was knowing my precious baby was pulled out of me and most likely treated like tissue and discarded. Surrendering my desire for closure was the second most difficult thing about the miscarriage.

I wrote a long letter to Baby Hope on her due date.  The following is an excerpt.

Five and a half months ago, we realized our lives would never be the same again.  Suddenly, heaven was merely a reach away, because in the blink of an eye, you entered that realm.  From that time on, every time I’ve praised and worshipped Jesus, I fight tears, as I realize that you’re doing the exact same thing as me, only you get to prostrate yourself in front of the resurrected Jesus, and see God Almighty himself on the throne. 

I was so wanting to prepare to be a good mother to you; to nurture you physically, spiritually, socially, and emotionally.  There was an empty book all about your life, and I was looking forward to writing in each page, as you grow up before our eyes. 

But now, you are before the Father’s eyes.  And my job is done.  You are perfect, Baby Hope.  Not perfect because you came from your daddy and me, but Perfect because you never tasted sin; never had to live in its harsh consequences.  You were born into heaven, and all you know is eternal joy and bliss, full completion, and your little life’s purpose completely fulfilled.  You were made to do what you’re doing this very minute.  And for that I am grateful.  Mission accomplished, without the heart-ache of the joys and trials of life on this earth.  Now you are experiencing the freedom and abundant life, that only God can offer in eternity. 

So although your mommy and daddy are sad that we aren’t going to the hospital today, we’re not setting up the car seat, we’re not going into labor, we’re not announcing your birth or the names that we had picked out for you… we choose to rejoice, because we knew you for a beautiful 11 weeks.  You have given us a beautiful perspective on life, and we realized how wonderful that precious gift is.  We named you Hope, as a reminder to ourselves when we think about you, which is constantly!  Our true hope, was not in meeting you or getting to parent you; our true hope must be rooted in the God of eternity, who has called us to a living hope.  Thank you for that day to day reminder. 

We love you so much, Sweet Pea!  What a joy it is to know that some day we will see you and recognize you as our own!  Someday your daddy and I look forward to being made perfect, just as you have been made perfect.  And we look forward to worshipping our creator, right next to you! 

Loving you with my whole heart,

Your Mommy

 

– Katie

Hope Mom to Baby Hope

 

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog! Every Saturday we feature a Hope Mom’s story in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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