miscarriage

Sitting with Grief

I’d be lying if I said this hasnt been a tough week. For some reason, my depression has decided to rear it’s ugly head and I’ve been slipping into a deep rut. I think it’s mostly due to the fact that I can feel my period coming. For those of you that this is your first time reading my blog or we arent friends on Facebook, last month I suffered my second miscarriage in 4 months. So the return of my period was another ugly reminder that I am no longer pregnant and for those that have never experienced a miscarriage, the period after is usually extremely painful, which is what I’m dealing with today as I right this. Most days, I’ve come to terms with the losses we have suffered, but unfortunately I am not super human and grief does not disappear. Grief is everlasting and anyone that’s lost someone they love knows that there are some days that are easy and other days when the hurt of losing them is so immense that you cant even get out of bed. No matter how much time goes by, days, weeks, months, or decades, you still miss them.

Now I know for some people, missing someone I only had for 6 weeks may seem like a bit much. I didnt get to hold them or feel them move inside me, but both of them were my children. They both were alive and they both were loved beyond measure. For months I’ve been fighting this battle of self blame and even though I didnt want to admit it, God blaming. Day after day I see my friends and family having babies, raising children, and I cant help but ask “Why do I not get to do that too?” I’ve been racking my brain with the question of what did I do that was deserving of having not one, but two babies, taken from me? Because I whole heartedly believe that God does not do anything out of malice, so it must be me right? I must have been the one to incur this punishment and cause the loss of my unborn children.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, my husband has a preacher personality. For those of you that have never met Anthony, one thing you need to know is that he is passionate about three things. God, our marriage, and his children. It used to be America too, but over the last year that has dwindled a bit. By passionate, I mean he is on fire for Jesus. So much that I would say that 95% of his talking time is spent talking about the Gospel. So while I’m sitting there, soaking in my misery because that’s what I do when I’m depressed, he’s trying to revive my spirit. Now anyone that knows me, knows I need to sit with my feelings and process them, but I think we both knew I had been sitting there for too long. I’m sitting there, literally crying, and poor Anthony is trying to get to the heart of what my issue is. He’s talking and I’m just numbingly crying and nodding my head. He finally comes and sits in front of me and asks when my devotional time with God stopped. I said probably Christmas when the kids were here, to which he points out that was when I had my first miscarriage. He told me that it’s okay to be angry at God for what happened. It’s okay to ask him why because can handle the anger and the questions. However, I shouldn’t let my feelings take me away from God. In times of hurting I need to turn to God. Lastly, he points out that it’s also not my fault for the miscarriages and I dont need to let that thought continue in my head. This whole time, I have said maybe 4 words and he had exactly the right words for my hurting heart.

I will be 100% honest and tell you that I did not want to hear any of this in the moment. Or I should say my depression didn’t want to hear any of this especially the parts about letting my internal voice tell me that I don’t need God or that I’m worthless and alone. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it was definitely something I needed to hear. I’ve been praying to God over the last couple of days to provide me with comfort and peace. Last night I had a dream and in this dream, I had a baby boy who was about 10 months old. Honestly, he was the cutest, happiest thing I had ever seen. And a chunky little thing. Y’all he looked so much like a perfect mix of myself and Anthony. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, this biggest toothiest grin, and unfortunately Daugherty head (that means large and round for anyone outside my family, my dad calls it the pumpkin head). I cant tell you if this was a glimpse into the future or just God giving me a moment of peace, but it was wonderful. I held that little boy and loved on him for as long as I could. So much that when I woke up 20 minutes before my alarm that I fought so hard to get back there for just one more minute. I woke up this morning feeling a new sense of peace in my life and thankful for what I have and whatever other things I am blessed with.

Raise Your Words, Not Your Voice

For anyone that hasnt heard yet, my boyfriend has started a blog. Not sure how that’s gonna turn out, but I think it will be great. Last night he was asking me why I don’t have more of my poetry on my blog and if I had written anything recently. Welllllllll…….. the answer is no I haven’t written anything recently and I’m very self conscious about my writing. I’ve found that my writing is how I process my emotions and recently I haven’t felt the need or want to process anything, which isn’t always the healthiest approach. My poetry tends to be spontaneous and extremely emotional based so I’m never quiet sure if it’s actually good. Sometimes it’s to process my depression or my anxiety. Sometimes it’s to convey passion or love. I’m also very particular with my words. I have this deeply spiritual connection with words. So like lyrics of a song hit me more than the music itself. Honestly, its one of the ways I feel closet to God. I feel like it’s one of the ways I hear him the clearest.

I think I worry Anthony a bit when we’re in church because during worship I feel this incredibly rush of emotions and the music speaks to me so I usually end up crying. I always feel like his protective instinct kicks in and he tries to check on me, but in reality that’s my happy place. Listening to words being weaved together to express how I feel in my soul and it being so powerful that the only appropriate response for me is tears. In that limbo where you feel God’s presence and warmth and it’s like everything in your outside life doesn’t matter anymore or whatever you are feeling is validated and God hears you. For example, we went to Christmas Eve service and I was 2 days into hearing I was miscarrying and I still hadnt passed any of the miscarriage so I was in this weird in between grief stage. I wasnt feeling good physically and I was being so short with everyone, but I put on my church clothes and went anyway. We were singing this song called “God With Us” by Jesus Culture and the lyrics of the song say:

Where there was death, You brought life, Lord
Where there was fear, You brought courage
When I was afraid, You were with me
And You lifted me up, and You lifted me up

So here I am trying to hold the weight of the world on my shoulders back and we hit this part of the song and I felt God tell me it was okay to let it go. That it was okay to be scared and hurt and angry because over all of that, he had me. I probably looked like a lunatic to my step daughter because I just started bawling and letting those words become my mantra. I wish I could say I was healed in that instance, but I think it was the first time I came to God with my hurt and my pain. For someone that loves words, I really have a hard time vocalizing how I feel and I don’t think it’s because I don’t have the words, but more because I’m very intentional with my words and if I verbalize how I feel then there’s no taking it back. It’s out there and I have to deal with it. So in hopes of helping to further heal from my miscarriage a bit, I figured I’d try and write something. It’s literally off the cusp so it’s not my best and it’s untitled, but here goes nothing.

The day I lost you I was asked “When are you gonna have kids?”

I smiled through the pain and said “Maybe some day.”

I spent my day mentally burying you while carrying on with my work.

Continually pretending I was put together, but I was really held together by a single thread that was begging to be tugged at by anyone who asked if I was okay.

Every ache and pain was a harsh reminder that my body had failed you and that I would not be meeting you in August.

I would spend my summer distracting myself to keep from pretending you’d still be on your way.

I never felt you move or saw your face, but in the short time span I had you, you were mine.

I saw the future of your life play out and prayed you would have your dads courage and my love for people.

With bright blue eyes and sandy blonde hair and smile that was electric.

I never found out what you were, but my heart tells me you would’ve been a boy.

A Leo with a heart of gold that was fearless and too competitive for his own good.

It took less than thirty seconds for you to disappear from my world and all the dreams turn to ash.

The ash was okay because I wanted to watch the world burn so it was welcomed company.

Thankfully, your dad made sure I didnt stay there long and with some help from my closest friends, I came to terms with the fact that God gets to know you first.

I know you’re up there with all the babies our family has lost to show you the ropes and all four of your great grandparents to spoil you.

I don’t know if you grow up in heaven, but if you do, I couldn’t think of a better place to do it.

Surrounded by love and the best lullabies you can think of, sung by the angels.