We held on.
On our way home, yes, there was crying, there was pain. Telling our families, our closest friends, it included an amount of pain because we had to revisit the same words, go through the same explanation points. Yes, I'm fine physically. A D&C is a procedure to clean my uterus. No, there was no bleeding. And on and on, and over and over.
While it became tedious to feel like we were walking in circles, crying on the phone with my sister felt like a release. She had been exactly were I was at the moment, and she was now expecting a healthy baby.
"God is in control, I know how this feels, and I want you know I love you."
Nobody else's words had such impact on me as my sister's did.
The next day I had the audacity to get ready for work and drive all the way to the office. Well hello, denial. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, I walked in and decided I wasn't going to be able to work that day. I talked to my boss and started crying, she hugged me and told me to go home. So I did.
After that, I kept silence. The pertaining people knew what had happened and were praying for us, all I had to do was sit down and do my part: heal. Don't be fooled. I have a history of sucking at grieving. Big time. So I was taken aback by my reaction so far.
There were in total two days of grieving, of crying, of sobbing myself to sleep, with my husband's arms around me. Two days. Then there was peace. There came an insane understanding of why this had happened.
It was by the kitchen that I told my husband:
"You know, this wasn't our Liam or Angie, but we loved this baby,"
He looked up at me and nodded. So I went on,
"I think we should name him."
I had known it was a boy, I had felt it was a boy from the start. A mother just knows, so trusting this gut feeling, I named him Bobby. After Bobby Fischer. The SNL skit. What? My baby, my choice. When I told Craig about my choice there was a moment of staring at each other and then we both erupted with laughter. For the first time in a couple of days, there was laughter in our house.
Bobby would have been born to an uninsured mother. I was in the process of switching to a new company and my insurance was not going to kick in until my first doctor's appointment. So the delivery would have been out of pocket. You read that right. Out. Of. POCKET. Because, in this glorious country, pregnancy is considered a pre-existing condition.
Moreover, Bobby would have been born as his father was finishing college. While it was a endearing idea to graduate with a month-old baby by his side, he would have certainly missed the first few weeks of life of his firtborn: finals in order to graduate are one stressing event, I should know. Oh, not to mention the possibility of missing the delivery itself.
If you've gone through a miscarriage, know it's not the end, it doesn't define you as a mother or potential mother, and trust me when I say it's more common than publicly believed. 1 in 5 pregnancies will result in a miscarriage. You are not alone. If it wasn't for my sister I would have probably thought I was a hopeless case. Reality is that miscarriages happen and the vast majority of women end up carrying healthy babies to term. There's hope.
We loved Bobby the minute we knew he existed. We had dreams and hopes for this little one, but God had different plans. Sometimes we don't quite grasp these plans, but it's not our duty to. In fact, just a few days before finding out about the miscarriage, I turned to Craig while getting ready for work and asked him,
"What do you want, a boy or a girl?"
Being wise beyond his years, the prat answered,
"I want a healthy baby."
And that's what God intends to give us. Bobby wasn't 100% healthy. What sufferings and pain he would have faced if my body had carried him to term, I don't know, but I thank God He was in control. Bobby is now in heaven, and no better place for him. I will see him one day, in another time and another place. I will one day hold Bobby and tell him how much I love him.
I chose God's strength over mine. And He is holding me through.
I chose God's strength over mine. And He is holding me through.
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