On May 25th, we learned for certain that I had miscarried our honeymoon-baby at 9 weeks. It was 10:30 in the morning. “Happy two months of marriage, babe.” We cried, but we smiled too. It really had been a wonderful two months.
Aaron and I were house-sitting at the time, and our own home is a rented pool-house in a friend’s backyard. Where would we bury our little one? So at first, my baby was in a small container in the fridge. That really messes with your head.
Friends and family brought meals, praying for and with us. But a few days later we had to face moving back home with that tiny Tupperware until a burial location could be found. We drove two vehicles, so I had to figure out where to put the baby while I drove. In my lap? Carefully on the front seat? It was all so wrong. Then when we got home…walk in, put him in our fridge. Oh how we wept.
We had been married only 7 weeks. (They count weeks from the first day of the woman’s last cycle, hence the apparent discrepancy.) But we had the comfort and love of God shown constantly through those who love us. And most precious, through one another.
Just the week before, Aaron had given me six beautiful red roses for my first Mother’s Day, and I had taken them along to house-sit. They sat on the coffee table all through those ten days, and after the miscarriage I couldn’t bear to throw them away. One day I noticed that, while usually the petals would begin to wilt and fall off by then, these had not done so. Six perfectly formed roses still looked up at me out of that vase; not a petal had fallen, but they had turned black. And yet, I couldn’t help but be grateful for how beautiful they still looked. Our baby was gone, but I’m still a mom. My dear young husband is still a dad.
The night we came home from the ER, Aaron was naturally struggling with the awful feeling of being unable to help. Sitting there on the floor I told him that the best way a father can help his children is to love their mother well, and because he was loving me so well he was already the best father he could possibly be.
We did bury our little one about two weeks later. We have grieved in our own way, tears coming at random sometimes or brought on by seeing pregnant friends. It’s been very important to me to make sure none of them think I don’t want to see them or share in their joy. I do!
Our hearts are still full of joy, truly. It was a difficult passage, but we are so thankful for each other and for God’s work in our lives through it. I definitely have a new level of compassion for all of you who have been through this, some of you many times. I am so very sorry for your losses.
Thank you all for praying for us during that time, and since. We truly lacked nothing.
God is good, all the time!
Since getting married I’ve thought a lot about writing something to my single friends. I suppose every single-longer-than-she-wanted-to-be Christian wife has considered doing this, and I’m willing to bet that if you’re a single woman reading the blogs out there, you feel like ALL of them have done it . . . repeatedly.
Another one, really? Is it some kind of right of passage that you married people feel like you have to go through — write the blog to the still-single demographic that you were a part of, oh I dunno, five months ago?
I get it. I’ve had that thought. So how do I know that what I might have to say would be any good? Well, I don’t. But I do know that every time I pushed past those bitter feelings and read the words of women who had at last gotten their heart’s dearest wish, it helped.
Their disillusionment helped me keep perspective.
Their joy helped me remember that disillusionment doesn’t mean disappointment.
Their charges to be content in singleness — or I wouldn’t be content married either — helped me be obedient to God, and find all satisfaction in Him.
In 2013 I wrote my own blog on that last point, The Gift of a Gift Withheld. It was probably the single most important thing I ever internalized. No pun intended.
So I will continue to consider what, if anything, I have to say to my still-single friends from a recently-married nothing-figured-out perspective that could possibly be of encouragement.
One thing I can say right now: God’s wisdom is trustworthy!