The Pains of Loss and Grief

I’ve been gone this entire past week, for a very good reason. My husband and I faced (and are still facing) perhaps the most difficult trial we have had to endure together. We lost our precious little baby. This past Wednesday, I went in for a regular OB appointment. I was almost 17 weeks, and this appointment was just to check up on the baby’s progress. That appointment was when we found out that our baby was no longer living. I will tell the whole story in time, but for now I can’t seem to find the words.

Needless to say, this past week has been one of the biggest emotional roller coasters of our lives. Evan and I have been through many trials, both individually and together. But, losing this baby when we did tore both of our hearts to pieces. Because I was so far along, they couldn’t remove the baby surgically. Doing that would have been harmful to me and caused many more problems. So, I had to be induced and deliver the baby naturally. I didn’t know what to think. First, they tell me that my baby’s dead, and then they tell me that I still have to give birth to him. All I kept thinking was, “How am I supposed to deliver a dead baby?”

My heart hurt so badly. I loved that baby so much. I never knew it was possible to love a child so much even before knowing its gender. The induction process took nearly 24 hours before my body was ready to give up the baby. My body hung onto that baby so long, as did my heart. I woke up multiple times throughout the night, just sobbing and asking God why. Why did He have to take our baby? Why did it have to be this way? What went wrong? Why did it have to hurt so much?

Just when I thought I couldn’t handle the wait any longer, my body finally decided it was ready to give up our baby. The moment I felt that little body come out of me, I cried and cried. My heart wasn’t ready to let go of this child yet. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that it wasn’t alive. The doctor gave us the option to hold our baby. How could we not? She said that our precious baby was a boy. We had a boy! We named him Andrew Joseph, which was the name we already had picked out. The moment little Andrew was laid into our hands, we both lost it. He was so beautiful! He had the perfect little hands and feet. He had some big feet and probably would have made a good basketball player. He had my nose, but everything else was all daddy. He even had the cutest, tiniest bellybutton and a pudgy little belly. Andrew looked just like his older brother, Ian. I bet the two of them would have been so fun and such a handful. I just so badly wish we could have seen his smile. It hurts. It hurts so much.

People meant well and tried to console us with Bible verses. But, Bible verses were the last thing we wanted to hear right then. I still struggle with why God took him. God has since given me a little insight to His purpose, but I struggle to find peace through His Word. I know that will come in time, and I know God understands. God is patient, and I’m sure all He wants right now is for me to talk to Him. And let me tell you, we’ve been doing a lot of talking. Today is especially one of those days. Just when I think I’m starting to feel slightly okay, I’m bombarded with a reminder that Andrew isn’t here anymore. This morning I got a phone call from the funeral home that was handling our baby’s remains. (We chose to have him cremated.) The urn of his remains is ready to be picked up, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m ready to face that closure yet. I want closure, but picking up this urn means that it really is over. He really is truly gone. Because of work, Evan isn’t able to go with me. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t face the closure alone. God is going to have to give me the strength, because I can’t be held together on my own.

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