Non habemus hic manentem civitatem–here we have no lasting city.
St. Josemaría Escrivá
The other night, as we were lying in bed and talking, I apologized to you via my husband for this roller coaster ride that my blog has taken you on.
“That’s the nature of a blog,” my husband said simply. “That’s life. There are ups and downs.”
He’s right, I know, but still it’s hard. It’s hard to want to share bad news—hard to say, “Well, here’s my cross. Can you help bear it?”
You’ve been my Simon, dear on-line friend, and I thank you. The past couple of days have not been easy.
You know me. I like to be happy! (“Um, Margaret?” you’re thinking. “Who doesn’t?)
Joy and suffering are not incompatible, though, as I am finding out. For one thing, your support is so amazing and so welcome. As I said on this thread from the Real Learning forum, if a child can inspire this much goodness and grace upon his or her passing, imagine the good that will be done from heaven.
We’ll have a shower of roses, times two! (This was our second miscarriage in a row.)
The particulars this time around were slightly different. I had experienced no spotting, like before, but at my first OB appointment the doctor was unable to find a heartbeat for all her trying. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried,” she said, and told me to go for an ultrasound the next morning.
I cried all the way home, of course.
And I waited and prayed and wished away the hours until that ultrasound.
The technician was a lovely woman who could have been an older sister. She nodded sympathetically when I told her, “Look, I’m going to be up front with you. My doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat yesterday and I’m concerned. If there’s a problem with the baby then just tell me. Don’t make me wait until you’ve finished.”
“I’m an old fart in my field,” she said. “I’m more than willing to be honest.”
The verdict wasn’t long in coming.
“There’s the baby,” said the technician, and my heart leapt, “But there’s no heartbeat.
“I’m so sorry.”
She continued to murmur her apologies throughout the remainder of the exam, and on my way out said, “May I hug you?” I smiled through my tears and said, “Your job can’t be easy some days.”
“No,” she replied in agreement, “There are nights when I go home and cry.”
So that’s the story. We don’t know why we lost the baby, only that the little heart appears to have stopped beating around the 8-week mark.
I am waiting to deliver her or him.
You know, I joke in my lighter moments that it’s these darn old eggs of mine! The doctor did say that after the age of 35 the risk of miscarriage increases. A woman’s eggs just lose their oomph.
Not very scientific in my musings, am I.
The fact is, we don’t know. We probably won’t know, either, until (and if) God reveals it. For now we must trust in His will, ever mysterious.
And yes, there came a point at which I grew quite angry with Him. I told Him so outright and in response He showed me His wounds.
There have been bittersweet pleasures since the miscarriage: a second (or third) cup of coffee taken without guilt; the delicious white russian that I sipped on Saturday evening.
But I would trade these in in an instant if it meant having back my infant.
And there are many more sad reminders that our little 7th wonder has passed.
Like…
my two-year-old singing her happy song to “Baby X” (our nickname for the baby during prayers);
or my 6-year-old bringing me a book to cheer up: Your Labor of Love;
or the arrival of this month’s issue of Good Housekeeping, with a very pregnant woman on the cover;
or finally, the sad packing away of all my just-laundered maternity apparel…
and the look on my son’s face when I walked by with it.
Yet for every sad reminder there have been a dozen consolations. Indeed, your prayers & your encouragement & your posts have been the most beautiful of bouquets.
(A tangible bouquet, by the way, was delivered on Saturday afternoon. Thank you, dearest Kristen. You are so very, very thoughtful and the roses are absolutely beautiful.)
I’d like to close with a little poem, entitled
I do not know the hour of your passing,
Or the moment at which you breathed your last.
All I have is the knowledge that it happened,
And a black and white photo of your still, sweet frame
within me.
Little one, I loved you so.
I loved you tenderly.
I loved you fervantly.
I loved you with trust and yes, anxiety.
I am a mother, after all.
And now my mother’s love is mixed with sorrow.
It was not my wish to wait to hold you,
but wait I will and hope I must.
May your unexpected passing be for me
A chance to grow each hour…
in faith,
in hope,
in charity…
and in every way the Father knows I should.
Little one, I love you so.
You’re a beautiful woman, Margaret, and we love you.
Margeret, we are praying & offering the Mass for you and your dear family. We are so very sorry for your loss. Sending you a hug. May the Blessed Mother cover you in her mantle.
Margaret, this is a beautiful and loving tribute. All my prayers are with you.
Beautiful, Margaret. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and your cross.
I’m so sorry, Margaret. I’ve been away from the blog world for a few days, and just read this.
{{{hugs}}}
This is a beautiful post, Margaret. You remain in my prayers. I am so sorry.
Everyone’s life (and therefore, blog) is a story, and to leave out the struggles and crosses is to leave out the glory of what you are allowing God to do in your life.
You inspire others so much, by letting us carry this with you.
God’s Blessings…
So beautiful, Margaret. Thank you for sharing your cross with us. That’s what friends do. You have been in my thoughts and prayers (especially at Mass this morning), and will continue to be…and this little one will always be remembered.
I’m so very sorry.
This is a beautiful reflection. And thank you for sharing with us that precious, precious photo of your dear baby. It brought tears to my eyes.
So beautiful, thank you for sharing your sorrows and joys. I offered my Mass today for you and will continue to pray for you and your family. I cried through your whole post and then even more when I saw your beautiful picture of your little one, what a treasure to always have. I love you Margaret.
Very beautiful post, Margaret. My eyes are filled with tears – I prayed for you in Holy Mass this morning and hope you are having a Grace-filled day.
This is the meaning of our life in Jesus and His Church- to suffer with and for each other. My prayers are with you, Margaret. Tears, too.
May God bless you and your family in this time of grief, Margaret.
We ARE carrying this cross with you. I’ve carried it three times. I know how much it helps to have your friends holding you up. You AND your husband are in my prayers.
Oh, Dear Margaret. I don’t know what to say. This is a beautiful post. I will remember you in my prayers. I am so very sorry. This sweet baby has certainly done much good. I’m amazed at how many prayers have come from your loss. Your baby is doing great things. God bless you. I have tears in my eyes. We are weeping with you.
Such a dear, dear picture for you to treasure always.
My sympathy and prayers are with you, dear Margaret.
Margaret,
I’m so very sorry. Your post was beautiful. I wish I had written those words when I lost my babies. I’ve been praying for you.
Blessings,
Nissa
Oh, Margaret, I am so sorry. What you’ve written here is as beautiful as you are. My heart is with you, dear one.
Margaret, I am so very, very sad to read this, and it does not surprise me that you would somehow manage to rise up and write this sublime tribute to your dear little one.
I love you, Margaret, and I so wish you were not bearing this terrible cross. We will keep praying for you.
Margaret, I am praying for you and your family. What a beautiful thing you have written. May God’s graces fill your days.
You are so amazing. Even in the midst of all your sorrow, you find the most beautiful words to express such incredible love! I will continue to pray for you and your family.
Margaret,
I’ve felt it all too many times, and wish that you were not feeling it now. You were on my mind and in my prayers all through my holy hour. What a beautiful and touching tribute to your precious baby.
Oh, Margaret, this is so beautiful. We are priveleged to know you and help you bear this cross. God bless you.
I don’t have anything add to that beautiful tribute. I just want you to know that we are still praying for your family and your precious baby.
Margaret: I’m crying for you and your loved one and your family.
You and your family are in my prayers.
Margaret, I didn’t have the time to comment when I read this yesterday, which is good because it gave me the chance to read it again today.
This post is beautiful and holy and perfect—just like you. Thank you so much for sharing the deepest journeys of your heart. And for allowing us to walk beside you as you go.
My love and prayers are with you, now and always.
Isn’t it beautiful to see your blessings through your sorrow. I must imagine that Christ felt much the same as he prepared to suffer and die for us because his love was so great. You have been given a very special gift to share in the joys of trial. For through the trials of this life we are led to Heaven. Much love!
A very touching post – my sympathy and prayers for you and your family.
Margaret, I’ve been praying for you.
Margaret,
So sorry to learn of your loss…We’ll keep you and your family in our prayers, asking for special intercession from Sts. Catherine of Sweden and Sienna, and St. Philomena.
God bless you,
Dear Margaret:
I am new to this list, but wanted to send you a hug and a bouquet of my prayers. Your reflection was so beautiful. And the picture of your new saint in heaven so awesome. You and your family are in my prayers.
Maria B.
Dear Margaret, you are such a gift to us. My prayers are with you and you family.
What a beautiful post. I just lost my third little angel, so this really hits home for me. God be with you and give you His peace.
I am so very sorry for your loss. Prayers ascending for you all.
Margaret,
Praying for you, your husband and children. It is indeed a heavy cross{{{}}}}. May you find comfort in Our Blessed Mother’s arms.
Erin
I’m a bit late – as is usual. Know of my heartfelt prayers for you and yours during this difficult time. Sadly, I have known many who have miscarried – including my own mother. I know how hard it can be to learn of the death of an unborn sibling and for this reason, your other children will be especially lifted in prayer. I’m sure their loss cannot be measured next to yours or your husbands, but it is a loss and it is theirs too.
All that to say: I’m storming heaven on your behalf.
Oh, Margaret… I am behind on reading your blog, and I just saw this news. You and your family are very much in my prayers. May your little saint in heaven shower blessings down upon you and your family.