I Still Wonder Who You Are
Eight years ago this week, I lost my first baby.
Your entire life was a rollercoaster, little one—the details still sharp in my mind. One day, your existence within rendered me out of commission and the next, those symptoms vanished by half. One minute I was spotting and expecting the worst only to lay in a hospital bed watching your heart flicker on the screen, causing my own heart to flutter. I’ll never forget the sight of you. I’ll always cherish the memory of your daddy’s smile in the elevator as we rejoiced over this beautiful gift. Over you.
But only a week later, at 9 1/2 weeks pregnant, I began bleeding. I was summoned by my midwives, evaluated, and then sent away with, “Don’t worry, you’ll have another baby,” on their lips. I walked out into the waiting room filled with women whose babies were still alive, and my friend drove me home.
The next few days would be traumatic, to say the least. The pain, both in my body and my heart would be excruciating. For days, I labored and I lost you. I held what was left of you in the palm of my hand. And I still wonder who you are.
My oldest will be six this year. But he is not my first baby—just the first living one. My first baby passed in my womb one hot June day 8 years ago. The second, on a cool October day that happened to be my husband’s birthday. And our third baby? Father’s day, almost a year to the date after losing our first.
Who are they? I wonder. Who would they have been? I have two sons now with very different personalities and I just wish I could know what their siblings would have loved and disliked. Would they like building things like my sweet Theo? Or would they be obsessed with cars like my precious William? Were any of them girls? I always wanted a daughter.
Some people might think it unwise to let your mind wander to such questions. They consider it dwelling on the negative and forgetting to “rejoice always.” But what if wondering these things testifies to a truth so many try to black out with a permanent marker? The truth that every baby lost in the womb is a person, not just an idea or a dream. They are image bearers of the High King of heaven. Just as I miss my Papaw and imagine what it would have been like to watch him interact with my boys, am I not also allowed to miss my babies and wish they were here?
During that horrific time in my life, I once wrote a blog post about coming to the due date of my first baby with empty arms and two losses under my belt. I wrote that it should have been my due date. That both of my babies should be alive. I was gently rebuked by a well—meaning sister in Christ. “Should have beens” had no place in a world where God is sovereign.
Oh, but they do. Of course God is sovereign. But death should not exist. Of course God’s plans can be trusted. But miscarriage should not exist. As Christians, we must shout to the world of the things that should not be so that we can point them to the Savior who will one day make everything right. Death, illness, miscarriage, stillbirth exist because of the fall. And one day Jesus will wipe away every tear these realities have caused to trail our cheeks.
Should have beens remind our hearts that this world is not all there is—that there is a world to come where pain and sorrow will cease. It is no more Christian to stoically refuse to dwell on anything painful than it is to to feel sad over missed milestones.
In some ways, I’m more keenly aware now of what I have missed out on with the babies I lost. Raising my boys has ushered in some of the deepest joys in my entire life. To feel their hand reach for mine at the store or to hear their little voices excitedly tell a story—what a gift! I missed this with them. It’s not a common thought, but it rises to the surface occasionally.
Grief does that. It doesn’t mean you’re not happy or content with your life; it doesn’t render you ungrateful. It reveals that you have lost someone precious. And it’s okay to wonder who they would be.
PREORDER Lost Gifts: Miscarriage, Grief, and the God of all Comfort here.
ICYMI
I Just Don’t Get Why She’s So Sad
To the Mother with Empty Arms on Core Christianity
8 Things Church Leaders Can Do to Help Couples Grieving a Miscarriage
The “Curse” of the Pregnancy Test
Forces I Cannot Touch
Hello, I Want Your Life
I’ve walked a similar section of road. Your work is a tender gift—thank you for so generously sharing.
(P.S. I’m eagerly awaiting the arrival of my preorder ✨)
YES! So well written, Brittany. With any grief, there is always the primary loss (i.e. the death of the person we loved) but there are also secondary losses, too: dreams unfulfilled, future celebrations that will never take place, and relationships that ended sooner than we hoped.
We must recognize and grieve these losses. Thank you for writing so boldly and vulnerably about the grief of your miscarriages. It is a courageous thing to share this kind of pain with the world. God bless you, my dear sister-in-Christ.