When I lived in America I heard the phrase “lightning never strikes the same place twice,” it means something about the astronomical odds of something happening more than once. Reese was our lightning strike. The thing in my life I thought would only happen once. If you have followed this blog you know about our struggle to conceive, our dark time with infertility.
Two days before valentines day this year I felt a little off so as a joke I took a pregnancy test in the mall. Like a teenager. Also I say “as a joke” since we were told that our chances of conceiving a child while on fertility medication was less than one percent. Image our absolute shock when two lines showed up. When I saw the positive test I got such a fright I shoved it back into the package. You have to understand for someone with infertility in their history a positive pregnancy test is like seeing a unicorn. We walked around the mall crying and with stupid smiles on our faces. After the shock wore off we had our appointment. Everything looked great!
We decided to nickname this little one Snickers, David figured it would be a great way to get a bunch of snickers bars since people showered us with Reeses after Reese was born
At our nine week appointment we got to see little snickers waving at us and we were finally told our due date is October 25. Lightning had struck twice for us. Over the last twelve weeks I have thought over and over how blessed, lucky, fortunate and happy we are.
We have been waiting for our thirteen week appointment before announcing to the world that we were expecting our second SECOND!! child. We wanted to get a better ultrasound picture for the announcement. We announced to our parents with a picture of Reese wearing a shirt saying Big Brother! My family took a minute to catch on and then there was much tears and cheering. David’s parents cried.
Yesterday I had some bleeding so we went to go see Dr. B our very awesome doctor. When he put the probe to my stomach I could see snickers laying snugly, but a little still. Something was missing too. The little flicker. That little flutter that tells you everything is ok. That little heartbeat. Dr. B measured snickers, he was only measuring nine weeks, and five days. That means that my precious, beloved, treasured baby died about three weeks ago. When I think back to what I was doing on that day it seems so normal. I was planning a camp, we had a visiting missionary, nothing to indicate that my snickers had gone to the arms of Jesus.
David and I are shattered. They say there is no word for someone who loses a child. We lost more than a pregnancy, we lost first steps, and baby giggles, we lost snuggling and comforting, we lost Christmases and birthday parties, we lost a wedding and a college graduation, we lost our child. From the second you see those two lines you start dreaming about the future. You never wonder about whether you should have a natural miscarriage at home or go to a hospital to have them do a clinical procedure to remove the “tissue” that you loved and talked to and prayed for. You don’t wonder about whether you should put up a cross or bury a box with the outfit you bought last week. You don’t think that naming your baby will bring you to your knees or make your strong spouse shake with sobs.
There is no word for someone who loses a child because no word would be strong enough to express the pain, the loss, and the hopelessness of a baby whose heart stopped beating.
I have no idea hoe people who do not have hope in Christ deal with loss like this. We know that Snickers is in heaven and we are truly comforted by that hope. In dealing with infertility we learned that bad things happen now again we have to learn to trust and not question.
Please pray with us and for us. We are broken, in shock, numb, angry, confused, sad, and in more pain than we ever thought was possible.