Big feelings

Big feelings

Did you know that I used to think those two words, when put together, meant that there was something wrong with me?

A Facebook friend who is so positive all the time -- praying for everyone and being a light -- felt God calling her to admit her secret: her health was majorly messed up, and she was in excruciating pain all day long.

For the last few days, I have wondered why she wasn't up front about her pain. Certainly, she didn't have to share. That was all her rightful call to make. 

But why are we so scared to admit we are going through big things that give us big feelings?

If you had told me "I can give you a magic wand, and you can change one thing about yourself," I likely would think that you were nuts ... But then seriously consider changing the extent to which I feel my feelings.

When I think of my emotions, I think of a roller coaster. Things just FEEL bigger. The highs are high and the lows are low. I am the opposite of what you might call an even-keeled person. 

And this bothers me.

When I think of roller-coaster emotions, I think of someone who is unstable. Someone you don't want to do business with. Someone who's a little multi-personality. Or Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde-esque. 

When I think of even-keeled emotions, I think of slow and steady. You know exactly what you're getting, every time. Attractive in business, in life and in relationship. This is the person you want to be around. This is the person you want to be.

Except the problem with this is that some of the circumstances I am going through are naturally not meant for even-keeled feelings. In fact, if you felt even-keeled about them, you might just not have a heart. (Or a heartbeat.)

My grandpa is not doing well. He's in his mid-nineties, and all the sudden couldn't walk. (He is normally very active, takes care of himself, and even maintains a huge vegetable garden.) And this week, he was admitted to the hospital, and now he's home requiring 24-hour care.

My grandmas from both sides died quickly, with no warning really. Just died. And I got those calls that make no sense at the time that the person you love more than anything is now gone.

And now that my grandpa is not well, every time I see my mom or dad call, my heart hits the floor and I just wait for the news that he too is gone.

Ryan and I have been searching plane tickets for me to go visit my grandpa. But just today I found out he doesn't want any company.

I want to see my grandpa before he dies. And we were working on a plan to get me there. But now I don't know if I'll ever see him alive again, and it's tearing me up. 

These are big feelings.

As I snuggled Maddy in bed tonight, all the big feelings I had came dripping from my eyes. Maddy hugged me, and told me "everything will be ok mama." She even went to get me a tissue.

And I held her as I cried, and yet again thought of how close I came to not knowing her. And of course I thought of all the other babies that didn't make it.

"Hey Maddy," I said. "thanks for making it out of my belly ok. The other babies didn't make it ... But you did. And mom is glad you made it."

More big feelings y'all. 

And this also happened today:

While things are still moving slowly, they are most decidedly moving in the direction of reunification. The other children in care have stepped up the plan. Things are moving.

And I find that during the day, I hug baby Z so tight and kiss him so much because I just want to hold on forever.

But I can't. 

Roller-coaster big feelings.

In spite of the fact that normal people, even even-keeled people, might have similar emotions, I fight the lie that I need to pretend to have it all put together.

Because I don't want people to look at me and think, "oh my, there goes that girl with big feelings again. Stay clear of her ... She'll emote all over the place."

Instead I want you guys to see me as I am -- well, mostly am -- a chill girl that loves to meet new people, learn about what makes them tick. I love coffee and connection, and it's even better when they are together. Some of my favorite people are my parents, siblings and in-laws. I love being with our families.

I'm highly motivated, and have a dream burning in my gut to make a difference. I have such a strong desire to change the world. I feel a connection to people who mourn, and want to support them in loss. 

I think too heavy sometimes, but I'm constantly thinking, challenging my beliefs of the world and my role in it.

One of my favorite things to do is launch a new person in my business, and help them get started on their dreams. I love to sing, be silly with my kids, have dance parties in the kitchen and play tickle monster on the floor.

When I love, I love hard and deep. When I am sad, it cuts to the core. When I am happy, life feels carefree and full of joy. And when one of my children make me angry, I have to be super careful not to lose my temper. (And sometimes J still do.)

I guess my fear is that when I share my big feelings with you, you think that is all I'm made of. That the other parts to me, or even the happy big feelings, get lost in translation. 

So that's why I sometimes hide my big feelings. Why do you hide yours?

Forever is too far away

How quickly time passes. 

I blink, and it's been an hour, a week, a month, a year. 

When you leave, time feels as though it should stand still. Eternity bears it's weight upon my soul. Forever is too far away.

Don't get me wrong. I want forever. But I also want now. Now and tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow.

But I only get forever.

I need to survive your loss until forever.

The clock marches on, each tic each toc moving me both further away from your life and closer to your eternity.

Time can't move fast enough. Time can't freeze fast enough.

Life, breath, and touch replaced by memories. Vapors of what once was. Vapors of you. 

They bring comfort. But they are not enough.

You are gone. You are full, at peace, without pain, and embraced by joy.

I am here. A hole has replaced your presence in my heart. I will never again be fully who I was. Your love, your loss, they have changed me.

How quickly time passes. 

I blink, and it's been an hour, a week, a month, a year. 

Why won't time stand still? 

Eternity bears it's weight upon my soul. 

Forever is too far away.

-- For the Tippetts family, as they mourn for their loving wife and mother, Kara

Maria's Story: When hello means good-bye

Maria, I'm so sorry for your loss. Your words say it perfectly: "I almost told her: 'You got it wrong, this is the picture of my heart, dark, empty and broken.' But no, it was my uterus." Thanks for sharing your story, Rachel

May 16, 2010, I got a positive pregnancy test. June 23, I said good bye. 

I lost my baby at 9 weeks, but the embryo was only 6 weeks. I had dreams that I was losing the baby, but I thought it was just my natural fears.  I think it was God, trying to prepare me for the worst ... that was already happening.

June 21, I was driving and felt a little cramping. I went home, and noticed that I was having a slight bleeding. I drove to the hospital. My husband is in the Army and he was at the shooting range, so I couldn't reach him.

From 11 am until 2 pm, I waited for blood tests. Finally they got me in the ultrasound room. The nurse and the doctor just communicated with their eyes and whispering to each other. He finally decided to tell me that "there is no heartbeat."

My own heart, stopped beating. I needed to confirm so I asked: "What do you mean? I lost my baby? Is it gone? Dead?"

"Yes" was the answer.

I don't remember how loud I cried, screamed, and prayed for a miracle. I asked them to check again. I was alone. I wanted my baby back. My husband got to the hospital later. The doctor told us it could just be too early. Gave us some hope to take home. In my heart, I knew something was wrong, but I still believed there was a chance, maybe a miracle. 

I rested for 2 days, grasping for that little miracle to come and change everything.
Tuesday, June 22, I went to bed early, feeling some cramps. I prayed for hours until I finally fell asleep. I may have slept for a couple of hours before I woke up again, with strong cramps, only this time followed by blood. 

I didn't want to wake up my husband, but around 2 o'clock, the cramps got worse. I gently touched his arms, he turned to me, and I said: "Baby, don't go to work, I need you. It's over." I started to bleed. He kissed and we cried in silence. 

He called his Sergeant, and told them them it has started, our biggest fear. I was losing the baby. 

My second pre-natal visit was schedule for that Wednesday morning, June 23 at 8:45 am. We spent the rest of the night holding each other and praying. In the morning, I took a shower and he took me to my appointment. 

As I sat in the waiting room, I kept my sunglasses on. Behind them, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was looking at all those women, so pregnant, so happy, knowing that the baby I had inside of me was dead, and so was I. I was questioning God, "why me? Why didn't you pick her, or her..." No answer. 

There, at the doctor's office, she read the lab results. This time, my husband was with me, holding my hands, but we already knew that it was over. She asked me if I needed another ultrasound to confirm. On the screen, I saw this dark, empty and broken space (my water). I almost told her: "You got it wrong, this is the picture of my heart, dark, empty and broken." But no, it was my uterus. 
Before we left the hospital, I was given Cytotec to finish with the process of miscarriage. When I got home, I laid in bed and waited. My husband sat beside me. We tried to watch a movie together, but the contractions started and I asked him to leave the bedroom, he didn't need to watch that.

I remember crying in silence, biting the pillows and rolling on the bed. Not sure if the pain was from the contractions or from my heart. I had taken strong pain killers and some sleeping pills. I passed out for about an hour. My husband woke me up, and I went to the bathroom. God was good to me, it was all over. I passed the baby and everything else at once.

Long time ago, in San Francisco, I used to shop at Claire's a lot. One day they offer me a little ceramic jewelery box for a $1, it was cute so I bought it. I never used it for anything, except for decoration. It now holds the most precious jewel I ever had, the remains of my unborn baby.

It may sound sick but I could not just flush it. No matter how small, it was my baby. 

I read articles, books, heard other woman stories of how they lost their babies at 7, 8 or 9 months of pregnancy. I know it could have been a lot worse, but I am hurting too. 

This is my loss. I am getting over this, little by little and keeping my hopes and dreams that someday, I will be a mother. 

Today, I have a 9 month old baby boy, the most wonderful thing in my life. But I still grieve and wonder about the baby I lost, was it a boy, a girl? He or she would be 3 years old now.

Ali's Story: Abuse results in a miscarriage and a grief gap with her husband

Ali, I just can't imagine at all what you have been through. I'm so so so sorry. I am thankful that Ryan's story has helped you understand your husband better. That grief gap is so very hard. Much love, Rachel




I recently read your wife's story when a friend posted it on Facebook. I related to it so much that words cannot really explain. At the end of her blog, there was a link to your story. I then read it. It connected to my heart like nothing I've ever read before. 

My husband and I suffered a miscarriage in the very beginning of our marriage. I was very young, 17 years old, in fact. He was 21, and in his first year of enlistment in the Marine Corps. We had gotten married on his 10-day leave after boot camp. And we were IN LOVE! I had never had much of a strong family. But once I took him into my heart fully and completely, I felt like I had finally found that family I had been longing for my whole life. 

He left to M.O.S. school (job training for the Marine Corps.). He was only allowed to come home for a short period during Christmas of 2004. I had originally thought that was the time that we conceived our first child. However, it must have been on our wedding night. ;) I found out I was expecting on New Year's Day (January 1st, 2005). 

I felt so terribly guilty after a night of partying to find out that I had a little life growing inside of me... I was also afraid to tell my new husband. Because we had never discussed having children. We knew we both wanted them one day. But this seemed a bit early in our young marriage for this to be happening. I knew I didn't have much of a choice though. He had left to go back to M.O.S. school already, so I had to tell him over the phone. His initial reaction was "OH S#$&!"... Which didn't offer much comfort to me at that time! (I was eventually able to laugh about it.) 

Over the next few weeks, he grew used to the fact that we were going to have a child. He even seemed to be becoming excited. Everything was going great, all most too great. I wasn't sick, felt great... I even had more energy than I usually did. I went to the doctor, who figured I was somewhere between 8-12 weeks along....(I figured about 9, because I know when my husband had been home!) a few more weeks past with no incident... I forgot to mention that I was still living with my Mother and Step-Father, (both of who were involved in drugs at the time and weren't very stable) but I didn't have much of a choice. I was only staying there until my husband got stationed somewhere and we could get an apartment to move into. 

One day, I came home to my parents in an argument.. A pretty heated one at that. I slipped into my room at the back of the house. A few moments after I shut my door, my mother burst in, crying uncontrollably. She told me to pack a bag that my Step-Father no longer wanted me in the house. The way he seen it, I was a married adult and I did not belong at home with my mother. I had been paying rent, working a full-time job as a carhop at Sonic... All while I was finishing my senior year of high school. This was absolutely and totally unexpected. I was blind-sighted by this. I had no place to go... I had no clue what I was going to do. 

So I left my room to try to reason with my Step-Father about this. I was going to try to get another month to stay in their home. I would have been leaving Oklahoma to go to North Carolina within the next month and a half. So I figured if I could squeeze a month out of him. I'd be able to figure the last 2 weeks out. My Step-Father was obviously not his normal self. He was visible shaking, angry does not even begin to describe it. I should have known better than to approach him while he was in this kind of mood. But hindsight is 20/20.... 

What I thought would be a civil conversation turned into a screaming match between the two of us. I told him I would leave, quickly packed a small bag of clothes, toiletries, etc... I grabbed the keys to my car and headed out the door. (Let me say this before I tell you what happened next) my parents had bought my car for me on my 16th birthday. But only under the agreement that I paid them back... Which I did.. And in full. This was the reason I was working a full time job on top of school. I had just put new tires on my car also. But the car was in my parent's names because I was still under the age of 18. When my Step-Father noticed that I was leaving...in a car that was in his name. He immediately got even more upset. He stood in the door way, not allowing me to pass through to the outside unless I handed over the keys...I felt trapped.

 I didn't know what to do. No place to live, no car, no family around to help me figure this situation out... I was scared. And when a teenager is scared, they freak out. And freak out I did. I screamed and yelled and tried to shove my way through the door with keys in hand. He was not going to allow this. The way he seen things, this was his car, it was in his name, and they could sell it to make money... (Most likely for their drug of choice, Meth).... So in an attempt to get the keys from me, he shoved me down the front steps of our house. Which was about 5-6 steps, if I remember correctly... It could have been more. 

I landed face down in the yard. That also meant I had landed on my stomach. I immediately felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. Which made me cry out for my Mother. My Step-Father, who was obviously high on something, seen my Mother rushing to my side, and he apparently did not like that she was taking my side (at least that's how he viewed her actions)... He shoved my Mother out of the way, hauled his leg back, and kicked me right in my stomach. All I can remember is the Steel Toed Boot that he wore making contact with my body. I didn't feel much pain, everything went blurry... I'm still not sure how long I laid on the ground in my parents from yard, bawling uncontrollably.... Once my Mother could get to me without causing my Step-Father to become anymore angry or upset, she came and laid down beside me. I couldn't move. I could feel a wetness on my legs,back, and lower stomach... I had started to bleed. And it was a lot of blood.... 

By this time, my Step-Father had gone. But before he left, he disconnected the batteries and some other parts of the cars in the drive. My Mother called one of her friends to come get us so we could go to the hospital. Once I got to the ER, they immediately got me to the back to see the doctor... They took blood... But I didn't need a blood test to know. To know that I had lost a child that I had not yet had the joy of holding, the joy of seeing for the first time on an ultra-sound. I had heard the precious heart beat. But only once... I wasn't sure how I was going to tell my husband... I was scared... I decided to wait until the doctors could confirm what I already knew in my heart. I made the decision to not tell my husband right away due to the fact that he was already under a huge amount of stress from the military job and training... 

I returned to the hospital 3 days later to have more blood taken... The results revealed what I already knew. I had lost my sweet child. All at the hands of another person. A person that was supposed to protect me as his own. A person that to this day has still not apologized (10 years later)... That night when my husband called, I broke the news to him. He didn't say much, that he was sorry that I had lost the baby..I remember so clearly what he said..."I'm sorry you had to go through that...but at least you weren't very far along... We can have another."

 He was very angry about how my parents had treated me. But it didn't seem like losing the baby was the biggest loss in the situation to him. We hung up after a very short conversation. About a week and a half later I flew to Fort Knox to celebrate the first Valentine's Day as husband and wife.... I was met at the airport by a taxi service that my husband had arranged for me. After the 45-minute drive to the Base where I would see him for the first time since it happened, our eyes met, I immediately felt better... But it was short-lived. He looked different, worn down and tired. But seemed his normal self all at the same time. His attitude and demeanor seemed to be the same as always. He was loving and kind. And had a lovely, romantic weekend planned for us... I tried my hardest to enjoy it. 

But in the back of my mind, I was angry! No... I was outraged! Outraged that he didn't seem to even remember that we had just lost our first child. Outraged that he didn't offer any condolences for what I had just gone through... The last night I was with him that weekend, we laid in bed talking about the future... And how he thought we should start to try for another baby. This made me even more furious! How could he just get over it so quickly? Did it bother him at all? How could he want to have another child so soon? It felt like the life I was still mourning, didn't have any meaning to him at all.... I never said anything about how angry it made me or how badly it hurt my feelings.... 

The next year we were blessed with a daughter. A perfect, beautiful, and healthy little miracle.. She was what pulled me out of my funk. A funk that I feared would never go away. I am not saying that she took the place of the child that I had lost only a short time before. But she definitely filled a void. And I was grateful. Our family had begun. 

But I never understood how my husband could be so cold about my miscarriage.? He never talked about it on his own. And when I brought it up, he would cut the conversation off as soon as he could.... 10 years have passed since that terrible day. The day I lost a child, a part of me that will never be replaced or healed. Its a scar on my heart that will forever remain. My husband left the Marine Corps., we had our second child (third in my eyes), our son, who is more wild and wonderful then I could have ever dreamed him to be! 

He and I started our careers, bought 2 houses, started a business... we have continued to live our lives as we planned... I never understood why my husband could have been so rash about my miscarriage. But after reading your story Ryan, I began to understand why he may have been so withdrawn. And now I see. He was mourning the loss of our child too. It was just in a different way than I did....

Losing a child is never an easy thing. Whether it be a miscarriage or abortion before the child is physically on this earth, or if a child is lost many years too early. I am glad to share my story with the world. Maybe my experience will help someone else as you and your wife's story helped me. It helped me to understand a man I have know for 12 years and married for 10. I thought I know everything about him. But men are as much of a mystery as anything I guess.

Thanks for offering a safe haven for people to share stories like this one. It means more to me than words could ever express.

Rachel's Story: On remembering the day she realized something was terribly wrong

From one mom of a Madelyn to another -- please know how sad I am for your loss and share in your grief. I absolutely will give my Madelyn an extra hug. Thanks for sharing with us your Madelyn Elise. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby girl.  Rachel

Although our stories are quite different, our grief is similar, and there is one thing in common that took my breath away.

First, my deepest condolences on your losses. I can't imagine going through multiple losses and having the sharp edged knife of grief more than once. We do share our Faith in a living God, omnipotent, powerful, always sovereign, and yet compassionate to catch our every tear.

I had a flawless pregnancy. Minor yet all day nausea and that was it. Besides my mood swings, everything was perfect.  

My loss was at 37 weeks. The only thing they could find was a partial placental abruption.  I had NO SYMPTOMS. None. 

It was Dec 26, 2010, my husband and I sat down to watch a movie (of course I know what movie it was, what I was wearing, and what ice cream I had).  Finally breathing a sigh of relief that our major remodel/addition was finished, Christmas was DONE, and just 3 weeks until our baby girl would arrive. This meant hubby needed to GET going painting the nursery!!! 

So, at 10 pm, I mentioned to him that I hadn't felt her move.  I didn't think much of it because I was sooo busy and sooo tired. Focusing on getting her to "wake up" to do kick counts for the next 2 hours, I was still in a very protected place mentally.  I don't know how I was so naive, but I was. 

Well, I said a short note…

I don't think I should write anymore on the details because it really spends me, emotionally, and it's late.

My first daughter was born still at 8:44 pm, December 27, 2010.  Her name is Madelyn Elise Buono. 8 lbs, 1.5 oz, 21 inches long.

Not too many other Madelyn's are spelled the same way.  Give yours an extra hug for me. 

We were Blessed to have Emily Moriah (mtn in Gen22) arrive healthy on 1/24/12, just thirteen months later.   She is a huge Blessing, but she doesn't take her sister's place nor does she heal the hole in my heart ... But she sure does make the rest of my heart happier!

Jocelyn's Story: An L&D nurse on the loss of her son Sam

Jocelyn, thank you so very much for sharing your story with us. I'm sorry it took me so long to post it. I hope your story of your son Sam can reach out and encourage someone who understands all too well. Thanks for the beautiful Bible verses you included. Sending love, Rachel



July 30th was probably the hardest day of my life. Writing down what happened that day and leading up to losing our baby, I believe, will be therapeutic for me. I feel that this topic is taboo, and although I understand why (because I really don't like to talk aloud about my loss), I also wish that it was more spoken about because up to 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Many women go through this alone, feeling like they have no one to talk to. I was lucky to have some very close friends and my sister-in-law for support, since they themselves had experienced pregnancy loss and were willing to help me through the process by sharing their personal stories.

On Friday, July 26, I found out, while performing sonogram on myself at work, that our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was crushed. My midwife came and confirmed my fears. My baby had died. I called my husband and could barely get out the news to tell him why I could be home late from work. My midwife held me, cried with me and let me take the lead on the plans. I wanted to go home, talk with my husband, celebrate my oldest birthday as scheduled the next day, and come back to see her at what would have been my next regular appointment. Of course unless I started to have signs or symptoms of miscarriage. 

During my follow up appointment on Monday we saw that our baby was still without life and I was still without symptoms of impending delivery. We considered our options; surgical removal in a hospital of our baby by d&c, taking cytotec to induce delivery either at home or in hospital, or waiting up to 2-4 more weeks for the baby to be born naturally. My husband and I knew immediately that for us having surgery to remove our baby was not an option. I did not feel that waiting was the best decision for our family, especially because I would not be able to be a fully functional mom for our two young sons. So, we decided to use the induction medication at home.

My mom took the boys to stay at her house for 2 nights and my husband took off work to stay home with me. Bright and early Tuesday morning I started taking my medication and our sweet perfect baby was born at 11:30 am. I experienced little pain or bleeding those first few hours and we were able to spend time together. It was a huge blessing for me to be able to hold and see my precious baby. 

We were surprised to see that our baby was obviously another perfect little boy. I had been sick the first 11 weeks of the pregnancy, and we were convinced baby was a girl. But here he was, all 10 fingers, all 10 toes and an angelic little face. He even looked like he was calmly resting with a slight smile on his face. 

During the morning before his birth my husband and I had been considering Bible verses to use in memory of our baby. There were a few I had written down that really spoke to us. Once he was born the verse for our son was clear to us. 1 Samuel 1:27-28. Therefore it also seemed obvious that we name him Sam.

Sam - July 30, 2013
"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me
what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord.
For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord."I had a little bit of a harder time delivering the placenta. It took about 6 hours and I lost more blood than we had hoped. I had a few hours where I was very light headed and spent my time lying in bed drinking poweraid and eating whatever little bites I could hold down. When I was up I was very weak and ended up fainting a couple times. 

My husband took excellent care of me and was so strong. I think it was very good for him to feel involved and have something he could do. He was such a blessing to me and I am so thankful we could go through this trial together. Once I delivered the placenta the bleeding immediately and dramatically slowed, and I began feeling much better. After a warm lavendar salt bath and a little more resting we decided it was time to have our memorial service for Sam.

My husband had purchased a small pine box, a jasmine plant and some wood for a trellis. I wrote Sam's name, birthday and the Bible verse on the box, and we buried him in our back yard, planting the flowering vine (one of my husband's favorites) over our son. We then took some time to pray and cry together. It was such a special time for us, and I am so glad we chose to have Sam at home so that we could give him and his life the respect it deserved. For us, this was the absolute best way we could go through this awful day.I am heartbroken. This is the most sorrow and grief I have ever felt. Yet, I know I will survive. God has been with us so much throughout this trial from the moment I found out on that Friday evening until now. He has surrounded us with loving support. 

My mom and sister cooked delicious meals without being asked, and took excellent care of my boys while I was unable. So many people prayed for us, offered help and support, and we were overwhelmed by the peace that gave us. My midwife went above and beyond to check in on me and help us do what we felt was right for our family. She cried with me and prayed with me.  I will never forget that.

Sam will always hold a special place in our hearts, and I know we will never forget him. We wish we could have gotten to know him and see him play with his brothers. However, even in his very short life, he has changed us so much.

I thank God for the blessing of his life knowing it has made me stronger, given me the opportunity to be a support to someone else in the future, and helped my husband and I see the beauty and importance in every day. 

Thank you Lord for Sam. We can't wait to meet him and You one day in Heaven.

I'd like to share a few special Bible verses that have helped me through these last few months. Some were shared by friends, others I found on my own, all given by God to provide us comfort:Romans 8:26 - "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans."

Hebrews 13:8 - "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

2 Corinthians 12: 9-10 - "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

Psalm 34:18 - "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 - "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."

I hope that one day with God's help I am able to help a friend who is suffering through a miscarriage. My friends who were honest and open with me about their experiences with miscarriage have been a huge help and comfort. One particular friend acted as God's hands and voice to me as she shared her experiences losing her baby at 12 weeks less than a year ago. Her support and advice about how she and her husband made the same decisions we did, and how her experience was as she lost her baby were immeasurably helpful to me. I hope I can be that for someone one day. Perhaps, through this sharing of the story of Sam, someone will find comfort knowing they are not alone. Moms need to stick together and break the silence. 

Theresa's Story: Finding out years later that her abnormal periods were actually miscarriages

Thank you so much Theresa for sharing your story with us. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to hear your news, and then have all that grief fresh again. Sending love, Rachel

Thank you so much for your story. I have always been pro-life and have always been against abortion. I realize that so many women in this world believe that abortion is an option, but in my personal world it is not an option and never will be. There are so many women in this world that would love to have children and are unable to have them.

I come from a large family. I am the sixth child out of seven and the first girl. I always assumed that I would be able to have children quite easily even though I had very horrible periods. I was never regular and would pass very large clots so at around age 17, I was put on the pill to try to establish regularity and in hopes that it would help me conceive easily once married. 

I did everything the way I thought I should. I saved myself for my husband. I naturally assumed I would be very fertile like my mother, however this did not seem to be the case. I married the man of my dreams at the age of 27 and turned 28 later that year. We decided since I was a bit older that we would wait 2 years before trying to get pregnant. 

We began trying and within about 6 months I was late and just knew I was pregnant. I felt it in my soul, but at about 10 weeks I passed what was a huge clot and then my period began. I knew then I was wrong; I wasn’t pregnant. What I felt had all been in my mind. 

My husband and I were completely devastated. This happened 2 more times and then we began the normal testing processes to see if either of us had a fertility problem. I naturally assumed I was the reason we weren't pregnant, but come to find it was neither one of us. This happened again 2 more times within the next 3 years and by that time my periods were just getting worse and worse. We made the decision that I start the pill once again so that I could tolerate my periods. 

In my mid 30’s I began having more health issues. My husband and I decided that it was up to GOD if I were to have children.  It got to the point that I was facing a hysterectomy, but my doctor suggested I try the depo shot first. I knew if I had the surgery there would be NO way to physically ever have a baby. I was still holding on to hope. 

It was not meant to be. I had to have major back surgery and was told at that point that with my age and the work that would be done on my back, getting pregnant would not be ideal.  I would have to be on bed rest. But, inevitably, we knew it was not meant to be.

One month ago I started seeing a new doctor for Rheumatoid Arthritis. In some routine blood work my doctor noticed that one of the tests came back abnormal. The problem with the test is it can be done wrong quite often so she needed to repeat the test, but I had to wait 12 weeks for the redo. She asked me if I had ever been pregnant. I told her no but that I thought I had been 5 times yet it was a false alarm each time. She asked me why I thought they were false alarms so I explained to her that each time I was late, I really felt different, even sick (morning sickness), with 3 of the 5 episodes, but at about 10 to 16 weeks I would pass big clots followed by a very horrible period. 

She told me that the blood test that had been performed was for a clotting disorder. The disorder causes spontaneous abortions (miscarriages) and those 5 times I had probably lost my babies. 

I am 48 years old and was hearing this for the first time. I had no idea. Each of those 5 incidents broke my heart years ago. I believe my soul knew that I had conceived a baby and I grieved each of those times.  I felt I had to grieve privately because no one would have understood what I was feeling. 

When she explained the clotting disorder to me, I felt like I had been slammed into a brick wall. If only I would have known. When she explained everything to me it brought back all of the old hurt and sadness. I am grieving all over again.

This is my story. I apologize for the wordiness of it, but I just thought the situation needed to be explained. I have heard my whole married life that it just wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t God’s will, and all those things people say. But I have begun telling them, "Well, that may be, but that is not what I want to hear from you." 

When people try to say things meant to be encouraging, it does not make it better; it makes it worse. I tell them to just listen, tell me they feel my pain, or that they are sorry. Every woman who has lost a child or who has ever wanted a child does not want to hear "it just wasn’t meant to be" or "it was God’s will." Or Heaven forbid when they tell a woman who has miscarried that "It was a blessing because something might have been wrong with IT!!!" I always stop them and say don’t say IT!!! IT was a BABY not an IT!!!

I am so sorry for the pain you have suffered from the loss of your babies and I am sorry for the pain and hurt that you still carry with you. I now know I have always been affected by my inability to conceive but now I grieve again because I believe that I was right all along. I lost 5 precious babies.

Of idols and name tags

The other day, a dear friend sat me down to coffee.

You have heard of this momma friend -- she was Leyla's foster mom.

Well, God had put something on her heart and she needed to share with me.


"When I first met you," she started, "you shared about your story with Olivia. And then I began reading your blogs. And as much as I liked you, I felt like I didn't really who Rachel really was. What did she like? What makes her tick?  It was like grief and loss and infertility were all that you could see, like a name tag you wore. As time has gone on, I've watched you transition out of grief and loss and have started moving forward with life. And it's really neat to see and to get to know you."

[Ok, well, Deanna, if you're reading this, you probably are thinking, "I'm not sure those were my exact words." But this is at least what I can remember of what you said, and what has stuck with me.]

She had more to say, which is probably food for another blog . . . but these particular words have been mulling around in my brain.



You know, she's right. I think back to the last 3ish years, and I just feel like they are a total and complete fog. I think having a loss every 9 months on average for a few years does something to you. Well, at least it did to me.

But I think even before the recurrent loss, just with Olivia, I lost myself. I lost myself in grief, and longing, and despair.

I didn't know who I was anymore. The priorities I had in my life before my ectopic just suddenly seemed shallow. I couldn't relate to someone who had not experienced deep pain. Life -- everything in life -- seemed to be a painful reminder of what I didn't have.

Even though I was mom, I stayed the heck away from mom's groups. Or play groups. Or anything that might remind me that I had lost a little baby. (Oh, thank God I didn't know at that time that there would not be a rainbow baby at the end of my story. I don't even want to know what would have become of me had I seen the whole next few years laid out in front of me.)

I became the girl who runs out of church crying because someone announced a pregnancy.

I became the girl who (true story) runs out of church crying, slams her phone into the dash of the car, cusses up a storm, and then cries like crazy because someone was having a gender-reveal party.

I became the girl who (also true story) told her husband to stay home one night just to make sure she stayed safe. Safe from herself.

I became the girl who tried, tried, tried, tried to deal with my sorrow in a healthy, Christ-like way. I blogged, I cried out to God, I went to a Christian counselor. But that did not stop the anxiety. Oh, the crazy, horrid anxiety that clawed at me. It did not stop the images that kept showing themselves uninvited of me sitting on my kitchen floor, bleeding out from freshly cut arms.

Oh, dear friends. This is the horrible, horrible truth of how bad I was.

I have friends who have had losses. They have had later losses. or more traumatic ones, and they did not plunge into the darkness as I did.

Why did I respond how I did?

Honestly, I can't tell you that anymore than I can explain why God picked the color blue for the ocean, and green for land.

However it happened -- I became a new person. And yes, I wore that name tag.

"Hi I'm Rachel. Habitual aborter. Infertile mom. Nice to meet you."

And then last March, almost a year ago now, we had the last (oh please, dear God, let it be the last) of the miscarriages.

And I went just numb. Numb to pretty much everything. I threw myself into Leyla's adoption because that was the only joy I could find. The rest of my life was just meh. Could do with it, could do without it.

When I lost the ability to care about my life -- it was time (OH, way past time) to make a serious change.

We called it. No more trying to conceive for a year.

And now that we are ending that year, I'm really leaning toward calling it quits for good.




Today at our mom's group (see how far I have come!!!), we talked about loving the gift more than the Giver. We talked about what takes up all our thoughts, our emotions, our time, our energy, our money and how those things become our idols.

And it just hit me.

For so long, I placed the value of getting a healthy baby from a healthy pregnancy above the Giver of Life Himself. I wanted a baby. Not the creator of life.


This is not something I want to admit. Oh, do I not want to admit it. Because you know, I'm just a girl that tried her best. I managed loss, and life changes, and adoption, and infertility, and health scares, and the loss of all control as best as I could.

I just was surviving. Surviving from day to day. Trigger to trigger. Loss to loss.

Just trying to make it through alive, and (hopefully) with a live baby to show for it.


It is humbling to admit that maybe I had survived wrong. That if I had changed my focus to the Giver instead of the gift, I may have made it through so much easier. To admit that I placed my babies before God himself feels like such failure.

I recently watched the movie Wild with a friend. It's about a woman who went to some serious extremes in order to deal with grief. And at the end, she admits that maybe she isn't so sorry she had sex with a ton of men, or became a druggie. Because somehow that turned her into who she is today.

And maybe I also feel a little like that. I do have some regrets about how I acted the last few years. I maybe wish that I could've trusted God more than I did. Maybe crave HIM more than I craved a baby.

But all that has led me to where I am today.

It's now part of my journey, part of my story . . . part of my PAST.

I have slowly been able to peel off that name tag, that identity as an infertile woman. Take off the label of the woman whose body kills her babies. Take off the label of bereaved. (Even as the grief will never fully be gone.)

Triggers come and go. So do the tears. But more days than not, I am excited about where I'm at and where I'm headed.

I've learned to see that as wonderful as a baby and a healthy pregnancy are, my life has more purpose and more to it than just that.

I have learned, as was mentioned in our group today, "Good things can be bad gods."

Fertility and healthy babies are GOOD THINGS! But they make bad gods.


And so as I set out each new day, I'm learning to put on a new name tag.

"Hi, I'm Rachel. I've stumbled, and I've fallen, and parts of me are scarred. But I'm learning, and I'm growing, and I'm covered in grace. I have a purpose, and a plan, and a God that's bigger than me.

It's nice to meet you."

Grief in the media? It's total BS. And I'm calling it for what it is.

We have a cute little Charlie Brown Christmas tree this year. It's small, has lots of gaps, and didn't exactly come at a price to match. 

But still. It's ours. 

And it was fun to put on some hot cocoa and decorate with the kids. (Well, partially decorate. I let them put on the non-breakable ornaments.)

After the kids and my husband went to their respective beds, I put on cheesy Christmas movies to watch as I finished trimming the tree.

For my second movie, I chose an old favorite: The Twelve Dates of Christmas. The main character has to relive Christmas Eve enough times until she does what she's supposed to on her blind date.

Spoiler alert. Her blind date is a widower. 

And that is the one part of the show that rubs me the wrong way. 

See, it's been almost a year since his wife died in an accident. And the show seems to portray that as forever ago. A year IS a long time right?? It's TIME for him to move on. Time to find a new girl.

So here he is, on Christmas Eve ... The eve of his first Christmas without his wife beside him. And what is he doing? Going on his very first date. 

I suppose you could argue that I'm being picky. And maybe I am. But I am so tired of the media portraying grief as this little thing to get over. This wee little bump on the road of life. 

And it's not just sappy movies. 

Scrolling through my newsfeed this morning, I found this little gem of a read on ABC news. "Robin Williams' Son Zac Opens Up About His Lingering Grief." Check out the first line. 

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/robin-williams-son-zak-opens-lingering-grief/story?id=27662444

Did you get that?

Zac is STILL grieving the death of his dad. His grief is LINGERING. 

After, you know, all of 4 months. (And they are selling this as news?)

Fall has passed since his father took his own life. One measly little season. Zac still has to get through Winter, Spring, Summer, and that ever-difficult first anniversary. But that's just the start. Many people, experts in their own right on the subject, agree that the second year is even harder. 

And the news portrays him as "stuck in grief?!?" Because 12 weeks should erase the pain of a loss of 30 years of memories?

I'm calling it.

Why is our understanding of grief so outdated? So wrong? 

Our social media these days is chalk-full of campaigns to make the media portray life as it really is. 

Passionate individuals write viral blogs about accepting a postpartum belly. Loving a postpartum belly. Suddenly bikini belly is out, and postpartum belly is IN.

Super-sized companies like Dove drive TV and magazine campaigns around accepting a normal size body, and normal looking skin. 

Normal is the new beautiful.

Families who are raising a child with autism or Down's Syndrome or another   disability share their stories and videos to normalize their experience with the rest of us. Maybe we aren't yet where we should be ... But we're making strides.

I think as a whole, this is all really a good thing.

I love that we are no longer accepting that a waif-looking creature is the body type we should all aspire to. 

I love that we are realizing that our bodies are more than things to put on display, but are these amazing instruments we use to serve our families in love.

But why -- please, please tell me why --  we are leaving the totally normal, totally human function of grief back in the dark ages?!

Why do we accept shows that portray a loss as a bump in the road. Why do we read articles that declare people moving through loss as "stuck" or "lingering"? Why do we accept this as news?

Besides love, grief is probably one of the most fundamental emotions a person can go through. And we ALL go through it. 

We lose jobs and pets and promotions. We lose parents and grand parents and siblings. We lose a friend. We lose a spouse. We lose adult children and children before they were born. 

And if we haven't experienced a grief of our own (yet), we are watching someone else go through it. The mom in the church whose daughter has inoperable cancer. The family whose husband and dad went to sea and never came back. 

And with Facebook and Twitter, grief is even more apparent. The 12-year-old shot suddenly. The mom who dumped her kid off a bridge. The beautiful baby whose kidneys aren't working. 

And we mourn as a nation. The kindergartners and teachers shot at Newton. The families killed watching Batman in a movie theatre. Little Caylee Anthony, who we all loved and mourned in our own way.

And yet with all this grief, and all this sickness, and all this dying, we STILL accept what media tells us about grief. 

That it should not last long. (Give it 5 minutes to 5 days.)

That is is not normal (no one wants to be stuck or lingering.)

That it is something to get over (and if you don't get over it, something is wrong with you.)

That joy over things like Christmas should trump grief, not trigger it.

That it is best dealt with privately or alone. If absolutely necessary, than with a licensed professional. (Why else do we tell moms it's for their benefit not to announce a pregnancy for 12 weeks ... So if they lose the baby no one else has to know they are grieving.)

 

Maybe it's just me ... But I am so over it.

What society tells us about grief .... What the movies say ... What reporters report ... It's all BS. 

The truth is you don't get over it. It changes the fiber of who you are. It becomes a part of you. Sonetimes, a big part, sometimes a small part. But true grief changes you forever. 

It stays with you longer than you could ever predict. It pops up unannounced, even when you think you have come to terms with your loss. 

You can do all the "right" things: journal privately, see a counselor, and maybe let one or two people support you. But you will not speed up grief. It refuses to be rushed through, to be checked off as a to-do list. 

Grief operates outside of the confines of time. 

80 years may pass, and a certain smell will trigger tears of loss. A child never known outside the womb may have only been around for weeks ... And yet the loss and knowledge of that little life sticks around for a lifetime. 

Grief only magnifies itself when it is coerced into a dark corner, away from the light, away from support, away from others. 

Isolate grief -- and you have a monster. Share grief -- and you have a friend. 

It is Christmas. A time for joy. But for oh-so many, a time of grieving. And the many subtle and not-so-subtle messages we've received about grief can make us feel so alone. 

"If everyone else is over it, why aren't I?"

"If this season is about hope and happiness, why am I crying at every ornament I place in my tree?"

"If I were stronger or a better person, it wouldn't hurt this much."

To you who are grieving, may I please speak to you from my heart.

The media? They know nothing. The person next to you grieving? Their grief will look different than yours. Chances are their grief even looks different than what they are letting you see. Everyone else? Put their expectations, their hopes and their losses aside. 

Only you can grieve your grief that way you need to. The way that is true to you. And you know what? It's going to take as long as it will take. No more, no less.

You, dear hurting soul, are doing well with your grief. I know you are lonely, but if you can, let those of us around you show support. Let us grieve with you.

No timeline. No expectations. No silly stages for you to walk through.

Just us ... here with you. Feeling your love. Feeling your loss. 

And right here ... Mourning with you.

No matter if you are 5 minutes or 50 years into your grief, may you know this Christmas, you are not alone.

P.S. One more little lie I'd like to clear up. You know all those grieving people in the movies? How they look so broken and weak? That is a lie. The strongest people in my world are the ones walking through grief.

Issy's Story: Natural miscarriage at 12 weeks

Issy, 

Thank you for sharing your story with us. I'm so very sorry for your loss of Shiloh. The name you picked out is perfect. And the way you described everything makes me feel as though We are right there with you. Thanks for sharing so candidly. I hope you had a gentle anniversary last month. 

<3 Rachel

It was my 29th birthday present. My husband was at a church concert and I was getting E (1.5 years at the time) ready for his bath. We were leaving for vacation in a few days and I thought, "What the heck, it's early, but I'll just see."

E was in the bathtub splashing around when I looked at that positive cross. I just started laughing and crying all at the same time, and E giggled along with me (not having a clue why!). 

"You're going to be a big brother!" I kept telling him. 

My husband came home and when he came into the bathroom, I told him, "It's a good thing I didn't go with you." 

"Why?" 

"Because I wouldn't have found out that you're going to be a Daddy again!" He, of course, was ecstatic. It was a great evening.

Fast forward three months. It was a few days before our 12-week ultrasound. I had had a polar opposite first trimester than I did with E (our firstborn). I was never sick and felt great! But the lack of illness made me so worried, and in the back of my brain I had, for some inexplicable reason, the feeling that I would never get to hold my baby in my arms. I couldn't understand it.

It was a Wednesday night, and just as I was getting ready for bed, it started. A tinge of red on the toilet paper. And I instantly knew, and started crying. 

I went to bed, and we both started praying hard, hoping the one hope that every parent who knows they are losing their child hopes for. 

The next morning, I went to work (teaching at our local community college). Thankfully, I had planned for a movie as I was on the verge of tears and was working to contain myself. After class, having called, I went in to the doctor's. 

The sweet young nurse pulled out the machine to listen for the heartbeat...and while I stared at that ceiling, her silence confirmed everything. "Well, we can't be sure until we do an ultrasound," she nicely said, trying to foster any hope that I might still have had. But I had none and couldn't keep the tears from flowing. 

She quickly left to get an older nurse (presumably one more experienced with this type of situation). They both came back and all I could say was, "I already know." The older nurse nodded her head, not really being able to verbally agree with me and just said, "Mothers have instincts about this. We'll see what the ultrasound says." 

So I was sent up to the second floor of the clinic, to get official confirmation. And as I slipped into that bluish, open-backed shirt thingy, I couldn't help but think that this was suppose to be an exciting and joyous time, not one met with tears and anguish. Even in the room, I clung to the tiniest amount of hope that my baby was okay.

The ultrasound tech looked at the screen for a bit and got quiet. Through my tears, I said, "The baby's gone, isn't it?" She nodded. I asked how long ago and she said around 10.5 weeks. I was to go back downstairs and talk about my options. 

As I left the ultrasound suite, as cruel irony had it, I of course had to pass by the pregnant mother with her barely year old and toddler in tow. 

I remember stopping by the window to look out at the pretty little lake and waterfall that was in the hospital's outdoor court. I picked up my phone to call my husband and brokenly told him. Then had to head over to the lab for bloodwork (still not sure why to this day!) and then back to my midwife. Waiting in the office, I tried not to be bitter as pregnant patient after pregnant patient walked in.

I admit, I wanted everything to be done as quickly as possible. I could have a D & C, which I wanted to schedule immediately. But even in my heartbreak, God was watching over me. My midwife said that my body had already started the "process" and if I could give it a few days to see what happened, it would be better. So I agreed, and left to make the sad, lonely drive home. 

The whole thing had taken about 2 hours, and I honestly don't remember ever crying so much. All I could do was wonder how long "it" would take. I had to teach a private lesson that afternoon (again, where was my head?), and afterwards we went to have dinner with a family member who knew what was going on. 

I mindlessly sat on the couch and as it got later, I started feeling the cramps set in. We left, came home, got E into bed, and then both my husband and I fell into bed and fell asleep crying.

Warning: The next section might be graphic.

I woke up around 1am that Friday morning with some serious cramping. I got the heating pad out and laid on top of it. After about 15 minutes, I felt something drop in me (of course now I know - it was the baby dropping down into the birth canal). I ran into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. In one push, the baby slid out. All I could do was cry. I got up and looked down at my baby, so small and helpless but perfectly formed, even at 10.5 weeks. 

She/he had fingers and toes, and I could see the closed eyes. My baby...so tiny...almost a year later and I still cry over our loss as I write this. 

I went back into our room and told my husband, who had woken up and was sitting on the edge of our bed. We both cried and he said a prayer for us. And then I went to say goodbye. Even though our baby had already been gone for some time to be with the Lord, I had to tell him/her how loved he/she was, and that I would never forget, not for one single day, how much she/he meant to me, to us. 

And I haven't...each day I remember my baby in some form. I still cry over "what could have been". I often find myself thinking who she/he would have become, what my baby would have looked like, what kind of personality she/he might have had.

So in a natural miscarriage, you really have no idea what to expect and question practically everything that is happening to your body. The next day in the afternoon, I ended up delivering the placenta. I had to do more research about that, as I didn't know what had happened really. But again, turning to other women's blogs helped me understand a bit more. 

It was so final, and while I was relieved that it was over, my sense of loss was so profound. I felt empty; my arms ached to hold my baby and my heart broke to know that I never would.

My husband and I chose to be very private about our loss. Only those family members and close friends that we had told knew, and I wanted it that way. I couldn't handle the sympathy, the expected phrases, and the statements that people make when they are trying to be helpful but end up hurting you more than silence every could. 

Over the next few months, my husband and I turned to each other in our grief, and to God. I would just start crying out of nowhere, and my husband was so understanding to just hold me and never probe. It took quite awhile, but the pain began to lessen, and I had the desire to name our baby. Our baby was a life, a person, and she/he died just as any other child or human being died. And I wanted to give our baby an identity. We chose the name Shiloh, which means peaceful one. It was so appropriate, as our baby is at peace and we will one day see him/her again.

Shiloh's "birth" date was September 5, 2013.