Looking for God's Light in the Darkness of Miscarriage

I was 16 weeks pregnant when we found out I had miscarried our third child. Thinking we were just going in for a quick appointment, we had taken our daughters, ages two and four, with us. I looked at the ultrasound screen expecting to see our wiggly little peanut doing swirls and dips and dives; but instead I saw our baby laying there, still and lifeless. And right there in front of strangers and my young children, I started sobbing big, ugly, loud and uncontrollable sobs. The ultrasound technician quickly turned off the screen, but it was too late. The picture was already seared into my memory. The next hour was a blur of tears, doctors, questions, sorries and soggy Kleenexes. For two days I sat in the darkness of my grief. My sadness consumed me. I cried in my sleep. I walked around numb.

I was always taught to turn to God in times of struggle. So the next morning I went to our Church and sat in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel. I sat in the quiet and wept and prayed. I began praying the rosary, looking for comfort. I began to think about Mary. She was a mother, just like me. She would understand my grief and take it to the Lord. I wanted God to tell me why this had happened to us. I wasn't angry, just sad and confused. Surely, he had a reason. We had prayed for this baby. We had truly and deeply loved our unborn child. We had excitedly shared the news with everyone. The next day I was scheduled to go into the hospital to deliver. So I sat in the chapel on what I knew would be my last day with my baby. Even though his or her life was already gone, the idea of being separated from him or her seemed unbearable. I listened, but I couldn't hear God. He was quiet. Why wasn't he sending the light I was so desperately searching for? The darkness seemed like it might be endless.

I left the Church feeling lost. I had my usual long to-do list, but it all seemed so trivial. Nothing mattered. It wasn't thirty minutes later the phone calls and texts started coming. The news was spreading. Our family and friends were calling and sending out words of comfort and love; letting us know they were praying for us. Some shared their own stories of miscarriage. Many offered to bring over meals or to help with the girls - whatever we needed.

Through our friends and family, God was sending the light.

Slowly, I began to feel better. The phone calls, texts and emails came like a flood. With each kind word the darkness turned to gray and I thought maybe my grief would not suffocate me. I was not alone. We were deeply loved.

After a week or so, things began to go back to normal. But it was a new normal. I made peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for my girls, folded towels and watched tv after bedtime stories. But in our new normal, my grief would sneak up on me at random times during the day. For a few minutes, and sometimes hours, my grief would overwhelm me and the tears would flow. But there was something else different about our new normal. It was so full of love, kindness and support that I could hardly believe it. Our marriage felt stronger and more precious than ever. On the worst day of my life, on the worst day of our lives, we had each other. My husband saw the weakest and ugliest parts of me that day in the hospital. He held my hand the entire time and whispered words of encouragement. Then he held together the pieces of my broken heart in the dark days that followed. He was patient and caring and never once thought of himself. In our new normal, we were reminded why marriage is a sacrament; a vocation.

In our new normal, I began to look at my daughters differently. I had loved them both beyond words from the minute the pregnancy tests read positive. But now, I began to see them through God’s eyes. I saw them for the absolute miracles they were. They were our greatest gifts from God, meant to be protected and cherished.

After our miscarriage, we discovered that we have the most amazing family and friends. We were showered with prayers, cards, phone calls, texts, flowers and meals. Family, close friends, coworkers and even people I hadn't talked to in years reached out to us with words of condolence and comfort; sharing stories of their own loss. There were hundreds of people praying for us. I felt all those prayers wrap around me like a warm blanket. I could feel every single one of those prayers supporting me and truly healing me. We were covered in Christ-like friendship and blessings. Through my husband, my daughters, our family and friends, I saw the light of God again. I saw the light of God shine brighter than I ever had through the goodness and love of others. It's strange that during our darkest grief we had never felt so loved. It brings new meaning to one of my favorite sayings,

God is good, all the time.

All the time, God is good.