little black journal

In the course of my schooling and career, I bet I’ve taken hundreds of tests. Nine months ago I took a new kind of test – one of the easiest ones I’ve ever taken, but also one of the most significant. I saw those two little pink lines and I lost my breath. I got all light-headed and tingly and my mind struggled to keep up as I sat on the bed next to Shane and said, “I think I’m pregnant”. We had wanted this for awhile, but somehow it still came as such a surprise. That morning was a euphoric blur of trying to take it all in and still keep our cool – we snapped a few goofy pictures in front of the mirror with that little stick of proof held out in front of us, we said a prayer thanking God for this miracle, and then we went about our day as normal. Except it wasn’t normal – I spent the morning secretly Googling due date calculators and early pregnancy symptoms and things I should and shouldn’t eat. I walked around the office with a sly smile on my face and looked at my pregnant coworker with newfound feelings of camaraderie and sisterhood. I marked February 17th on my calendar as the little one’s due date. I thought about shouting out our news over the office intercom, but I restrained myself – I wanted this to be Shane’s and my special secret for now, just in case. But just in case what? What could go wrong? We were prepared for this. We were healthy, young, ready to be a mom and dad.

Two weeks later, it went wrong.

I started seeing signs that things weren’t quite right, and after a visit to the doctor and several follow-up calls with the nurses, my dreams broke into a thousand little pieces and the pregnancy was declared over.  Where there was once fullness and joy, there was now sorrow and grief.  Deep, sobbing, soul-shaking grief.  Over the previous two weeks, we had already become so attached to the little one, nicknaming it “Poppyseed” once we’d read that an embryo at that stage is the size of one of those little black specks. I had started imagining the ways we’d transform our extra bedroom into a nursery, I was wandering into the baby section of department stores, and I would fall asleep at night with Shane’s hand on my stomach, dreaming of him as a father and our moms and dads as proud grandparents.  But for reasons far beyond our human understanding, this particular baby wasn’t meant to be.  Damn.  Damn, damn, damn.

I looked in the mirror this morning and couldn’t stop myself from picturing what things would be like if Poppyseed hadn’t been lost. My belly would be big and round. Or I might have a wee little baby in my arms, swaddled in warm blankets and nuzzled against my chest. It made my heart ache.  But there is hope in the midst of sorrow, and so much love in the midst of grief.  So I’ll cling to the hope and the love and be thankful for the plans God has for us.  But I will also shed tears  for the baby we’ll never know.