Wednesday, February 15, 2012


My miscarriage has continued for the past 48 hours, and time is still marching on. Sometimes I wish the clock would just stop, just for a little bit, so that I could climb into my bed, pull the covers up over my head, and have a little bit of time alone to sort all of this out in my head. But so far that has not happened, the clock stopping, so I just keep pressing forward. We did have a nice, quiet (as quiet as a house with five teenagers and three children can be!), Valentine's day yesterday. After we completed our school assignments in the morning, the girls and I baked Boss a peanut butter and chocolate trifle. We sure do love Boss, and he sure loves peanut butter and chocolate, so we figured that would be a nice surprise for him. The girls got to lick the bowl, so they were happy campers. We also decorated the house with all of the party supplies I had intended to use for our baby announcement party the evening before. After dinner my little ladies took a candlelit bubble bath, and we all agreed that this day had been better than the one before it.

Today I had to drive back to the hospital for a follow up blood draw. I won't know until this afternoon what the results are, but basically, if the numbers have gone up there might still be hope, but if they have gone down, I have indeed miscarried. My heart already knows the results. It seemed cruel that I had to first explain to a stranger why I was there, and then that I had to sit in a waiting room full of women with large, lovely, baby bellies, who were there getting their glucose tests or a variety of other things done. It didn't matter to me that I had three healthy children at home. I know there are some families who have lost living children, some who have experienced multiple miscarriages, some who have no children at all to love. I know how blessed I am, I feel it and am thankful, and I know that this miscarriage is not a tragedy. It is a disappointment. But I did want this particular child. I wanted the September birthday, exactly two and a half years apart from Jack, and I wanted all of my children born in even numbered years. It was supposed to be 2004, 2006, 2010, and now 2012. (I never said that I was normal! Ha!). So for two days I have been mourning (pouting about?) all of the things that I had wanted this pregnancy to mean for our family's future. It has not been pretty.

It was when I was sitting in the chair, when the tech was about to stick me, that I noticed it. I had turned my head away so that she would not see my tears, when my eyes took notice of the picture on the wall. Perhaps it was a picture of a rainbow? I am not certain, but I am certain about what the caption at the bottom said. The picture was entitled VISION, and the line underneath read:

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." ~ Marcel Proust

And right there in that plastic hospital chair, my heart was given a clear vision for the first time in days. Perhaps years. Life is not about where I am or what happens to me. It is how I see it and what I do about it that matters! Essentially, it is all about perspective! I know I have heard this particular lesson preached before, probably from my mother, but it took root in my soul in a new way for me today. My life has been sorely lacking vision. It was sorely lacking before I lost this baby, and it will continue to lack if I don't begin to open my eyes and look around me at what is really there, instead of only looking at what I want or desire to be there.

I have felt restless for quite some time. Years, really. Always thinking that changing this, or doing that will make things better. Add some spice to my life. I am ashamed to admit that I have even felt that way about having children. When you are pregnant, even if you are doing nothing, you are still doing something! Growing a person! But, oddly enough (or not really oddly at all), it never does. The change never lasts forever and the new thing never stays new. The babies grow up into delightful little people and need me less and less. They find their independence, while I am left still wondering what I am going to be when I grow up. And before long I feel restless once again. But sitting in that chair this afternoon, I realized that I don't need new circumstances. And I don't need a new life. I certainly would have loved a new baby, this baby, but what I most desperately need is a new set of eyes.

I don't know why I could not keep this particular baby. I sure wish that I had been able to. But I know that God knows why, and that this is just a tiny part of my entire story. A tiny person, a tiny part of the big picture, but a big part in perhaps giving this Mama a new set of eyes. A new life created that ended up giving me a new way of looking at life. And that feels pretty amazing. I know that God is at work, and I can't wait to see how He finishes this chapter. I have my eyes wide open, and I am ready to see.