So, I have a confession. Although my motivation for this blog was to share stories, and lessons learned in the hopes of encouraging others, I have found that so far, the one benefiting from it the most, is me. There's something about sharing your feelings, getting them out, expressing some things you've learned and are working through that is almost like therapy. Thanks for reading, and sharing this whole experience with me.
I want to talk tonight about one of the darkest periods of my life. In case I don't communicate this point, I will start with it. With every storm, there is an end, the skies part, and the sun shows itself again. At the end of a storm, is always a golden sky. Keep that point in mind as you read this.
Five years ago, my wife and I were blessed to learn she was pregnant with our fourth child. We had made some great progress in growing our relationship, and strengthening our marriage, so this baby was like a reward, or gift for our efforts. The pregnancy never developed, and my wife miscarried. My wife was devistated, and I was dealing with it, but still handling everything at home, keeping our family moving forward while my wife grieved. We had the never ending love and support from many people, and we got through it. We continued to grow in our ministries, moved into a position of youth and children's pastor at a church, and continued to build upon our faith. After two years, Emily was pregnant again. We shared this with our friends and family, and prayed without ceasing. We committed to each other and to God that we would trust him, and we placed the outcome of this pregnancy in his hands. We had our first sonogram. So far, so good. Everything looked normal, and we saw the heartbeat on that sonogram. A few weeks later, we heard the baby's heartbeat. We felt overwhelming joy that things were going fine, still praying without ceasing. The next sonogram showed a healthy fetus, and it actually was moving! Little arms and legs, the baby fluttering all over the place. Due to the previous miscarriage after three perfect pregnancies, the doctors set up a sonogram for the next Friday. The baby was hiding that day, so they decided to try again Monday. Emily told me to go to work as usual that day, no need for me to miss work again. I received a phone call at work from Emily, crying hysterically, and all she could get out was it happedned again. The nurse got on the phone, and explained to me that the baby had died at some point over the weekend. No heartbeat. No movement. The fetus was starting to detach, and fill with fluid. No life. The next days were a blur, filled with heartache, worry, pain, the task of telling everyone what had happened. Although we were surrounded by loving, supportive friends and family, it was the lonliest time of my life. After my wife recovered physically, she made it her mission to not let this destroy her. She talked about it. She even spoke about it at church one Sunday, as part of the message that day. I admired her strength. I respected her resolve. And I loved her more than I ever had. I, on the other had, was not doing so well. As a youth and children's pastor, it was my job, my calling, my passion, to love, care for, help guide and teach kids. Other people's kids. It was my life. I couldn't get my head around the fact that the one thing I love so much in this world, is the very thing that was taken from me, not once, but twice. It took me a while to go back to church, and resume my duties, but I wasn't the same. When my little girl died, ( we named her Sarah), a part of me died too. For months, I mourned. I couldn't get out of the darkness that was around me. I was going through the motions, not really meaning what I was doing, or believing in the faith I had spent years teaching. The storm was brewing, and I was lost.
In February the next year, my wfe told me that she was pregnant again. Fear and panic set in, and I said and reacted in a very hurtful way about it. See, I gave up on having a little girl, I was content with the family I had. My reaction, anxiety, and fear during the entire pregnancy took it's toll on me, my wife, and my marriage. During that time, the church I loved, devoted so much to, closed. I had a very painful surgery to fix my nose, and some sinus issues, and it was a long recovery. Emily and I were really struggling with our marriage, and it was falling apart. The storm was now raging in my life, and I was still mourning the losses of the other two babies. It was very tough for Emily too. She had to take daily injections, which were painful, and medication that made her feel sick her entire pregnancy. Even at 7 months when our closest friends threw her a wonderful baby shower, I was still detached from the whole thing. At 9 months when we finished the nursery, beautifully done for a new baby girl, I was still expecting the worst. I never let my self love the baby. I wouldn't let myself believe it would work out. Then she came. My grandmother (well, she's really my great aunt, but she is more of a grandmother to me than any of mine were) was in the room when she was born. She had never had children of her own, so we wanted her to witness it, and be a part of it. Her love and support helped us through so much, and made us feel loved, to an extent of which I don't think she realizes. All at once, I was staring at my beautiful, healthy, pink little girl. I placed my hand on her back, and stared into her eyes, and in an instant, fell in love. I cried so much that day, out of love, out of relief, out of sadness. My grandmother still says she'll never forget watching me fall in love with my little girl.
Fast forward 18 months. We have a beautiful little girl who is such a blessing to us. She brought so much joy and love to our family. We needed her. My boys needed her. I needed her. I still struggled throughout the year and a half. My faith took a hit that I stll feel. There is this weird disconnect with me and God now. I drank again, after being sober for 7 years. My marriage almost fell apart. Even though I had this gift, the storm was still raging in me. I can say now the storm has past, and I see the clouds parting. The sun is coming out. I realized with the help of a good friend, that I made that second loss of my daughter and idol in my life. I let the loss, not the recovery, define me. I never gave God the chance to heal my heart. I was so focused on the hurt, pain, chaos, confusion of all the events of that year, that I lost track of me. I lost track of what I do have. A wife that loves me, and takes care of me, and my children. Three boys who are just as in love with their sister as I am. Four healthy, beautiful, talented, smart children. A home. A job. My health got better. Wonderful friends. A new church home, where people have spent the last year helping us heal. I'm also leading the children's ministry again, loving kids. I still struggle somedays, but the darkness is gone. I'll always think about the little girl I lost. Here's what I know though, if not for those losses, we never would have been given the gift of Emma. We never would have felt, and understood the true joy and healing she has brought for all of us. And one day, when this storm called life is over for all of us, and the clouds part, I have two children waiting to bring me home, and someday, my famly will be whole, and the two we lost, will meet the one who saved me, my Emma.
No matter what the storm, trust me, after it passes, there will be a golden sky. Check out the video posted today too!
No comments:
Post a Comment