Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Oct 5, 2010 5:36:50 GMT -5
FACING MISCARRIAGE
The gravel crunched under our feet as we trudged back to the car. Neither of us knew what to say. The birds in the trees seemed to sing on joyfully regardless, as though unaware of what was unfolding. We got into the car and sat there for a moment, in silence. This was not how it was meant to be. This was not what today was supposed to look like. You know how it feels when you are winded? When some impact causes a loss of breath and you just don’t have any strength for a moment. It felt like my soul was winded. The sudden impact, crushing the air out of my being.
Other friends had been for scans and we had been able to share the joy of the miracle of new life with them.
The scan is the big moment.
You can go public now.
The baby is developing well, the family celebrate, people wish you well, the scan goes up on Facebook and the rest of world “likes” it. It is real, we are having a baby.
Our scan was a painful, dreadful moment.
There was evidence of pregnancy but no longer of life.
Esther sat clutching the small black and white image, gently thumbing the glossy paper as though cherishing a frail loved one. There are not words for a moment like that. The sun was shining, the wind whistled through the branches of the trees, the smell of pollen from the Shropshire fields in the summer sun, and yet a great darkness had fallen.
This being, this bundle of hopes and aspirations and dreams and joyful moments of the last few weeks had gone. What ever it had been it was no longer. Game over.
“Weeping may remain for a night” asserts the psalmist. We are still in the night, and there has been much weeping. If life is a journey, and this is part of our journey, this feels like a very dark and oppressive route. So it is here, in the night, that we want to reach out and find God, to touch the heart of the loving Father, to know Him and be known by Him, to see the light.
© David Matthias
theroadtoelderado.blogspot.com/
The gravel crunched under our feet as we trudged back to the car. Neither of us knew what to say. The birds in the trees seemed to sing on joyfully regardless, as though unaware of what was unfolding. We got into the car and sat there for a moment, in silence. This was not how it was meant to be. This was not what today was supposed to look like. You know how it feels when you are winded? When some impact causes a loss of breath and you just don’t have any strength for a moment. It felt like my soul was winded. The sudden impact, crushing the air out of my being.
Other friends had been for scans and we had been able to share the joy of the miracle of new life with them.
The scan is the big moment.
You can go public now.
The baby is developing well, the family celebrate, people wish you well, the scan goes up on Facebook and the rest of world “likes” it. It is real, we are having a baby.
Our scan was a painful, dreadful moment.
There was evidence of pregnancy but no longer of life.
Esther sat clutching the small black and white image, gently thumbing the glossy paper as though cherishing a frail loved one. There are not words for a moment like that. The sun was shining, the wind whistled through the branches of the trees, the smell of pollen from the Shropshire fields in the summer sun, and yet a great darkness had fallen.
This being, this bundle of hopes and aspirations and dreams and joyful moments of the last few weeks had gone. What ever it had been it was no longer. Game over.
“Weeping may remain for a night” asserts the psalmist. We are still in the night, and there has been much weeping. If life is a journey, and this is part of our journey, this feels like a very dark and oppressive route. So it is here, in the night, that we want to reach out and find God, to touch the heart of the loving Father, to know Him and be known by Him, to see the light.
© David Matthias
theroadtoelderado.blogspot.com/
