Miscarriage is an awful word.
Miscarriage. Miscarriage is such an awful word. I've tried it on and know it fits but hate it all the same. It’s heavy and ugly. It takes your breath away when reading the word but truly steals your breath like having stayed under water a bit too long when you actually experience it. It’s too much for two hands to hold. So, we don’t.
It’s a word that I have fully tried on, and I know it fits because we birthed our baby at home far too early, but nonetheless, the word still feels too tight and restricting. I still have a hard time verbalizing it and looking at the woman I’ve transitioned into in the mirror. So, I write. I write because it etches itself into your memory like nails on a chalkboard and you are not, nor will you ever be, the same woman again.
I don’t know which part will be worse:
The muscle memory my body has after experiencing three, beautiful and incredible births that placed living, breathing, snuggly babies in my hands. The muscle memory that is willing my body to feel things that it simply can’t and won’t feel because I didn’t birth a 9 pound baby nor am I (not) sleeping with one.
Or will it be the muscle memory my body has now created; the one that knows it housed an Angel for 11 weeks and let her go on August 31? The one that knew I’d birth her in my living room while crying into my husbands lap while speaking peace over myself. The one that I excitedly said “YES!” to when God placed her in my womb and the one where I obediently said “yes” to when God needed her back. Either way, God called and I choose defiant joy - joy in the face of darkness.
It’s as if I have taken a pilgrimage through motherhood; I have taken a journey to a sacred place as a demonstration of devotion and surrender.
I have written a very intimate account about our experience based on things I want to remember - both good and bad and beautiful and raw and real and hard to read; I plan on sharing when I feel brave because I believe that my experience was given to me by the One who wrote me in the story on purpose and with purpose and if I can bring one person closer to Him, then let it be.
Her name is Calvary Grace and HER story is enough to move mountains.
To my family, friends and strangers that have quite literally carried us through: I will never forget your presence and your generosity. Thank you for stepping in during the messiest season of our lives.
