It's taken me over a week and a half to write this, but I am determined to finally hit the "publish" button. I've wrestled with what's too much to share, and have had to stop writing countless times because I couldn't stop the tears. As difficult (and healing) as this has been to write, I yearn more for the story to be told.
The following is a post I wrote on Tuesday afternoon, the 15th of September. I saved it in my drafts because I felt like there would be more to write later. How little I knew then...
"I never knew joy and grief could hold hands. But right now, for me, they are tightly intertwined.
Two weeks ago, at 12 weeks pregnant, I awoke in the middle of the night with mild hemorrhaging. I couldn't tell whether it was more my body processing the shock of what was happening, or fear that had gripped me, but I lay shaking on our bathroom tile, weeping. The thought of losing (another) baby made it feel like my soul was cracking. Andrew had brought me a pillow, a glass of water, and lit a candle before he stepped out to let the ER know we'd be on our way.
At the ER (early morning, September 2nd), a sonogram delighted us with the view of one wiggly baby, rolling and sucking it's thumb. Relief swept over us to see our little one was okay, even though mystified by the surrounding circumstances. We got back home around 3:30am, and as Andrew unloaded our sleepy girls from the car, I told him I just needed a minute alone. He reluctantly agreed, and went in to put the girls back to bed. I sat in the quiet for a moment before texting my Dad. He'd be up in a couple hours, and I knew would bathe us in prayer. Reaching out was comforting, but sleep would be the next thing to do. I was exhausted.
Something felt wrong as I got out of the car. I became lightheaded, then felt water rush down my legs and flood over my feet. Phone in hand, I called Andrew to come help me. I took a step forward, holding onto the car, but more blood and water came down. Andrew rushed to my side, and started helping me toward the house, but I couldn't go any further. I slowly crumpled onto the driveway, debilitated. We sat there, him once again praying over me as he had done so many times before in that early morning. And again, I found myself on the ground, tears flooding down, wondering if we'd lost the baby we'd seen just an hour before.
We were beyond grateful to hear a heart beat the following day. I learned that while blood loss in pregnancy doesn't always mean miscarriage, based on what I had experienced, it is likely that I had been carrying fraternal twins.
Twins. The idea is still so strange to me, but the more I think about how different this pregnancy has felt from the others, what my body has gone through, and the gut-sense in my Mama heart, I believe I was carrying two babies.
It's been two weeks since our visit to the ER, but it's just now that my body is finally letting go of that baby. Today the sadness for our miscarried child has arrived in full force. Relief for one healthy baby still in my womb, mixed with grief for the one we lost is such a strange cocktail of emotions. To feel one baby kicking as my uterus cramps down has again brought me to my knees in gratefulness for life, as well as sorrow over death.
The highs in life are sweet, and dare I say, usually taken for granted. But the lows, those valleys we never expect, and even hope to avoid, that's where I have found Jesus to be the most tender. Trials have a way of throwing us out of auto-pilot, and onto our knees. Whether it be the blow of realizing your sin for the first time, the loss of a job, the pain of persecution, or losing a baby, in the womb, or earth-side...we are not in control, and we need Him.
We may not ask for, or want the valleys, but His presence in going there with us is deeply sweet. Intensely comforting. Beautifully faith building. If we can only lean into Him, the Great Comforter, Who knows the path before us, and the inevitable light ahead."
I wrote this on Tuesday afternoon, the 15th of September. That morning, I'd discovered my body was completing the loss of the twin I'd been carrying. That evening, Andrew came home with the news that his company was shutting down all of the gas lift districts. Including his. He would be kept on for another two weeks to close down his shop, before he'd be out of work.
In the Wednesday and Thursday that followed, my body began laboring. I prayed my body could tell the difference between the death and life in my womb, and that I could carry our other baby to full term. There was still hope. When the contractions became stronger Thursday evening, I began to realize we'd have to say goodbye to our other child, too.
Friday morning arrived, a friend came to take the girls for several hours so I could rest, and our pastor's wife arranged bringing us dinner that evening. With no new work coming in, Andrew was able to come home early, and be there with me as my labor started up around 2pm. My contractions grew stronger and by 4pm, I knew we would soon see our child. God gifted me with such a great awareness of where I was during each stage of labor, so sensing my contractions were near their end, I moved to the bathroom in time for my water to break. God gave me such intense peace and I was able to catch our son as he was born.
We named him Andrew "Christian". He fit perfectly in my hand. At 14 weeks development, he was flawlessly formed. A tiny person, with every detail in place. A precious little mouth that opened, miniscule but impeccably designed fingernails, thread-like veins running through his entire body, and a beautifully, uniquely-Borne shaped nose. His profile was so like his big sisters.
Our pastor and his wife arrived shortly after Christian had been delivered, and were there to care for our girls as Andrew and I held and loved our son. They cleaned the kitchen, brought flowers, and food, and our pastor helped Andrew dig the spot where we would bury Christian. But to me, in addition to sharing in our mourning, the most beautiful gift they offered was a lidded wicker basket with an embroidered vintage cloth inside. Amidst the shock of an early delivery, we were completely unprepared to find an appropriate vessel to carry our son. What a thoughtful, precious gift.
We gathered in the living room, and our pastor rested his hand on the basket and prayed from The Book of Common Prayer:
"O God, Whose Beloved Son did take the little children into His arms and bless them: Give us grace, we beseech Thee, to entrust this child, Andrew Christian Borne, to Thy never-failing care and love, and bring us all to Thy heavenly kingdom: through the same Thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."
After the prayer, they left us to be together as a family. All five of us bodily together, but in our hearts more than that number. We went outside, and I sat on the bench holding Christian, just for a little more time; to tell him I loved him, and that we'd be together again soon. I wasn't ready to let go of his tiny body, but realized I never would be. Andrew came to me and took the basket containing our precious gift. We prayed and returned him to the earth, from which we're all made. We "planted" our Christian, along with the memory of his twin gone before him. She was delivered the next day, and we're remembering her as our daughter and sister, Andrea "Charis" Borne. Though it took us several days to come to terms with losing twins, it was important that we gave her a name and remember her life just as much as Christian's.
One week after we had said our goodbyes, we built a flower bed over the spot where we planted Christian. I've never cried harder than I did that morning, ripping out the grass surrounding that precious mound of dirt. Preparing the ground for something beautiful to be built has seemed like a microcosmic analogy for what God is doing in our lives. Our hearts are broken, but we know that He makes beautiful things out of dust, and our being left here to grieve our children has a purpose. We "remain to endure the loss, that they might have the reward sooner". (From a letter written by John Piper to a grieving mother of a stillborn son.) Instead of grass and dirt, we now look out on a bed with different colored flowers, visited by butterflies, and big sisters bearing flowers of their own, presented as gifts for their siblings in Heaven.
I have never known grief like this before, but as deep as the sadness has gone, Jesus has been there. He has comforted me during this sorrow of deferred dreams for my babies, the ache of missing little kicks waking me in the morning, and strangeness of feeling my body let go of the pregnancy. He's sustained me when it's felt like I can't breathe. He is nearer than I've ever known. He is the One Who holds our precious children, and with Him, they are alive, whole, and safe for eternity. What amazing comfort there is in having a sympathetic High Priest, Who intricately knows our suffering, and comforts us with His love, and the promise of Heaven!
There is still much on my heart to share, but will pause here. I'm learning much about trusting in God's goodness and sovereignty, about what it is to mourn and walk with this strange beast known as grief, and to long all the more for Jesus. I miss my babies more than I can say, but have faith that I will see them again.
Thank you for reading this post, and for remembering their lives. Christian and Charis are such beautiful gifts from God, and I am thankful.
