I think miscarriage must be harder if you don’t already have at least one child. Because if you have a child, a) you know your body can grow a baby (or that adoption is a great option) and b) kids are a great distraction. It’s hard to wallow in mourning when the kids you do have are trying to kill each other over the last gummy vitamin.
One of the first things I loved about Mr. Bennet was how guileless he was. His children are guileless too, though Sally shows signs of a prepubescent slyness at times. Guilelessness is comforting; you can trust all your secrets to someone who is guileless.
The first time I miscarried, I came back from the hospital in Egypt and when our friends brought Sally home, I sat on the hard floor in the entry hall and pulled her on to my lap. I smelled her little-girl hair and felt the weight of her body on my crossed legs, and the world that had been tilting madly, settled.
Saturday afternoon I read my three daughters stories. Even Sally, who has read to herself most days for a couple of years now. Halfway through I explained about the miscarriage. The girls were in the habit of referring to the baby in my tummy quite casually and proprietarily, and that would get awkward, even as the sharp prick of such constant reminders eased.
So I told them. That there isn’t a baby anymore, that we won’t be having a baby this spring. That there was something wrong, that the baby wasn’t healthy or able to grow right, and so it had died, and Sally said, disbelieving: “But you prayed for it, Mommy.”
I explained: that Heavenly Father answers our prayers not always how we want them answered but in the way that is best for us (in the long run). That even when the answer is no, it’s not no because He loves us less but because He loves us and knows things we don’t. And that He allows bad things to happen, even to good people. That we pray to change ourselves, not God.
I can supply the understanding, the perspective. I can tell her I believe God is mindful of our sorrow and weeps with us, but when it comes down to it, I wonder too — not so much about my little heartache, God allows much worse things to happen to many people every day — but why pray if it doesn’t change things?
Still, I’m in awe of Sally’s faith; it comforts me like the smell of little-girl hair. I want her to keep that simple faith that prayers are answered as she learns that the answer is not always yes. I’m in awe because I don’t think she got that conviction from me. I think she came with it.
—
(Thank you all for your kind words of comfort. Each message meant a great deal to me. I’ve wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed every day and it helps to know that if I make the effort to turn on the computer, there’s probably something thoughtful to read.)
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First of all, I am so so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how hard it must be. I’m truly sorry.
Second, Wow, Sally!, that is a wonderful faith you’re growing. I love how kids amaze us at every turn, even the difficult ones. Sometimes I wonder if that is God, speaking up a little through them, to reassure us that he’s there.
Jane Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:30 pm
Thanks. I do think God speaks to us through our children. There’s no other explanation for some of the things they say. (Of course, some of the other things they say, I wonder).
I’m convinced that God has given us our children to motivate us to be stronger and to be our teachers. What an amazing little girl you have there! I’m glad you have a wonderful, supportive family.
Jane Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:31 pm
Yes — if I didn’t have to set a good example, who knows where I’d be
.
I am so sorry!!
When I went through my miscarriage you encouraged me to keep writing about it, and it helped. So now I do the same for you. Keep writing. You’ll write through tears but in the end you’ll feel better and glad that it is all “out there” and not inside.
Jane Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:32 pm
Thanks, Beth. (I don’t know why it feels more self-indulgent to write about this sort of thing. It’s not like my normal posts are about anything less self-centered. Maybe it’s knowing that posts like these will sadden others, and we hate to do that?)
Absolutely beautiful post.
Beautifully said, and I’m so very sorry.
I’m sorry to hear about your loss. It was hardest for me to tell my daughter when I had my miscarriages also. What a wonderful spirit your daughter has and what a comfort that her faith is so strong. A testiment to you and your husband.
Jane Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:35 pm
My middle daughter has said to me a couple of times now (she’s 5) that I should have caught the baby when it fell out of my body, before it ran away. I wasn’t very technical in describing the miscarriage, but now I kind of hope she forgets about it until she’s old enough to better understand, you know?
Still praying God will ease your pain and give you peace and comfort. He DOES sometime change things. I think, for me, that is the hardest thing, that sometimes He does, and sometimes He doesn’t, and I just don’t get why. What makes one time different from another? I don’t get that.
Jane Reply:
August 31st, 2009 at 10:33 pm
Good point. And when He does change things, that’s evidence of His mercy/love and when He doesn’t, it is too. I believe that, but it doesn’t always feel like it.
I’m so sorry to hear about your miscarriage. I thought the way you explained it to your daughter was so beautifully put though. It sounds like even though it’s hard you’re dealing with it well and with a great deal of faith! I’d admire you for that. Thanks for sharing your story.
I used similar phrasing when I explained my 2 miscarriages to the boys.
Kids are wonderful distractions from the loss.
The way you explained the miscarriage to your children was beautiful. I am terribly sorry.
When I had mine, I just didn’t have the strength to explain it… and I realize now it was a disservice to my children. While I was heartbroken, I could have had a wonderful teaching moment with my kids about God’s love and mercy.
You are a good woman for realizing that.