Best Grief Advice I’ve Received After a Miscarriage

I don’t remember who told me this but I found this transcribed note on my phone today.  If you or someone you know is grieving, I pray this little passage gives you hope and encouragement, and is a reminder that it's okay to feel. Feel the rush of emotions, allow yourself to go through the journey, with hopefulness that the person you will be in the other side is a better version of yourself. 

"Grief is a strange part of life, and it’s a cycle that should not be cut short. It cuts deep; it hits hard, and rolls over you with bone crushing waves. You need to just go through it, knowing one day you will come out better on the other side." -unknown

If someone you know, is grieving a lost love, a dream, an expectation, etc - the best thing you can do is be there for them. Be there while their pain is cutting deep wounds in their heart. Be there to pick them up after they've been knocked down by crushing waves of emotions. Even in moments where it feels like you aren't being much help, know that by being there, you are making a difference by pouring love into their life. 

Grieving a Working Body

I’ve been dancing since the age of 2, that’s when a knock-kneed little nugget walked into her first dance class. Almost thirty-three years later (wow, that makes me feel old!) I have a keen awareness of the instrument I use on the daily. I’ve developed knowledge to know when parts of my body are giving me trouble; it means a connecting muscle is tight or overworked. I’ve come to understand the mechanics of my body in a way to make it do movement that doesn’t come naturally. For example, balancing on one leg while spinning repeatedly doesn’t come naturally. One has to learn how to shift weight into one leg, learning to pull up while simultaneously sending energy down, lowering the shoulders down while elongating through the top of the head, etc.

Now translate that acumen of the body to someone dealing with infertility. For years I was forced to have an interesting relationship with my body - in a way that I could manipulate my body and make it do things that don’t come naturally. So I couldn’t help but question, “Why is my body struggling to successfully do something that is supposed to come so naturally? Why can my body do things that aren’t “natural” (like the example above), but can’t successfully hold onto a developing baby?”

Up until recently, I was pissed at my body. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, I would become enraged when my body released another pregnancy.  I became angry that my body, who I thought I knew so well, wouldn’t do what’s it’s suppose to do.

Then God presented me with a different perspective. What if my body IS working the way it’s supposed to. What if my body is working the way HE intends for it work. Sounds odd, no? Just hear me out for a moment.

What is my body is working as such because God’s plan is bigger than mine? What if my body works in the way it does, flawed and all, because He wants me to use my infertility experience to shed awareness and create a voice to those who are struggling in silence?

Now I ask the following questions:

“How is Jesus using my infertility for good?

How is He using my journey to impact others?

How is God using my infertility diagnoses for His glory?”

Thinking with this perspective has drastically shifted the way I view my body, and more so, my infertility diagnoses. I can’t change the details of my life, but I can change the definition – for His glory and for His sake.

A forgotten journal entry.

Truth. 

A year ago today I found out I was having another miscarriage. I'm usually really good at remembering when my miscarriages occur. As the anniversary of each lost baby gets closer my body remembers, it recalls the sensation of loss deep in it's bones.

This anniversary is different. To be honest, I forgot this happened a year ago today. My body didn't remind me by giving my a deep sense of grief like it normally does. My mind failed to replay the memory in my dreams. 

Do I care less about this pregnancy?  

Are my pregnancies starting to matter less because I've experienced so many?

Am I become numb to this infertility journey? 

Reading my journal entry from a year ago was eye opening to me. I'm reminded of a quote my friend shared with me, "Grief never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love." 

So although my body and my mind didn't remind me of the anniversary of losing my 10th pregnancy, it doesn't mean my grief has ended. No! My grief has simply changed, it looks and feels different a year later. 

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Journal Entry: December 18th, 2015

10 miscarriages.

Today Josh and I are left grieving another baby.  Another pregnancy, another baby that went straight to heaven.  It's odd to reflect back on our other 9 losses.  Somehow this one feels different.  My emotions are slightly more neutral, almost like I've been in this exact place before.  Oh right, I have.  It's like groundhog day - repeating the same chain of events over and over.  I wish for a different outcome, yet I'm left with the same experience. I'm left grieving a lost baby and grieving what little faith I had in my body.

It's not a coincidence that a lovely friend of mine sent me a necklace this week that is the daintiest guardian angle wing.  With it, her wise words:

"Grief never ends, but it changes.  It's a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.  It is the price of love."

So I'm gonna put one foot in front of the other, take one day at a time, making my way along this journey.  I know that God is tenderly holding my babies in heaven.

Side note: I also know God won't judge me for the McDonalds large fry and strawberry milkshake I'm about to devour.