We had just shared with our family that we were expecting a second child. My body was changing as it had the previous pregnancy, and we had begun to purchase items in preparation. I don’t remember when I began to wonder if something was wrong, but the spotting around 10 weeks confirmed what I had sensed. It became a spiritual battle of praying desperate prayers and feeling like I did not get the answers I wanted.
I made an appointment with my doctor, who sent me for an ultrasound. Having been pregnant before, I knew that an abdominal ultrasound should have yielded the result at this stage that was anticipated, and when they switched to an internal ultrasound, I began to cry. My husband was in the waiting room and we left in silence.
On the drive home, my doctor phoned with the results, explaining that I was indeed having a miscarriage. What I didn’t know then was the way it would affect me physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.
I recognized the feeling of cramping; it felt the same as when I nursed my first child. The pain was there, but I had no baby to hold while my uterus returned to its previous size. This pain was a private and personal one—a difficult thing to explain to someone who has not experienced it.
I remember wanting desperately to hold this life that had begun to grow. I was at a friend’s home when it left my body, and I remember holding it in my hand and weeping while I sat on her toilet. Not knowing what to do with what had been a life I had so much hope for broke my heart.
Waiting on Sunrise 