Tattered Rags of Child Loss

There lays a woman writhing, blood soaked pads cluttering her feet.

The river won’t stop gushing and with it the expulsion of tissue.

She heaves sobs.

Shriveling lining exhales;  goodbye whispers.

Porcelain bowls, scrubs, or paper feet, all harbingers of sorrow.

Tears etch a wailing mother.

Gone, but not forgotten.

How many babes do you have? 

I stutter, one; always knowing in my heart that isn’t true.  With the start of the newest cycle I shudder.  Could this be one I never knew too?  Was it too early to be shown by a test?

October is miscarriage, stillborn, and infant loss awareness month.  I’m all too aware.  This scar will never be erased.  I carry, but yet don’t, him or her; no one knowing unless I divulge this information.

So I write this lament as a tribute to my fellow sisters.  It is a group we never wished to form or join.  Our fists shake and wonder why God could allow for such pain. Yet, in due time we remove our clenched hand, replacing it with an open palm of worship.  We give thanks for his knowledge, timing, and power.  We know not the plans he has waiting or the tapestry he’s weaving, all of life’s art for his glory.

Personally, if I don’t let go, I won’t notice the glimmers of joy in the eyes of my current squirming girl.  I won’t appreciate the prayer that was answered perfectly; she has the personality I begged to have from my Lord.  You see, she is my impossible girl; impossible if I had not had a previous loss.   So I pray I won’t keep her at a distance, spiteful for losing one just before her.  This girl is my scientific wonder and may I admire her, and in turn God’s greatness, as such.

While we forever wander in the quake of uncertainty, fearful of it happening again, may we never forget to observe what he has delivered to us or delivered us from.

Perhaps it is with my gift receipt that I utter gratitude.  There are some who will never rear the sown seed. I pray that they won’t be bitter, begrudgingly looking at my child’s smile because eventually I held my longing and their arms still hold lonely air.  I know the pain, in part; I don’t blame their frustration and resentment, but hope they’ll forgive circumstances beyond my control.  I pray she’ll forgive God and trust that he has a purpose for her life, even if it isn’t the personal plan she drafted.

Although, if you still gawk and sneer.  I address you to reassure you.

You are a MOTHER…even if you can’t give evidence to the world without quivering in vulnerability and disclosing personal tragedy.

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