Motherhood Tabutiful: Tiffany's Story

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and we are sharing Tiffany’s story to help normalize the unsurmountable tragedy that is pregnancy and infant loss. So many families suffer in silence alone but the truth is that it is unfortunately much more common than we think. Your stories, and your babies, deserve to be shared.

This blog post was originally published for Motherhood Tabutiful on March 27, 2017.

It's been a year. A year since I saw you on that black and white screen. Tiny, fragile, motionless. A year since your daddy and I's world shattered into little fragments. A year where I have not stopped thinking about who you would have been. Twelve months. A year.

You were my favorite hello.

My hardest goodbye.

Miscarriage. The word alone is cringe worthy. As soon as you see two faint lines, your whole thought process shifts. You become more maternal. Your instincts take hold. Then -poof- it's all taken away from you in a tiny room. With those stupid paper sheets, that tacky wall color.

Instantaneous.

In early 2011, Brandon and I found out that we were expecting our second child. We were thrilled. Still very much young. But excited none the less. A sibling for BK. We told a few close relatives, shortly after announced to social media to validate it, then the very next day we lost the pregnancy. I was only 5.5 weeks along. We barely had time to process everything. We were still on a high from the two faint lines. We washed our hands clean and moved on.

Fast forward through 2012 and having another son. Through 2013 and celebrating a first birthday, again. Life was peachy. 2014 could only be better, right? {Insert dry laugh here.}

2014. The greatest and worst year to memory.

During February 2014, we found out we were expecting numero 3. We were prepared this time. We knew the chances of announcing early to the universe. We waited.

It was a beautiful day. Gorgeous, really. God does some amazing sky work, by the way. We were in the ultrasound room for our first ever sneak peek with numero 3. I was 11 weeks along. 1/4 over. I was having all the traditional pregnancy symptoms. The fun stuff. I was high up on cloud nine staring at a tiny person using me as their cocoon...

until, "There is no heartbeat." Those words can awaken the dead. Knocked the little air I had left right out of me. My world self destructed all around me.

{I'll spare the full coverage, but the next twenty four hours included a lot of used tissues, no sleep, and eventually a D&C on my part.}

We had lost for the second time a child. Our child. You lose all faith. You blame yourself. You blame God. You try to make sense of why it happened. And when there is no answer, you blame yourself more. You blame God even greater. Trashing Him for ruining your whole personal understanding of what unconditional love is. I mean, He's the catalyst for it, no? Selfish, I am sure. You trudge from day to day, week by week, depleted. Mentally done for.

You cry because you're sad. You cry because you're happy and you should never be happy when you've lost your own flesh and blood. Right? Wrong.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11

I'll never fully understand why God caused such grief and sorrow for us. I wouldn't be able to, if I tried. But, I am fully aware that He loves us. Oh, how He loves us. He knows our life plan step by step. He's known our every action. Every spoken word. Every tragedy and triumph before we were knitted in our mother's womb. He is a faithful God. It's taken me all of twenty five years to grow and know this truth.

In our deepest sorrow, Brandon and I rose higher and have never been more solid in our marriage. He's been the epitome of what a husband is.

Our children will continue to grow to know who these tiny persons were. They set our hearts on fire, without a single beat from theirs.

Talking about miscarriage is no walk in the park. You can not bounce back from it like a sprained ankle. You continually heal. You demand space and time.

You bear this hole in your heart where they should be. Nothing can fill that. Nothing. But that awesome love of Christ makes it easier to bear.