If you saw me in the grocery store or happened to notice me with my girls in line at Starbucks, you’d think I was just a normal, busy, slightly-stressed-out mom of a toddler and a newborn.
And I am. My days are full of diapers, tantrums, burp cloths, Fancy Nancy, and Duplos. I can talk breastfeeding and sleep training and toddler lit with the best of them.
What you wouldn’t know about me from a casual glance is that my path to motherhood was not an easy one. It took me a full year to get pregnant with my oldest daughter, in spite of careful charting and planning, and in between my two girls I suffered an unexplained second trimester miscarriage of another daughter. I spend my days as a mother to two healthy girls, but I’ve also known what it’s like to lose a child and to have difficulty conceiving one in the first place.
As a result, I often struggle with knowing where I fit in the community of families who have dealt with infertility, miscarriage, and infant loss. When a friend from college writes and tells me it’s been a year and she’s still not pregnant or when a friend from church loses her first baby at 23 weeks, I want to tell them that I know what they are going through. I want to tell them they aren’t alone.
But I hesitate. I know what their pain and loss feel like, but I’m not living in the fullness of it now. My days are filled with the joyful, wearisome work of motherhood, and my heart is filled with gratitude for the little hearts I get to love, all the sweeter to me coming as they did, on the heels of disappointment and loss.
I’m not currently living with the fearful uncertainty of infertility or the fresh, deep grief of miscarriage, but I have before. And I haven’t forgotten what that feels like. I know what it’s like to watch month after month pass by with no plus sign on the pregnancy test, to struggle with the news that yet another friend or family member is pregnant when you are not.
I know what it’s like to lose a baby, to see her beautiful, lifeless body on the ultrasound screen, to truly believe you will never be happy again. I know the hopeful terror of deciding it is time to try again, the guarded excitement that marks a pregnancy after a loss. I feel joy now in a way I once didn’t think would be possible, but I still grieve the baby I lost. I miss her.
The truth is that even though my home is now full of toddler giggles and baby cuddles, I still very much identify with the childless woman and with the woman drowning in the depths of grief. I’ve lived some parts of their stories, and while my pain has been lessened in ways theirs has not, I feel a kinship to them, even as I understand that their own pain might make it difficult for them to feel a kinship to me.
And so, I e-mail my friend who is trying to get pregnant. I tell her she doesn’t have to write back, but I want her to know I am praying for her. I write back to my friend from college, asking her when her next fertility appointment is. I make a care package for my friend who’s just lost her baby.
These ladies all know I have two living daughters, and I know I can no longer offer them the community of barrenness or of fresh loss. But I can offer what I do have – a heart that has known its own measure of suffering, a heart that remembers the pain of negative pregnancy tests and lifeless ultrasounds, a heart that weeps with those who now know these pains, too.
Those of you who are currently grieving, how have your friends cared for you, even if they couldn’t fully relate to your pain? Those of you who have experienced answered prayers, how do you continue to mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12:15)?
Leave a Comment
Karen says
Entering their pain is SO powerful….regardless of your experiences. Great encouragement and practical reminders!!!!!
Abby says
I agree Karen! Choosing to enter into someone else’s pain is a very powerful gift, and I’m so glad I had friends who were willing to do that with me.
Sarah S says
My dearest friend struggled with getting pregnant because of her health. It was actually dangerous for her. We talked and shared our fears and disappointments over the months until her healthy baby girl was born. I have had my own infertility struggles for five years. She now has a baby boy too. For me, I have found her willingness to share her joyful moments of her children most refreshing. I enjoy being ‘Auntie’ to them. She sends photos for my fridge and I send gifts when I can. Just like with my real nieces and nephews.
I do my best to give thanks in my struggles with infertility. And the best my friend can do for me, is just be my friend even when our circumstances change and we have less in common. She is more than her kids. I am more than my lack of kids. Just because I don’t have any, doesn’t mean I don’t love children and enjoy hearing about their antics.
The best care, is just being real and accepting a real response, whatever that may be.
Abby says
Sarah, thanks for sharing about your friendship and how the two of you have walked with one another through trials related to pregnancy. I commend you both for continuing to love and care for one another, even when your lives headed different directions. I think that’s one of the signs of a really good friendship! I also think you raise a good point about not being defined by your “lack of kids.” As women, we tend to wrap our identity up in our children (or inability to have children) in a way that is unhelpful. We are first, most importantly, and always beloved daughters of God.
Marty says
“But I can offer what I do have – a heart that has known its own measure of suffering, a heart that remembers the pain…a heart that weeps with those who now know these pains, too.”
I think that just expressing concern is enough. No one really needs to hear our stories when they are in the midst of their own. That may be for a later time. Every situation is different even under the umbrella of “loss.” Just pray…and BE there.
And don’t forget them.
Abby says
Marty, you raise a good point. I once interviewed a couple about their stillbirth, and the father said something that will always stick with me. Referring to a friend who came to visit them in the hospital, he said, “He didn’t come to do a Bible study. He didn’t come to tell his own story. He just came.” When you’re suffering, those are the kind of friends you need.
Brittnie (A Joy Renewed) says
I feel like I could have written this post. Same story for me except my miscarriage was the loss of my oldest daughters twin. We resorted to IVF to get pregnant the first time and then lost the twin during the first trimester. When my daughter turned 1, I learned I was pregnant again (totally spontaneous!). I now have two beautiful girls.
So like you, I am no longer in the fresh grief that is infertility and loss, but I have been there and remember it well. And like you, I too want to pass on love & hope to my friends and family that are experiencing the same.
Abby says
Brittnie, thanks for sharing your story. I am sorry to hear of the loss of your daughter. Thanks for your desire to care for those who are struggling!
Sherri Y. says
Wow! My story, too, is so similar to yours…healthy girl, loss of preterm baby (son), infertility & another healthy girl. The Lord has been so faithful & good to us through all of the “bad”. While losing a child & dealing with infertility was not in our plans, God is so much bigger than us and we have seen His hand in every step of the way, calling us to Himself & revealing more of who He is.
I agree with a previous comment, that sometimes all a grieving person needs is for you to show you care by simply being there. A calm presence & a hug can mean so much!
Abby says
Sherri, I’m sorry to hear that you too have dealt with both infertility and the loss of a child. I agree with you that these experiences have shown me more of God.
Mothering From Scratch says
{Kathy} That was beautifully said. Often, our lives can look deceiving from the outside looking in. Those in pain can’t see the pain that was once in our lives or share the joy we are currently enjoying. However, God has a way of revealing to us exactly what is needed during a time of need: a hug or a smile.
Abby says
Thank you! I think that’s one of the difficulties of infertility and miscarriage. When you’re in the midst of it, you can feel like you’re the only one struggling to have children, but the reality is that there are many women who understand.
Carrie Smith says
Good reminders to keep the relationship connected, even when you’re in different places in life. Though I’m not a mother, I’ve had similar struggles with feeling no long relatable to single young women I my life when I started dating someone. It took awhile to recognize that the process and growth that I went through during my 10 single years is still valuable to their stories. And more importantly, I know that supporting them where they’re at (whether or not I am in the same place), is still a privilege and honor.
Abby says
Carrie, that is a good connection. I was single for 10 years too, and I think singleness is very similar in terms of feeling like you can no longer speak about it when you are in a relationship. You’re right though; it remains part of your story, part of what you can offer others.
Katie Kump says
Abigail, thank you so much for these words. Comparison is such a “here and now” concentration–who has what I want when I wanted it. But your wisdom and perspective help to bridge the gaps in all our common experiences. Grateful for the ministry God has given through your grief. He is using your whole story. Much love to you today.
Abby says
Thank you Katie for your kind words!
Shelli Littleton says
Sweet, Abigail. My husband encouraged me the most. He said, “We will have a family.” Now, I didn’t know whether that was truth or not at the time, but it was encouragement. We did have that family through adoption, and I wouldn’t change a single thing.
Abby says
Shelli, your husband sounds a lot like mine – full of faith when I wasn’t. It was good for me to have that balance!
Beth Williams says
My story is quite different. Mine is about aging parents and dealing with health issues. My mother had dementia and after a 1.5 month hospital, rehab, ICU, and more rehab she was able to go home-but she had sundowner’s. It was hard to watch her go down mentally and physically. Dad did his best to care for her 24/7. Now my widowed father is having health issues.
A good friend of mine is having some health issues with her parents. We talk and console each other. I call and check on her mother. I explain what could be causing some of the problems. We laugh together and cry together. It is cathartic to have someone in the same boat as you and understanding the stress of it all.
Another friend is going through cancer. I know nothing of this. I simply send post cards and cards to her some weeks to encourage her and help uplift her spirits.
Blessings 🙂
Abby says
Beth, your story is different, but there are definitely parallels. I think it is a real gift to have a friend or few friends going through similar trials at the same time, but it is also a gift to have friends who make the effort to connect, even when they cannot relate.
InfertilityMom and StrokeOfGrace says
Beautiful. So hard to find true emotions in where I live today, fully rejoicing in my gifts, yet well remembering the heartache and knowing that often it was young mother like myself who deeply grieved me when I was in her shoes. We need to connect!
Abby says
Well said! We do need to connect 🙂
Abby says
Just took a look at your blog and realized that you’re a writer too…of a book I’ve read, no less 🙂 I’m working on a book right now about infertility, miscarriage, and stillbirth – would love to connect!
Carolyn Jones says
It’s my experience and firm belief that grief in all its forms (my deepest is the death of my husband), becomes woven into the tapestry of our lives. At first it’s the most dominant aspect of that tapestry, but as times goes on and other joys and sorrows come into our lives, the colors blend in new ways, always still there, always easy for me to touch and know again, but less obvious especially to others. The fact that my life is full and busy and meaningful does not negate those valid emotions, experiences that have shaped me, and still empower me to speak into the lives of others along their unique journey. Thank you for sharing your heart.