Balloons

As I write this I am absolutely exhausted. Sunday was bittersweet for Amy and I...it is the day that our second child would have been due.

It’s a pretty amazing thing to consider how many pregnancies end in miscarriage. I never thought a miscarriage would be so sad. Now I wonder how in the world so many people deal with the pain. The emotional bond I have built with our little one since her death is powerful. I think of her often, wonder what she would have looked like, what memories she and I would share, if she would be a he and not a she. I don’t know why I’ve always pictured her as a girl. Maybe because since that day in January, I became painfully aware of the frailty of life.

Amy and I found out that she was pregnant and excitedly told our family just after Christmas time. We’d wanted a little brother or sister for Matthew for a while.

I will never forget being at the Sacramento Convention Center at a wholesale trade show and getting the call from Amy that something was wrong. She was bleeding and was going to her doctor to see what the problem was. A little later she called and told me that Dr. Booth thought that it could be an ectopic pregnancy. I had no idea what that meant.

I sat in the Sacramento airport on this laptop, searching for all the info I could on ectopic pregnancy. Basically, the fertilized egg doesn’t drop all the way from the fallopian tube into the uterus. So the baby would grow for a while and eventually burst a fallopian tube and cause all kinds of problems for Amy, likely endangering her life. From what I found, the baby would have no chance of survival, it was only a matter of time before she would die. I searched online so hard to find what our options were. Some said there were no options, just to terminate the baby. Others said we could let the baby continue to grow and probably kill, or at least severely injure, Amy. That didn’t sound like a good option, but neither did opting to end the life of this unborn baby.

Once I got home, Amy and I grieved together at the gravity of this decision. I prayed all along (I wish I could TELL you how much we prayed), from the moment that I knew of any kind of decision to be made, that God would give me the wisdom to make a decision based on trusting in Him, not out of fear. As Amy and I talked about what we should do, I found I could not be comfortable with either decision. But we had to make a decision quickly or one would be made for us.

We went into the hospital, like the doctors told us we should- though we made a later appointment than recommended because we wanted to make the right choice. It was surreal how the nurse so calmly told us what would happen. She would give Amy the shot and it would, over time, dissolve the little baby that our Creator formed in her.

For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there were none of them.
(Psalm 139:13-16)

When we arrived at the hospital, just after we got through the elevator near the receptionist’s desk, we couldn’t go any further without weeping and falling into each other’s arms. Amy just held on to me and wasn't sure she could walk in any further. What, for so many, might be an easy call, was for us a heart-wrenching decision.

Just before Amy got the shot, I asked if we could be alone for a while. We prayed together and I told our little one that I was so sorry about all of this. It was just a quick thing, over in a minute. But the struggle that this has caused in my soul has been, as yet, unending.

I think part of the reason that I have such a hard time dealing with this is that I feel guilty- guilty about the decision to end this little life to protect the woman that I love. The thought that always brings me to tears and probably always will, is that the only influence that I had on this precious little life was to end it. I can not get over that.

I would give anything, everything, to spend a moment with this little one. Just to hold her one time, to look into her eyes and hold her close to my chest.

On September 14th, 2008, the due date for our baby who did not live to see it, we had a little memorial on our deck. Just Amy, Matthew and I. Amy got some balloons, a pink one for her, a sky blue one for Matthew, a blue one for me, and a white one for little one. Matthew was playing around with his trucks, as usual.

With tears and sad hearts, we read Psalms 145 and 34. Knowing that God is good is such a comfort. We gave Matthew his balloon, knowing that he would play with it for a minute and let it go. And that’s what he did. As soon as he let it go, Amy and I released our balloons and the white one. We watched as they flew up into the heavens, a beautiful picture of what we hope is true of our little one.

That evening we heard the song, “(They Long to Be) Close to You” by the Carpenters. Since then I cannot get that song out of my head. The first lines so well express my heart for this little on that we lost,

Why do birds suddenly appear
Every time you are near?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you

We long to be close to our little one. We trust our God to do what is right and good. I have asked Him countless times for an opportunity to see our baby in heaven and to tell her that we love her. I know He hears, and I know that He knows the loss of a child. And today we are trusting Him for the strength to get through, even with heavy hearts.