Originally published in 2007 by Avis Ward of GeoVi’s Home for New Life
I did not handle the loss of my baby at all. It handled me. I thought my faith was strong and I could handle anything. Actually, I never thought I would not be a Mom. I knew the Lord answered prayers and mine would be answered.
Becoming pregnant for many is very easy. I have friends who have said if their hubby looked at them with that “you know” look, they’d conceive. After many tests, countless doctor visits and thousands of dollars later, it was determined there should not be a problem. So, I could get pregnant but there were complications.
My youngest sister and I did not know we were pregnant at the time of our Dad’s heart attack and hospital stay. It would end his life. Not until after the funeral services for him did we learn of our pregnancies. She had two daughters that were seven years apart and they were hopeful for a healthy son. He would be born seven years after his youngest sister. We enjoyed our pregnancy together although we lived a little less than two hours apart.
Our family felt blessed to have two babies coming after losing our last parent. Mother had died many years ago. Our grieving ended almost suddenly when we learned of the pregnancies. Perhaps it is best to say, our grief was replaced with joy. Our hearts were not as heavy.
Twelve years have passed and now that I can see through the glass clearly, I know God was at work. At that time, I saw dimly through the glass and became withdrawn. Making it into the third trimester was very encouraging and promising although bed rest was required. In case you’re wondering, I was not alone. I was married and happily so. It was a blessing to have someone to help bear the loss of my dad. I had been there for him when his father passed away.
I have wondered if my faith then were as strong as I thought. I have wondered what I may have done to cause the wrath of God to strike me as it did. My water broke in my third trimester but I did not immediately go into labor. My doctor told me, “Avis, I was praying you had just peed in your pants!”
I was in the hospital for a week and sent home because no changes took place. I remember praying to God and letting Him know, if He desired to use a sponge the size and thickness of a one dollar bill, He could dry up Niagara Falls. If He wanted to fill the Grand Canyon with the sand in an hourglass, I believed and knew He could. I only wanted the hole no doubt smaller than a pin prick in my embryonic sac to be sealed. I asked Him to do this for me, for us, for my baby girl.I expected and believed He’d do it.
I was discharged from the hospital after a week’s stay but the next day, labor pains began. I thought if I ignored them, they would stop but the contractions came closer and closer together. My husband called the doctor and we were told to meet him at the hospital.
Our baby girl was born but she did not survive. She was too young and major organs had not developed to sustain her life. I prayed my youngest sister would not go into depression because of our loss. I prayed for everyone except myself.
My happy marriage fell apart. I became someone I did not recognize or wanted to know. My home became my hideout from the world. I did not receive visitors, calls or condolences. It was not until years later that I realize what happened to me.
All of the advice I had given others during their losses and hardships was not received by me. I turned away from everyone. The loss of my dad rebounded and was combined with losing my daughter and a failing marriage. I found strength within myself to bring an end to what had not been the best years of my life for some time. I filed for divorce and moved out of the home I had built as a single woman.
We’re told not to make major decisions during turbulent times or a crisis. I felt God did what He thought was best and I was obligated to accept it. I did not understand but I was taught not to question God. I didn’t.
This story is being told to help others. I misunderstood so many things in the name of “religion.” I knew of God but did not have a relationship with Him. I have made gigantic strides after enduring horrific emotional times. Several miscarriages in the first trimester and hope after making it to the third were a miracle. I knew the biggest miracle would be holding my baby, taking her home, nursing her and being her mom for the rest of my life. I was wrong.
The biggest miracle is sharing with others the power of God to completely heal us. I know firsthand that He is always working for our good and we only need to trust Him. He is a God of not only restoration but also restitution. His promises are many and we can count on Him if we do our part.
My sister has a 12 year old son named after his grandfather, George. My daughter, Chelsea, would also be 12 if she had lived. I do not know if she’d be with me and her father. I do not think so but I know she is where she was meant to be. Her grandparents got to spend more time with her than I. It may have been they were to raise her and not us.
God works in mysterious ways. I trust Him implicitly and so can you.
Avis Ward writes for GeoVi’s Home for New Life – see more at http://searchwarp.com/swa265041.htm