CLICK HERE FOR THOUSANDS OF FREE BLOGGER TEMPLATES »

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Late Night Heartache


It's a little after midnight as I sit down to pour my thoughts out on this keyboard. The need to write usually hits me at times like this...when the rest of the world is resting. As you may have noticed, I have not shared much in this blog over the past few months. Sometimes life is saying so much to me that I find myself having little to say in return.

As a writer, you want to be able to convey your thoughts and emotions in a way that echoes the reality of the human condition...in a way that any and everyone who might read it can identify. The problem with that preconception is that there are invariably times in life that do not easily lend themselves to community expression. Whether it is the bliss of a lifelong love found or the misery of the most profound loss (both I have felt in the last 8 months), sometimes life defies encapsulation, denies articulation. Sometimes life is to be kept, not shared.

This time is different. This time I feel I have something to add to the fabric of us. Some thread of my own unique experience...thank you for taking the time to share in it.

On Thursday, Kelley and I received the devastating news that we had miscarried our first child together. I am tearing up as I type this because my heart aches so badly at the reality of life lost and life moving on. I have had friends who have had to journey through the path that I now find myself on...I had no idea of their heartache and to be honest, I wish severely I was still ignorant in that regard.

We discovered that Kelley was bleeding early that morning, which was the first indication that something was terribly wrong. My sweet wife has miscarried on 3 other occasions with her first husband Edward. I could see in her consternation that she new exactly what was happening. I could only move hurriedly through the house trying to contact her physician to have her examined immediately. I cannot express the frustration of trying to navigate an automated call dispatch while tripping over my own feet, trying to focus through tears and my sweet babe's mournful wails.

Kelley and I found ourselves sitting in a horribly normal lobby 30 minutes later...hoping against all hope that the bleeding was a result of something else. It was surreal listening to the laughter and conversation of patients and receptionists all the while watching my wife stare blankly ahead at a script that she had painfully lived 3 times before. As a man, you would like to be able to fix the situation, save the day, repair the broken...instead, I was relegated to running my fingers through her hair and placing the occasional, inadequate kiss to her temples. Finally, we heard the nurse call Kelley's name.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity in the nurse's station, we were led into an ultrasound room where Kelley and I waited for the physician to attend to us. We talked very little and tried to brace ourselves for what we might find. The doc came in and introduced himself to us. What a horrible way to make an acquaintance.

He then examined Kelley with the ultrasound and we both waited anxiously for any sign of anything. As I stood beside Kelley holding her hand, I prayed, shouting to God for any sort of movement...any flicker that could be the beating of a tiny heart. We waited for a couple of minutes as the doctor examined. I don't remember breathing during the entire exam as if holding my breath would somehow change the end result. It didn't.

The tiny 8-week old baby came into focus. There was no flicker of a heartbeat. There was no movement. The womb seemed sadly dark and even cold as we watched. The doctor shared with us that our child was gone. Words fail here to describe what I felt at this point. I cannot even begin to fathom the pain and torment that washed over my wife's heart. I can only tell you with every fiber of my being that, despite what some would have you believe, a fetus is indeed a child...and losing one brings about a collapse that can only be described as excruciating.

At that moment, I felt I had to make sure to attend to my wife. I love her so deeply that I want to console and repair and restore her...but all I could do was hold her head and shoulders as they shook with sobbing. I felt I needed to be strong at that point to care for her. Strength is a lie. Strength is smoke and mirrors. Strength is, at times, a weakness in moments like this. I wish I had been weaker with her instead of "strong" for her.

We have cried a lot in that last few days. Kelley feels a depth of dysfunction with her body that is causing a great deal of distress. It kills me to watch her try and cope with feeling betrayed by her own body. I hate that she suffers the pangs of pregnancy without the hope its future promise, as she stills has morning sickness. The sickness used to comfort her, as it seemed to indicate a healthy progress. Now it just serves as a bitter reminder. I love my wife so exquisitely. She is strong and courageous in ways that I can only aspire to be someday. I wish I could be more for her right now. I know that there is only so much that a man can do, but that doesn't have much medicinal value for my heart right now.

I am deeply sad. I am sad for my beautiful wife who was made to love children so completely. I am sad for Aidan and Kya who were already practicing eagerly to be the big brother and sister. I am sad for me. But mostly, I am sad because the life that we were used by God to create is no longer with us. There is a subtle irony that my father and Kelley's late husband will know this life in eternity before we could even determine its sex here on earth. I'm sure it is beautiful in God's presence, already reveling in the glory of perfection in a way that I must wait to experience. Thank God for hope.

Last night I leaned down to Kelley's belly and kissed it. I had been talking to it over the last few weeks and just wanted a chance to say goodbye in a way that I never got to with my Dad. I said, "Bye baby...I love you." Kelley and I cried a little and I am sure that we have many more tears to shed ahead of us. For those of you that know our story, it seems that we have walked hand-in-hand through some very painful terrain. God is still writing His story in us and I am finding that faith is more important than seeking answers. Maybe it is the answer in and of itself.

I love my wife. She is my heart and I know that one day Jesus will bless us with a child. If not, we already have 2 of the most beautiful miracles anyone could hope for. I cannot escape the words of the Psalmist:

"1 O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. 2 You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. 3 You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. 4 Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord. 5 You hem me in--behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
7 Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? 8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, 10 even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. 11 If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," 12 even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. 13 For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, 16 your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."


Psalm 139:1-16

Amen.
Goodbye sweet baby.
Know that Daddy loves you.
You're home now.

2 comments:

Schoonover Family said...

Rick:

You don't know me, but I went to school with your wife and brother-in-law (Josh) at MBBC, and I just want you to know the deep sorrow my family feels for you at this time. We have never had to experience this tragedy personally, although, like you, we have had several friends experience this.
My wife is almost 27 weeks pregnant, and has been on bed rest for over 2 weeks now and has always been labeled "high risk" (both of our boys were preemies). As we continue to go through the growth of our unborn daughter, just know that you, Kelley, and the children are in our prayers. May God bless you, strengthen you, and give you the grace and comfort you need in this sad time.

Brian

Anonymous said...

Rick,
I only met you briefly when you were out here for Jessie Conn's wedding...however, you blog today has touched my heart. I just want to thank you for openly sharing your heart on your blog. My prayers and thoughts are with you and Kelley as you go through these next few days. Rely on the Lord for strength..be weak in HIS arms, for HE will see you through.

Praying for you,
Shannon Burt