“Heaven will hold you before we do…Heaven will keep you safe until we’re
home with you…” –from Watermark’s song ‘Glory Baby’
I am torn between a lurking sadness and an abundant joy;
pulled between the sorrow of death and the anticipation of life. I have long
believed that there are some things in life that will just never be okay this
side of heaven; things that no matter how much or often we forgive or try to
forget never really leave our heads and certainly not our hearts. This is one
of those times in life.
We recently learned that La Manda was pregnant with our
second child. We had been hopeful, even prayerful, that God would give us another
baby, and He did. It wasn’t long before Lam became very sick once again with
hyperemesis gravidarum. Simply put, it’s extreme vomiting during pregnancy.
After two emergency room visits and a brief hospital stay we learned why her
hyperemsesis was so much more severe than it was with Emmarie. She was pregnant
with twins. Was… It’s curious how a
careful change in tense can change the entire meaning of a sentence. It can
change the entire course of one’s life.
The doctor quickly reassured us that one baby was healthy
and on track. However, the twin had “failed to develop”. The tech heard one
heartbeat, not two. She saw a fetal pole on one embryo, but the other appeared
to be an underdeveloped yolk sac. I heard little after that. I tried to keep up
with the topic of conversation, to understand what had happened and what that
would mean for La Manda and our baby still alive and growing inside of her. It
was difficult for me to focus. I remember asking the doctor, “So, does this
mean that the other yolk sac will not continue to grow?” I appreciated her
candid honesty and the shred of hope she offered: “I never say never. Strange
things can happen.” That was just what I needed at that moment; an opportunity
to believe. It was an opportunity to believe in a God who is greater than me,
greater than the doctor, greater than what science says should be—not matter
what will happen. So, my prayer became that God would spare the life of our
second little baby.
Although I hope for the best, I cannot help but be aware of
the worst. I struggle to know how I’m supposed to feel; and so most days I
don’t. When I think about the little one we may have lost, I am sad. There are
those who will say a yolk sac isn’t a baby. They cannot understand how I feel.
Yet, Jeremiah 1:5 makes it clear that God knows us even before he forms us in our mother’s womb! I want to celebrate
the surviving twin, but I feel as though I need to mourn his or her’s brother
or sister before I can fully embrace joy once again. I am saddened that we will
not meet our little one this side of heaven. I am saddened that our children
will never all play together on this earth. I do not like to engage in “what
ifs” or what might have been . “What would this child have been like?” “What
would they have grown up to become?” Clearly, this is how God intended it to
be. I can’t imagine why, but neither have those who have experienced this loss
countless times before me. Yet, “I will rest in knowing, heaven is your home…And
it’s all you’ll ever know…” –from Watermark’s
song ‘Glory Baby’
I do not know what the doctor believes. I don’t know if she
believes in God or doesn’t. I don’t know if she believes that life begins at conception
or not. However, I am very thankful that she did not try to lessen the impact
of the news by belittling our baby’s existence. She referred to him or her as a
twin. That one word that means two broke my heart and gave me peace at the same
time. Not only did we finally have a reason for Lam’s extreme illness, but our
doctor also recognized and honored the personhood of our babies.
I don’t know how men are supposed to react to a miscarriage.
I don’t know if we are supposed to be indifferent or withdrawn. I don’t know if
we are expected to focus solely on our wife’s emotions and ignore our own. I
haven’t read up on it or Googled it, nor do I plan to. I only know how I feel.
And that is this: I am saddened at the loss of our unborn baby’s life. I am reminded
that the only difference between our little one and the millions who are
aborted every year is this: our baby was loved and wanted. So, I will grieve
the loss of our twin. I am a father separated from his child only by this life,
not eternity. I believe with great certainty that one day I will be united with
him or her again. So, until then…“Baby let sweet Jesus
hold you
‘till mom and dad can hold you…You’ll just have heaven before we do…” –from Watermark’s song ‘Glory Baby’
