The Worst Thing to Ever Happen to Me

Tonight at dinner, Noah posed a question.  He wanted to know what the worst thing to ever happen to me was, then he said, "Let me guess:  Having kids!"  He was being a smart aleck, but both Shawn and I knew where this road was headed.  Shawn did his best to tell Noah to drop it in the hopes of derailing the conversation, but Noah--being Noah--would not be diverted.

I told Noah that having children was by far not the worst thing to ever happen to me, that having him and Avery is the best thing to ever happen to me, then asked him to please leave well enough alone.

Now, it's 11 at night, and I've finally answered Noah's question.  He was still awake after a long day, and his question has been at the front of my brain for the entire evening.  It's a source of great heartache for me, but I decided he needs to learn what happens when he asks questions like that.  I wanted him to understand just how much I love him and his brother, and why they are the best things to ever happen to me.  It might seem something very heavy to lay on an 11 year old, especially this late at night, but it was time.  I wanted him to finally know why I cry in the baby aisles of stores, why I am so passionate about certain subjects, why he and his brother are 9 years apart--and so many other things.  I wanted that freedom of communication with him.  Noah didn't have any questions after we talked, but I know his mind is turning, as always, and he will certainly have questions later.

As most of you readers already know, I became very sick after Noah was born.  Between the medications and what was happening to my body, Shawn and I were told there wouldn't be anymore babies.  For us, this was met with a mixture of slight relief and extreme heartsickness.  Even as an infant, Noah was already proving more than we knew what to do with, and there was just no way I was in any condition to raise more children.  However, we'd always kind of hoped for a home full of children, so this medical declaration was difficult to swallow.

Well, it happened.  When Noah was three. I became pregnant.  And I lost the baby.  I don't know if our child was a boy or a girl, but I have always referred to my child as Grace.  I see it as a very fitting name for a child who resides in Heaven.  I blamed myself for so long, I was so filled with guilt, shame and anger.

The miscarriage became yet another notch in my belt of anger toward God.  Oh, I was so very angry at Him.  I raged on and on--how could this happen to me, when my sister could just pop children out without blinking an eye, yet not be able to afford them or love them?  I had so many examples that I would carry on to God about--the woman next door who smoked, did drugs and drank throughout her pregnancy, yet had a perfectly healthy child, a girl I'd gone to high school with who seemed to get pregnant just by shaking a different man's hand every 12 months, and don't forget So-And-So, you could always tell when she and her estranged husband were back together!  I was so angry.  How dare He take my child from me.  What had I done so wrong that God needed to punish me for it, yet He rewarded all of "those people" with children?


I've learned a lot since then.  I value Noah and Avery more than anyone else in this world.  I love them with the ferocity they deserve to be loved with.  They are my gifts.  They are my miracles.  Now I know that for whatever reason, God was doing what He needed to do to protect Grace.  He wasn't punishing me.  I don't know why He let my child come to be, only to take my child, but I do know that Grace is His child, too.  He loves Grace (and Noah, and Avery) with a ferocity my child deserves to be loved with.  I don't know if Grace was sick and would have lived a life of suffering, or if God saw that I simply was too sick, but for whatever reason, my child was taken to a safer, better place, to live a healthy, fuller life.   I rejoice in that knowledge, and I rejoice in my two boys here, and the happiness they give me.

Yes, I do miss Grace.  I love my child in Heaven as much as I love my children here on Earth.  I think about my child every day, and there are times I still cry.  Even as I rejoice in Grace's everlasting life, I still mourn my loss.  Some would argue that Grace was nothing more than a few cells at that stage of life, but I will tell you right now, Grace was a baby, my child, and that miscarriage resulted in the death of my child.  I don't know that it's really something one ever "gets over."  I often wonder what Grace looks like, what Grace's laugh sounds like, and if, like Grace's brothers, they all share Shawn's coloring, or if Grace has my dark hair and eyes.  I look forward to meeting this dear child of mine some day, but I know now there will be a time and place for this incredibly special meeting.  I ache to know the feeling of having Grace in my arms.  Until then, my child is safe in the arms of God, being loved personally by Jesus, Shawn's mom, my grandfather, and others who have gone before us.  That is my comfort.