During my pregnancy, I remember telling friends how epic pregnancy was. My whole world had shifted. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I felt like someone totally different. It wasn’t the physical symptoms that were so unexpected. In fact, I remember thinking that being pregnant felt like how I imagined being pregnant would feel. It was the emotional and mental changes that shook me. I was constantly aware of how monumental this task was. To build a human being. Not only any human being but one that I love so so much…Ginny!
Daniel can attest to how unlike myself I was. I would cry at almost anything. I would get frustrated when I cried because it threw off the cool, level-headedness that I convinced myself I sported for years. I was always so amazed at what was happening inside me, how she was moving and growing and listening to us. Anytime we were sitting on the couch, I had my shirt up and was feeling and watching for movement. I was never not impressed by it.
I was always thinking about it. Thinking about being pregnant, thinking about being a mom, thinking about what else I could do to prepare. Going out and about made me even more aware. People would stare at me and smile. People would tell me congratulations and ask how far along I was.
The experience blew my mind. It was epic. It was all consuming.
That’s why it baffles me how everyone acts like it’s so normal. I see these families with multiple kids just walking around, acting like it’s no big deal. You created life!! How is that so normal? But it is normal. People do it everyday. Most people have kids. A large portion of the population has experienced this. It is so crazy! How did I know so little about it?!
Similar to grief, there was so much more to pregnancy than I knew. This is a common life experience, yet you can never truly understand it unless you go through it. But how are people not making a bigger deal out of it?
I went from spending nearly every minute thinking about how pregnant I was to spending nearly every minute thinking about how unpregnant I was. I was amazed at how quickly I physically went back to normal. It was only a few days after birth before I realized, “Wow I haven’t been this physically comfortable in a long time”, “Wow I can climb the stairs without getting out of breath”, “Wow I slept through the night for the first time in months.” Our bodies are incredible.
I feared going into public and being asked how far along I was. To prevent this, I wore a postpartum waist trainer, girdle-type thing I found at Target. It helped flatten my stomach so hopefully I could avoid those questions. Thankfully it worked.
Even though my belly wasn’t making me self-conscious in public, my grief was. It felt like I was walking around with something on my face. Surely I’m acting weird. I don’t feel normal. I wished we still lived in a time when people wear all black or an armband to signify their mourning. That way people will know why I’m acting weird. Am I acting weird? I would get offended when store clerks would smile and say, “Hello, how are you?” How am I?! How could you even ask that?! Can’t you see I am in intense pain?!! But I would politely smile back and say, “I’m fine. How are you?” I hated myself every time I did. How could I act like everything is normal?
In the first few weeks after our loss, I would panic every time I saw a pregnant woman. I wanted to run up to her, grab her, and say, “Get the baby out now!!” I knew it was irrational. The baby is better off in the womb until the due date, but I couldn’t help but want to prevent what happened to Ginny from happening to anybody else. Since then I no longer panic, but I do seem to see pregnant women everywhere. Look at her over there just chatting…like everything is normal.
Being a parent seems evasive to me. I know it is much more so for people who struggle with infertility and are unable to get pregnant at all. For me, it seems holding my own child stays at an arm’s reach. Even after nearly 8 months of carrying my baby in my belly, it is still at an arm’s reach. Sitting here writing this, I see another pregnant woman. I’m sure she will be holding her living baby in a matter of weeks. Perfectly expected, perfectly normal. Am I missing something?
How could a good God allow such suffering in the world? I think at some point we all ask that question. We don’t really have answers, but I feel closer to the answer now than ever before. My perspective on this has changed significantly now that I have endured some level of suffering.
Similar to grief, suffering is more complex than I once thought. It is possible to simultaneously experience suffering, pain, sorrow, as well as deep joy, peace, hope, and love. Those feelings are not mutually exclusive. Joy and sorrow coexist.
In our culture, it seems the main goal is to avoid any suffering. We want to be comfortable. We are meant to thrive. Sometimes it feels like being uncomfortable is failure. To suffer is a betrayal of the American dream. We preach that if we have faith enough – if we are obedient enough, God will give us prosperity. I do believe God wants to bless us, and he wants what is best for us. But that may not align with what’s on our vision boards.
We are not promised a life free of hardship. In fact, we are promised suffering and persecution (2 Timothy 3:12, 1 Peter 4:12-13). Can you think of any God-follower in the Bible who did not endure hardship? Everyone will face difficulty. We are promised hardship, but we are also promised comfort and peace (1 Peter 5:10). That promise has been fulfilled in my experience.
When we found out Ginny had passed away in my womb, our world came crashing down. How could this happen?! Everything was going so well! I had never had to face any true difficulty in my life. This happens to someone else; this doesn’t happen to me. I’ve prayed for protection and health. This can’t be happening! When I finally realized it really was happening, I also realized God was wrapping me in his arms of comfort, love, and peace. The pain was so strong, but at the same time I felt held. He was so near, nearer than I have ever felt in any worship service or quiet meditation. I thought I should be asking, “Where are you God?!”… but he was clearly right there. I thought I should be asking, “How could you let this happen?! Don’t you love me?!”… but I felt so so loved.
I didn’t ask those questions. I didn’t even pray at all. I felt him in our presence. I didn’t need to pray; he was part of everything we were going through. Even since, I no longer pray for him to be with me. I feel him with me. I don’t pray for this wish or that wish to come to pass. I pray his will be done and for my understanding and peace. Often I don’t know what to pray, and I know the Holy Spirit intercedes on my behalf (Romans 8:26). He truly is near to the brokenhearted (Psalms 34:18).
In suffering you find yourself in a place where you actually NEED Jesus; you need Jesus to get through to the next hour.
You surrender to that reality. When you can no longer hang on, you have no other choice but to let go. There is freedom in surrender. Letting go of control allows you to stop tiptoeing in life and step firm footed. That’s when you experience his love to a new level. You experience mercy to a new degree. You let go and fall back.
Long ago I prayed, “Dear Lord, make my heart more like yours.” Famous last words. If you want a heart more like God’s, it will be broken. It will be broken because his heart is broken and so your heart can grow. It grows in capacity to love and empathize. It grows in its appreciation of life. It grows in hope for the future. The comfort you receive gives you courage to face any challenge. You realize you never have to walk alone (Psalm 23:4). There is a fullness of life in this. In John 10:10, Jesus promises life to the full. I thought that meant we would be given many blessings, but now I understand that it means our lives will be full of love, grief, comfort, brokenheartedness, and all the intense feelings that come along with suffering as well as blessings. It is a full life.
I used to avoid anything sad; I wanted to focus on being positive and choosing joy. I would never have read this blog. Now I feel I can actually face pain, fear, and suffering and not look away. I have the courage to look at it straight on. I can face it now because I know from experience I don’t have to carry the burden. Jesus already carried the burden (Isaiah 53:3-5). I can help others face it. I can share with them the comfort I’ve received from God (2 Corinthians 1:3-6).
We have been called to suffer along with Christ, to bear our cross (Matthew 16:24, 1 Peter 2:19-21, Romans 8:16-18). To live like Christ is to have sorrow…. is to have pain…is to have peace…is to have freedom. To live like Christ is most importantly to love.
This may be obvious to those who have witnessed a suffering world full of prejudices, fear, and injustice. But for a white, educated, “#blessed” woman in America, this is a revelation.
“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” Romans 5:4-6
“I am not the creator and sustainer of life.” These words on the page of my Loved Baby Devotional stopped me. I repeat them to myself. I am not the creator and sustainer of life. I don’t know if they make me feel better or worse. This wasn’t my fault, but how I wish I was in control.
I knew I was not the one who breathed life and spirit into Ginny. That was a mysterious, amazing process that comes from God, and I have little insight. I did however assemble the cells… at least my body, my hormones, my genes assembled the cells. And I decided when. I stopped taking birth control pills and tracked my cycle.
I certainly believed I sustained her life. I never missed a day of prenatal vitamins. I followed the rules… no alcohol, no sushi, no deli meats, no ibuprofen. I exercised but only the approved first, second, and third trimester workouts. I slept on my left side. I skipped the roller coasters. I measured my water intake. I was by-the-book, and I wasn’t afraid. I had it under control.
Now I consider those rules a joke. I followed all the rules, and my baby died. Meanwhile a woman on heroin gives birth to a living baby. Those rules are just to make us feel better. They are there to convince us we have some semblance of control. Maybe they aren’t a joke, but they are at least a society-wide superstition.
I know, I know. There are reasons for these rules. You have a slightly increased chance of getting listeria from deli meats and fetal alcohol syndrome is a real thing. But the chances are still small, and following all the rules doesn’t eliminate your chances. There is always a risk. We want to have more control than that. We give the rules more power than they have. It sure feels like superstition.I read a frantic post on a pregnancy message board. A woman had such intense guilt about eating an Italian sub sandwich. She was convinced her baby was in trouble. She asked the board whether she should make herself sick to rid herself of the poisonous ham! I was never that extreme, but I did have a sense of security in following those rules.
Sometimes babies die in the womb when we follow all the rules. Sometimes infants die in their perfectly empty, breathable crib with the monitor on. Most of the time we don’t know why. As advanced as medical science is today, we don’t know. I don’t blame the doctors as many do. They were also by-the-book. They followed protocol that works 99% of the time.
Maybe one day we will be smart enough to know why. I mean, a few hundred years ago we didn’t even know germs cause us to get sick. Maybe there is a hidden “germ” out there causing our babies to die. Maybe we will find it one day….Maybe not. I’m sure even if we did, there would be something else.
Nature is like that. It’s random. The mysterious randomness is beautiful and has allowed for incredible diversity of life. It is beautiful, but it is cruel.
At least it feels cruel. It feels cruel to take my perfectly timed, organized plans and throw a wrench in them. It feels cruel to take a baby from a mother’s womb. But I am not the creator or sustainer of life. What do I know?
I don’t see the whole timeline of eternity. I don’t see the rippling impacts of life, no matter the length. I don’t see people’s hearts. I don’t see the tapestry of the world. I don’t know what is best. But someone does. The creator and sustainer of life does.
This experience has taught me to drop my superstitions, drop my semblance of control, drop my plans, and trust in Him. His plans are bigger. He sees eternity. He knows what is best for us. He wants what is best for us. He wants the best for us because He loves us. I believe that, not only because His Word says so, but also because I feel it in my heart and gut. He is the creator and sustainer of life. I give Him my life. I give Him Ginny’s life. He had it all along anyway.
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” Romans 8:28
“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
There is nothing more meaningful to me than someone telling me they are thinking of, missing, or remembering Ginny. What parents who have lost want more than anything is for their child to be remembered. I thought I would want to forget this whole painful experience, but that’s not the case. I don’t want to forget anything. I love her too much to forget anything.
Never be afraid to bring her up to me. Don’t be afraid to use her name. Call her Ginny, call her Virginia Hope, just please call her. You aren’t reminding me of something painful. You are reminding me of who I love. And I’m probably already thinking of her anyway.
I’m not sure what made us decide to share her sex and name to friends and family right when we found out. I think we were just eager to share her. We couldn’t keep her to ourselves. We wanted everyone to know her; I’m so glad we did. Daniel and I are blessed by friends who said we inspired them to share their baby’s name early. They want everyone to know their baby before birth the way they knew Ginny.
People knew her name and knew of her garden-themed nursery. Family and friends kept their eyes open at stores for felted veggies, a print of a little garden bunny, and a garland of carrots. As spring drew nearer, it became much easier to spot cute items. One of my favorites is the set of three pots my sister Keri bought her. The pots read “You” “Grow” “Girl”. It was too perfect for Keri to pass up. Things still catch my eye at the store – at first I would feel a sharp pang in my heart. Now I think of it as a little smile from Ginny.
“You Grow Girl” Pots for the nursery from Keri
Most all of my favorite pregnancy memories are of feeling Ginny move. Feeling that little flutter in the 2nd trimester. It was such a crazy feeling to know that there was a little person inside me with her own muscles and brain, moving independently from me. She was stretching, fidgeting, and turning on her own. It was mind-blowing to see those movements during ultrasounds. Is that really all happening inside me?
12 week ultrasound – She was moving like crazy!
It was obvious when she developed the ability to hear. Any loud noise or music would make her move like crazy. I remember when we saw Fantastic Beasts in theaters. Ginny started flipping during a loud action scene. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud and tell Daniel right away. A couple weeks later we went to a Greek restaurant with friends. Festive music started playing and people got up to dance shoulder to shoulder. Ginny also started dancing! During doctor’s appointments, the sound of the doppler would startle her. I remember a doctor saying, “Hey baby girl, don’t kick the doctor!” The doctors would say she was very active and healthy to respond to the doppler so much.
Dancers at our favorite Greek restaurant. Ginny was dancing right along!
Every time I felt Ginny hiccup (which was often), I would text Daniel. I’d type “Hiccups 🥰”, and Daniel would respond with a heart emoji. When he was home with us, I would grab his hand and place it on my belly. He smiled so big anytime he felt her. Sometimes we would fall asleep with his hand on my belly. Daniel would kiss us both goodbye in the morning, “Bye bye Ginny. I love you!” He wanted her to learn his voice.
Texts between me and Daniel about Ginny hiccuping. 🙂
I want to bottle up all those memories and carry them with me everywhere. I would give anything to carry Ginny in my belly for one more minute. I wish I had savored every single moment as if it was the last because eventually it was.
This makes me so grateful for the time I still have with others I love. I can still savor every moment with Daniel, my parents, my sisters, my in-laws, my friends. I plan on it. I plan on making as many memories as I can with everyone I love. In case I lose them or they lose me, we will always have those memories to hold.
Please feel free to share any memory you have of Ginny or someone else who is no longer here. I want to document as many of those special memories as we can!
Over half a dozen of my Facebook friends have had babies since Ginny was stillborn. We were pregnant together. Another dozen are currently pregnant. We are in that phase of life – babies everywhere. It is an exciting time. Again I’m faced with more emotions than I know how to handle. I truly am happy for them. I hate the thought that Daniel and I would be left out of sharing in the excitement and love of new life. Life is even more precious to us now, and we want to be part of it. I know friends and family are unsure how to approach us. They kindly don’t want to flaunt their babies or pregnancies. But we end up feeling left in the dark, isolated. We need people; we need living babies to give us hope. I need to hold and love a baby. It really does help. Could I hold yours for a while? I may weep… it’s out of love, I promise.
I really am happy for them, but I am also heart wrenched. Some days, one scroll through social media is enough to make me break down. Is it jealousy? Maybe, but it doesn’t feel like any jealousy I’ve felt before. I think it just reminds me of what I am missing. I was supposed to have that joy. I was supposed to take monthly pictures of a baby squirming on a numbered blanket. I cry to my mom, “Everyone else gets their baby! Why don’t I get my baby?!” She calmly answers, “No, not everyone gets their baby. You don’t know how many have lost.”
That’s true. Since posting about Ginny, several women have messaged me telling about their losses. According to the March of Dimes, around 10-15% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage and 1% end in stillbirth. That means your family, your close friends, your coworkers have all likely been affected by baby loss. We don’t talk about it. Rule of thumb – wait 12 weeks until you announce. You don’t want to have to share your miscarriage! I followed the rule. I thought I was in the clear.
I’m glad I was too pregnant to keep it a secret. I can’t imagine suffering alone. I can’t imagine keeping this to ourselves. I was changed the moment I was pregnant. I was changed again the moment I found out Ginny passed. I can’t hide that change. I can’t keep my daughter’s life and death a secret. I’m so grateful that others knew and loved Ginny.
No judgement to anyone who has kept it secret – you are stronger than I am. If you have lost, I’m so sorry. If you’ve lost and you felt alone, I’m so sorry. You are not alone. You have loss parents all around you, moms and dads missing their children. So many of us have ultrasound pictures folded in drawers, empty Christmas stockings, and precious dates on the calendar, unknown to others. You are not alone. Call or message me; I’m happy to listen.
If you know of someone who has lost a baby, no matter how early or late, please reach out to them. Tell them you are sorry. This sucks. Tell them you don’t know what to say. Don’t try to make them feel better. Just mourn with them, and let them hold your baby and weep… it’s out of love, I promise.
Right after we found out our baby girl Ginny had died in the womb at 34+ weeks, time seemed to be so hugely empty. It felt loud how empty time was. What are we supposed to be doing? What do we normally do? Time seemed to slow down to a creep and nothing was filling it. I guess it was due to how much pain we were in. There was nothing to relieve it. Time was standing still, like we would be in that spot forever. I read the dreaded stillborn chapter in my “What to Expect Book”. That took two minutes. I folded laundry. That took five minutes. What were we going to do with all that empty time?
Before we got that terrible news, time went by so quickly. We only had a few weeks left of the pregnancy and each week flew by as we were preparing. I counted the number of weekends we had left with just the two of us. I wanted to make the most of each day together. Our marriage and lives would change. I wanted to savor the last moments with our family of two. I loved every minute of our almost 8 years of marriage. It was wonderful. I knew this next phase would be even more wonderful, but I also knew it would never be the same.
I was right that it would never be the same, but not in the way I thought it would. I regret not spending those last few weeks focusing entirely on Ginny and bonding with her. If only I had known that would be our only time with her. The future would not be full of days admiring her, feeding, burping, changing diapers, giving baths. We would have an ocean of time in front of us.
We need to plan some trips… get away from this empty house. TV and movies aren’t what they used to be. Dramas seem pointless, and comedies seem stupid. The only thing we could bear to watch at first was BBC’s Planet Earth. The beauty of nature was the only thing that didn’t make us cringe. Friends sent puzzles and coloring books. Those are nice, but they don’t actually fill time. Your mind is still free to think while completing a puzzle or coloring a picture. I wanted something to occupy my mind so time would pass. They say that time helps. I hoped that was true and wished to fast forward. I knew I needed to walk through the grief to be healthy, but couldn’t I just jump into the future where things are easier?
It was probably around 6 weeks after Ginny’s death that I had the first moment of true distraction. It was the first time my mind wasn’t thinking of our grief. It only lasted about two minutes. I was in a craft store designing a piece of homemade wall decor that I would hang where Ginny’s crib used to be. I realized I had a small reprieve, and it felt good. I was proud of myself for finally being able to focus on something else, even for one moment. Since then there have been a few times here or there that I wasn’t consumed, mostly when we are talking with friends. I don’t feel guilty when I get a small break or distraction. I think of Ginny all the rest of the 99.99% of my life. Even when I’m thinking or talking of something else, there is a part of my brain that is thinking of her. When I think of her, it is love mixed with pain. It is not all bad, but it does make time slow down somehow.
I think we all ache for heaven, and those of us who have lost a loved one ache for heaven even more. Maybe time slows down in anticipation of heaven. Like a child waiting to open birthday presents – the day seems to take forever. The more excited you are, the longer it seems to take. We yearn for something that is right in front of us yet still so far from us. In the end I know this time we are apart will be a small blip compared to the eternity we will be together. Right now it seems to be taking forever.
From my experience as well as from other grief stories I read, I realized time does not dull the pain. You never get past the grief, and things don’t get better. What does happen is that the grief causes you to grow and become stronger. This allows you to carry that pain more easily. Eventually it just becomes a part of you.
I’m not sure my perception of time will ever return to “normal”. I will do my best to enjoy every long second here on Earth. When we are reunited with our Ginny in heaven, time will likely change again and I can’t wait.
Grief surprised me in so many ways. Of course I was surprised by the death of our baby girl Ginny at 34+ weeks, and grief hit me like a tsunami. At first it felt like shock and numbness. Then it quickly turned to an extremely sharp pain. Although I know it was an emotional pain, in the moment it was indistinguishable from physical pain. It hurt in the same way.
In the days after our loss, the grief morphed into what C.S. Lewis describes in his book A Grief Observed. He said grief feels like fear, a panic anticipation type fear. A fear that you are forgetting something extremely important. He describes that this happens because so much of your life is focused on this person so when they are gone, you feel like you are not doing everything that needs to get done. There is a big empty hole – that makes you panic. Even when I wasn’t thinking about it, that fear would be present, coming out of my subconscious.
Then it slightly morphed into the kind of pain where it feels like a knife is churning your heart and stomach. This pain felt similar to a teenage heartache amplified a thousand times. It constantly nags you. It is tinged with a feeling of regret, then a strong feeling of wanting to go back to when things were good. I just wanted to be pregnant with a living baby again; I wanted Ginny. I thought angrily at the potential of there being multiple dimensions or universes. Is there a universe out there where Ginny was still alive – where Aimee and Daniel keep living their blessed lives free this grief? Why can’t we be them?!
During this time, the worst moments were just after I first woke up in the morning. It was like waking up to a nightmare every day. Somehow it is as if your mind forgets in the night. I would wake up and feel the heaviest emptiness in my belly. The shock would come back for a moment then sorrow would flow over my body and heart. That began each day. As the weeks pass, my mind stopped forgetting in the night. I woke up already knowing. I still had to face it, but it didn’t crash into me.
Distraction wouldn’t help the pain, but it was necessary to prevent a constant state of crying. You physically can’t weep all day long. Even when I was distracted by a funny show or a conversation, my heart would be pulled. It felt as if gravity was stronger for my heart than the rest of my body. It was all I could do to stand up and walk around. It was much more physical than I imagined it would be.
After a while of distraction, I would feel a dark, heavy cloud around me. The sorrow felt like suffering. I read somewhere that there is a difference between grieving and mourning. Grieving is the emotion, while mourning is an outward expression of the grief. You need to relieve the built-up grief through mourning. If I took the time to cry, talk, write, or read about what I was feeling, the dark cloud would lift for a few hours. I would feel a slight lightness in my heart and could think of Ginny with so much love instead of love mixed with pain. I had to start a rhythm of grieving, mourning, grieving, mourning – just to survive. After a while, the cycle was not out of survival. I realized mourning is an expression of love for Ginny. I never wanted to forget her. I never wanted to stop grieving. I want to nurture the grief as if it is my baby to care for.
Grief is so much richer and deeper than I once thought. Before this experience, I thought grief was something to get through, stages you have to successfully walk through to be a healthy and “normal” person again. Through this experience, I now know that grief is not something to get through. It is something to carry with you in your heart always. It isn’t a bad aspect of life; it is an extra fullness of life. Like ocean waves hitting the shore, the gravity of my heart weighs and lightens continuously as I mourn forever. I never knew grief was a type of love. It is a wild love. Although I no longer carry Ginny in my womb, I will always carry her in my heart through the rich, full, loving grief.
Deathday before birthday. The loss of an unborn child is extremely confusing. All our plans and dreams for the future are thrown out the window and replaced with seemingly endless contradictions. It is hard to find your emotional footing. When I feel such intense grief and breakdown, I tell my husband or my mom that I’m feeling sad. But that’s not true – I’m not sad. I’m feeling more than I can describe. I’m feeling more than I can comprehend.
My mind tricks me. My body tricks me. My emotions trick me. I feel like I’m living in a topsy turvy world full of paradoxes.
Physically giving birth to a stillborn baby messes with your mind. Your body releases happy hormones: oxytocin, endorphins, adrenaline. Hormones that tell you this is the best day of your life. Hormones that cause you to fall in love with your newborn baby and tell you to forget the pain and have more children. How can I feel strong, happy, and proud while also feeling sorrow, sadness, and despair? These hormones tell you that your arms should be full, but your arms are empty.
That’s the beginning of your body’s consistent reminder of your empty arms. Next your milk comes in causing your boobs to swell. They start to hurt, yelling at you, “FEED YOUR BABY! FEED YOUR BABY!” You just want to yell back, “I CAN’T! I HAVE NO BABY! SHUT UP!” I want nothing more than to feed my baby with this milk meant for her. The pain becomes cathartic. Something feels good about having some physical pain to go with your emotional pain. Then the pain slowly leaves, and you are sad to feel it go. Is my body forgetting? Am I forgetting her already? My boobs are empty and my arms are empty.
I dread the day when I meet someone new and they ask me, “Do you have any kids?” or “Are you a mom?” Am I a mom? Yes or no. There is no obvious answer. In my heart I am, but there is no proof on earth. I treasure the one fading milk stain on my robe. Even though I’m the only one who sees it, it is one small piece of evidence that I am a mom. I guess I will answer that I had a stillborn baby or I have a daughter in heaven. It may make people feel awkward, but I never want to minimize or deny her life or my motherhood.
One of the most unexpected feelings I have is the happiness I feel when I think of her – happiness when I think of being pregnant, of the cute nursery, of the plans we made. I love her so much. I loved every minute with her. I feel happiness when I think of her. It is the unknown future that makes me sad – the future that was planned and is now blurry. At first I thought, “Why did this happen now?! I was so far along!! Everything was ready! We were ready for her! Why not earlier when we had no nursery?” But then I realized those were the times with her. I now wish that it had happened later so I had more time with her. How do I have such happy memories while at the same time my heart is torn apart? My heart is happy that she is in heaven and is so so loved. My heart is broken for the future we won’t have together on Earth. We will be together as a complete family one day and for forever.
The ultimate paradox is the love, strength, and faith that comes out of the woodwork in these hard times, from family and friends but more surprisingly from myself.
“But he said to me, ’My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
When we started trying to have a baby, I told Daniel and myself not to get our hopes up. It usually takes a few months to get pregnant and often longer than that. That first month of trying I took a pregnancy test without telling Daniel. Before the results were in, I sat on the couch and asked Daniel to check the test in 3 minutes. He was caught off guard. I told him I didn’t think I was pregnant, but I wanted to take the test just in case. After 3 minutes, he cautiously walked to the bathroom. He was silent. I called out, “Well what does it say?!” He showed me the test with wide eyes. It was positive! We hugged and teared up! It was a very happy and exciting but scary moment. We knew there was no going back. We were both very surprised and blessed at how quickly it happened. That was July 26, 2018.
Our families were shocked and ecstatic when we told them the news over FaceTime. No one expected us to have children. They were all thrilled! The due date was April 3, 2019. A spring baby! I always loved spring. I loved that it represented new life!
Because work was so stressful, I had a lot of anxiety in the first trimester. Daniel encouraged me to quit my job. I was planning on being a stay-at-home mom anyway. There was no point in enduring that stress. I quit my job at the 12 week mark. It was a relief. For the rest of 2018 I was busy finding a new house and preparing for the holidays. Daniel’s parents were able to come for the anatomy scan on November 20 when they were in town for Thanksgiving. We found out we were having a little girl! We were all so happy! We named her Virginia Hope Jones after Daniel’s great grandmother, a very special person in our family. We would call her Ginny.
Without fail we excitedly attended every prenatal appointment. Everything looked perfect and went smoothly. She always had a strong heartbeat and was growing each week. Because I was low-risk and everything looked good, there was no third-trimester ultrasound planned. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see her again before she was born, but I was happy everything was going well.
We moved into our new house in Cary, NC in January, and I started nesting in our new place. We prepared the nursery with a garden theme. My mom came to help decorate. We had sweet sunflowers lining her crib, a cute green rug that looked like grass, and a sign in the shape of birdhouses that said “ginny” above her crib. It was perfect.
Daniel and I attended classes on breastfeeding and child birth. Daniel even went to “Daddy Bootcamp.” I spent days trying to prepare as much as I could. I watched video after video of how to take care of newborns, birth vlogs, baby item essentials. We were nearly ready. We had all the clothes and supplies we needed. I had packed the hospital bag. All we had to do was wait. I loved spending time feeling and watching my belly. I loved to feel her hiccup and move. She would move a lot anytime there was a loud noise or music. I was obsessed with trying to figure out what position she was in. Daniel would laugh at me as I guessed everyday, “I think she is head down now…or maybe she is sideways!” I’d put his hand on my belly anytime I’d feel her move. He was so excited to hold her. Only a little over a month left!
On Thursday February 21 we had our normal prenatal appointment. We heard her heart beating at a strong 147 bpm. The midwife brought out a small ultrasound machine to determine her position. She was head down! That was a relief to me. The midwife measured my belly. I was supposed to be 34 cm but was 31 cm. She ordered a growth scan for Monday to ensure Ginny was growing properly. She said that most likely everything is fine and she is growing, but we want to just make sure since my belly was small. This made me a little nervous but also excited. I was glad we would get another chance to see her before she was born.
I looked forward to the ultrasound on Monday afternoon. I tried not to get my hopes up that we would get a good face picture. I knew she was pretty squished in there so it might be hard to get one. I was so eager to see her.
Daniel met me at the hospital. As we waited in the waiting room he asked if I was nervous, and I said, “yes a little but mostly excited.” I thought the worst case scenario would be that Ginny was small and that they would decide to take her early and she would spend time in the NICU. I thought that wasn’t likely, but I still tried to prepare for what I thought was the worst possible outcome.
I was wrong. That wasn’t the worst possible outcome. What truly happened was worse than I could’ve imagined.
The ultrasound technician moved fast. Instead of starting with the heartbeat as usual, she seemed to be quickly and hap hazardously taking measurements. This was so unlike the previous ultrasounds we had. I asked to see the heartbeat and she abruptly said that she was measuring some things now. She was moving so quickly. I couldn’t make sense of what she was doing. It made me very nervous. I finally asked again, “Can I please see her heartbeat?!” She said she was having trouble finding it. I started breathing really heavy, hyperventilating. She rubbed my arm and said to breathe. She went to get the doctor.
Daniel and I started praying. I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed before. We BEGGED God for a miracle. We pleaded and pleaded that when the doctor comes there will be a heartbeat. We prayed that Ginny would be born alive and grow up. We held hands and prayed. My heart was beating so hard. Daniel said he could see it through my sweater.
The doctor came in with the technician. She put the wand to my belly again…nothing. The doctor said, “I’m so sorry. I have to give you the worst news.” Everything fell still. I became calm. Daniel was crying behind me. I sat up and started asking questions, “Is there anyway to know what happened? What are the next steps?” I realized it was weird that I was so calm. I told the doctor, “I don’t know why I’m not crying.” He said I was probably in shock. I know the Holy Spirit was filling me with peace to get through that moment.
We were sent home to wait for instruction from my doctors. That was the longest car ride home followed my the longest evening ever. Time seemed to creep by. Daniel and I hugged and cried on the couch. I read the dreaded baby loss chapter of my “What to Expect” book. The doctors called to schedule the induction. I was to be induced at 9am tomorrow morning. I had no idea how I could possibly bear going through labor and delivery with no living baby as a reward! Our young adult pastor visited us and prayed with us. Our mothers decided to fly in, and I’m so grateful they did. We waited until around 2:30am for our moms’ flight to arrive. We picked them up from the airport in quiet tears. I was so tired.
The next morning we prayed together before leaving. I felt peace. It was incredible how quickly and smoothly everything went. We all felt the presence of God. The doctors and nurses were wonderful, caring, and sympathetic. Less than 12 hours after arriving at the hospital, I gave birth to Ginny’s body. It was Tuesday, February 26, 2019 at 8:47 pm. She was 3 lbs 5 oz and 16 inches long. Daniel was amazing. He was there for me in exactly the right ways. I couldn’t have done it without him. He held my hand through the whole thing. Our moms were just the support we needed. We all got to hold and kiss Ginny’s body. She was beautiful and had dark curly hair like her daddy. A day I was expecting to be filled with pain and fear was actually filled with love and healing.
Our moms and my sister spent the week taking care of us. They shopped, cooked, and cleaned for us. We received 9 flower deliveries and several care packages. Our friends covered us in love and prayers. We spent the week watching Planet Earth, crying, and coloring. Everything seemed in a bit of a haze. We went out to Target and the botanical garden. They were not effective distractions but gave us something to do. The day before our moms left, we took down the nursery. I used a knife to pry the letters off of the cute birdhouse sign – maybe someone could use to the sign for something else. We took down each baby girl outfit from the hangers one by one. This one goes to a friend… this one to be donated…this one save for a keepsake. My future dismantled piece by piece. Maybe something could be salvaged, maybe not.
Our family left. Daniel and I were alone in silence again. We got through day after day. The pain came like waves pounding against us. We still felt God with us though. It is such a bizarre feeling to have so much pain yet be full of peace and love. Grief is like that… it isn’t simple. It is complex and deep and full. It is not all bad. It is love and ache and sorrow and happiness. At first I wanted to skip it and fast-forward through time. After a while I wanted to nurture the grief; I wanted to saver it. I will always carry my grief, and I will always carry Ginny.
The doctors haven’t been able to determine definitively what caused Ginny’s death. They say things like, “Sometimes things like this just happen and no one knows why.” We had many tests done on me, Ginny’s body, and the placenta. Everything came back healthy, but she was small for her gestational age. We suspect that it might have been the umbilical cord tight around her neck or perhaps a blood clot in the cord. We may never know for sure.
This loss has given me a new perspective on life. I see myself in terms of eternity now. I look forward to the day I will be with Ginny in heaven. Death doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. At the same time, life is more precious. I want to enjoy and celebrate every moment because it is not guaranteed. I love deeper and am so extremely grateful for Daniel and our family and friends.
I have hope for what is to come although it is unclear to me now. I know I don’t want to go back to my old life of stressful work that now seems meaningless to me. I know I want to help others going through difficult times. I don’t know what that looks like, but I think God will make my paths clear when I am ready. Now I am focused on healing and grieving.
This space was created to share my journey as a grieving mother. My daughter Virginia Hope Jones was born still on February 26, 2019. We call her Ginny. My husband Daniel and I are full of love for her and miss her with all our hearts. We do live in hope that she is happy in the arms of Jesus and we will see her again. For me, one of the most helpful grieving outlets has been writing. I decided to post some of these writings for others to see. I’ve grown so much in love, compassion, and faith through our loss. I hope to share some of what I’m experiencing and learning.
Be-Still-and-Know 