One of the greatest pains a woman can feel is losing a child.
Those around her can try, but they’ll never understand the depths of her pain.
It’s been 32 years today since we lost our baby.
It was my second high-risk pregnancy, and at six weeks, I had a miscarriage that almost ended my life.
While reading a story to my two-year-old son, I started to hemorrhage. I called 911, told them I felt faint, then passed out.
Later they told me that my son stayed on the phone then opened the door for the firefighters.
I was rushed to the hospital, taken into surgery, and I remember muffled voices saying: “She’s bleeding out; she’s bleeding out!”
When I woke up, they said I had lost our baby, I was hemorrhaging badly, and they had to do an emergency DNC. I felt like they ripped out my heart. The pain in my stomach was excruciating. Agony washed over me, my child was gone, and as I cradled my stomach, I wondered what I had done wrong.
There was an emptiness that even a dark howling cry couldn’t heal. I failed my husband. I failed my son. I blamed myself.
My husband is my rock, my compass, my great love. He calms my anxiety and reminds me that everything will be okay. But when he wept in my arms, I saw his pain, I felt responsible, and I wondered if our little family would survive this devastating loss.
Then we had to tell our son his baby went to heaven. He had plans for his baby. Why did the baby go? His tears broke me, and all I wanted to do was heal his precious little heart. But even Mommy’s kisses couldn’t make this hurt go away.
We named our daughter Faith. I knew she was a girl, and I knew we were going to need every ounce of strength and faith to move forward.
How did I know she was a girl? Did I have testing done?
No, but as I lay in the recovery room, trying to get my head around this, gutted, seeking answers, I felt her. I knew she was there. Maybe it was an out-of-body experience, a connection between mother and child, or a mother in mourning, but I knew she was my little girl, and I believe she has been watching over my family ever since.
Three months later, the doctors told me I was pregnant again. We were elated but scared when continual complications forced me back on bed rest and marred this pregnancy as it had the first one.
Eight months later, at four weeks early, our daughter was taken emergency c-section.
She was born four days after the anniversary of Faith’s passing.
I worried about her birthday being so close to such a painful day. I didn’t want her to feel overshadowed. I never wanted my tears on Faith’s day to make her question if she was loved or wanted. It was important to me that she knew her value and worth. This beautiful child has brought so much joy to our lives, she has helped heal my wounded heart, and I can’t imagine my life without her.
It’s been 32 years, and the tears still flow. It was my honor to carry Faith, even for a short while. The sad memories have been replaced with gratitude as we believe Faith sent our daughter to us.
But after all these years, I’m still in awe at the gift my son gave me that day. Had he hung up the phone, I would be dead. If he didn’t open the door for the firefighters, I would be dead. If he panicked, cried, and tried to wake me up, I would be dead. At two years old, my precious little boy saved my life.
I don’t know why bad things happen. I believe miracles happen every day. I know there is light in every darkness, fear can be overcome, and in every doubt, hope is not far behind. In the end, love will always win.
One of the greatest pains a woman can feel is losing a child.
But one of her greatest joys is loving them.
Amberley Charlotte Writes 