Two years ago exactly, I had a miscarriage. Today I happened to be going through some old books and journals, and I found a poem I wrote back in October of 2007, when I lost a baby in my fourth pregnancy, at 14 weeks along. It’s so wild how incredibly cathartic writing is for me. I remember discovering this back in high school, and for a while, I forgot about the trick. Whoever you are out there listening (reading), thanks for bearing a little piece of my burdens.
In part because I’m obviously a sado-masochistic emotional exhibitionist and in part because I’m afraid I’ll lose this little piece of paper again, here it is for the whole wide world to see:
Cathryn, Amelia, Sophie, or Jane?
Simon or Kai, Noah or Cade?
A sister to tutor?
Another brother to play?
Either will do. We’ll laugh either way.
But as for this time, it seems,
“Just a cluster of underdeveloped dreams…”
the doctors insisted.
I couldn’t believe.
But then today
in a single plop
my hopes go pop
as I feel it drop.
I just can’t look! I can’t inspect.
But my senses tell what fell:
A bloody circle, full of hopes
Just as real, I’ll always feel.
Yet this is still the Day He made
And He’s still good (so near) today.
I already learned He isn’t safe.
So I must trust Him anyway.