I did not handle the loss of my baby at all. It handled me. I thought my faith was strong and I could handle anything. Actually, I never thought I would not be a Mom. I knew the Lord answered prayers and mine would be answered.
Becoming pregnant for many is very easy. I have friends who have said if their hubby looked at them with that “you know” look, they’d conceive. After many tests, countless doctor visits and thousands of dollars later, it was determined there should not be a problem. So, I could get pregnant but there were complications.
My youngest sister and I did not know we were pregnant at the time of our Dad’s heart attack and hospital stay. It would end his life. Not until after the funeral services for him did we learn of our pregnancies. She had two daughters that were seven years apart and they were hopeful for a healthy son. He would be born seven years after his youngest sister. We enjoyed our pregnancy together although we lived a little less than two hours apart.
Our family felt blessed to have two babies coming after losing our last parent. Mother had died many years ago. Our grieving ended almost suddenly when we learned of the pregnancies. Perhaps it is best to say, our grief was replaced with joy. Our hearts were not as heavy.
Twelve years have passed and now that I can see through the glass clearly, I know God was at work. At that time, I saw dimly through the glass and became withdrawn. Making it into the third trimester was very encouraging and promising although bed rest was required. In case you’re wondering, I was not alone. I was married and happily so. It was a blessing to have someone to help bear the loss of my dad. I had been there for him when his father passed away.
I have wondered if my faith then were as strong as I thought. I have wondered what I may have done to cause the wrath of God to strike me as it did. My water broke in my third trimester but I did not immediately go into labor. My doctor told me, “Avis, I was praying you had just peed in your pants!”
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