Joining the Club Noone Wants to Be In...

I've hesitated writing this post.  It's so personal and so raw for many, many families.  Yet, I must write.  It's what I do, a big part of who I am.  It's how I deal with life in general, the good and the bad.  I choose to share this because I'm kind of an open book and, well, to slap a smile on my face and pretend like nothing ever happened would make it all feel so disingenuous.

Last week I was initiated into a club.  Every since I was a little girl, I was aware of some of it's members; my mom, aunts, friends.  It often begins with that head-spinning, butterflies-in-the-stomach realization that there are indeed two pink lines instead of one. 

It often seems to include thinking of some clever way to inform the guilty party of the success of previous shenanigans with it's accompanying goofy boy-like grin that melts a girl's heart all over again. 

It's a secretive smile between the two lovers knowing they know something no one else does. 

It's dropping wild hints just waiting for others to catch on and giggling when no one does. 

It's letting it slip because you can't bare lying to your closest friends when they ask, point blank...or not being able to contain it when you MUST tell a particular person.

It's letting the older siblings know and watching their eyes light up and hearing their squeals of delight.

It's having the overwhelming desire to PUKE YOUR EVER-LOVIN' brains out day after day...especially when onions are within close proximity.

Then one day you don't.  You feel fine and that is when you know something is wrong.

It's not even needing an ultrasound technician to tell you what is clearly on the screen.

It's the the Waiting Game, hoping your body knows what to do rather than waiting for cold, metal medical equipment to make their invasion to do the job.

It's watching the crushed, heartbroken look on a big sister's face after she asks, "Is it a boy or girl?"

It's still wanting to puke your ever-lovin' brains out even though you have nothing to show for it. 

It's having to respond to the sincere, sweet greeting, "Congratulations!  I heard the news..."

And for those who you planned to tell the moment you saw them again, how do you bring that subject up?  "Well, I was pregnant but...nevermind."  (It's an awkward sort of conversation starter.)

It's that club; the one no one really wants to be part of.



I will never forget that Fourth of July in Logan, Utah.  My dad was going to school there (yep, he's an Aggie).  My Uncle Ray brought his fiance, Lillian and our grandparents up from SLC.  We all sat on our front lawn to watch the fireworks.

We were all talking, waiting anxiously for the big show.  Suddenly, my mom cried out in pain.  Bursting into tears, she ran into the house.  When we saw her again, her eyes were red and she was curled up under a blanket.  She had lost her baby.  I don't even remember knowing she was pregnant.

I never fully understood what she went through.  I'm sure I still don't since she would face it 4 more times. 

The last time it happened, I was 12 years old.  Mom had told me in confidence that she was pregnant a few days earlier and I was determined to keep the secret (which was highly unusually for me).  We awakened in the morning to get ready for school.  Going into our parent's room, I noticed my mother looked pale and sickly.  She was bleeding...a lot. 


Understandably, some 20+ years later, she was, of course, who I was on the phone with in the early morning hours, frightened at the unknown process my body was going through that felt vaguely familiar at the same time.

It's interesting the random things that pop into a person's head during times like this...I love Sarah McLachlan.  Many of her songs speak to my soul.  Yet, I've never really cared for her song 'Angel'.  For one reason or another, I've never really connected with it.  But alone, holed up in my own mind for several days, the words to that song have returned to my mind over and over again.  For once, I think I get it.

I tried to go out for a little while on Saturday, perhaps just so I could say I did.  It felt so strange, so different.  I felt vacant and hollow. The air around me seemed changed.  It was gorgeous weather but so oddly 'blah'.  I'm not sure I've actually ever felt melancholy before.


Even wading through all that gloom, however, I would be remiss if I didn't stop and make a mental note of all the tender mercies that have happened around me during the past few days.  They have reminded me that while yes, this royally SUCKS, all will be well again.  I may not feel like me right now, but someday soon, with the help of Divine Intervention, Pompeii Purple nail polish and a hot bubble bath, all will be well. 

These are little rose petals, dropped along my path this past week, too sweet, too generously convenient to be 'just coincidence'.  I find it beautiful that more often than not, those tender mercies come in the form of the people around you. 

The moment I was getting really scared, a friend of mine called.  It was certainly something she could have waited until after 9 am for but for some reason, she just felt like calling at 7:15.  Her voice grounded me and helped me regain a bit of focus.

Several women jumped instantly out of the wood work, taking my kids so I could get to the doctor...then taking them again as I rested over the next few days.

As I prepared for the ultrasound, freezing cold, with my bum exposed to the office air conditioner, I looked at the ceiling above me.  Someone had posted a scripture out of the Book of Jeremiah.  It was one reminding the reader that God has a grander plan, that it will not lead to our disaster but to our good. 

The moment He-Man saw me, he opened his wonderful, protecting arms and wrapped them around me.  If those hugs are a miracle, I'm not sure what is!

It touched my heart that the doctor sitting across from me, telling me what I already knew, had such heartfelt compassion and empathy for me.  He probably gives this kind of news to hundreds upon hundreds of women each year.  Yet me made me feel like our loss was important to him.

I drove home that night, dreading the report I would be giving my awaiting family. I saw a good friend of ours running with his son.  They are preparing for a race together.  I noticed they were laughing and enjoying the time they had together.  Those two served as a reminder that we have that kind of relationship with our children, that He-Man and I are not alone in this and there are many joys still to be had.


My toddler suddenly took a liking to sauteed asparagus and mushrooms and snuggled up with me as we noshed on them together when food began to taste good again.  It seems so simple really, but that moment will forever mean the world to me. 

My sweet Oregon friend shipped a care package that miraculously arrived with a day or two.  

Tender Mercies are the friends that stop by baring flowers, fruit and drinks to keep myself hydrated, and delicious gluten free goodies.  They call, just to make sure all is well, or at least okay.

How could I possibly be worthy of such generous expressions of love and care...even more, how can I return the favor?

Maybe the answer to that question is very simple...I can't.

BUT perhaps these experiences can allow me to be more empathetic, more understanding to others who suffer such loss.  Sometimes, you can't possibly know how it feels until you feel it yourself. Right?  I truly hope I can learn from this experience and pay it forward.

To all of you beautiful souls who've ached and regretted your own initiation into this club of ours, I'm so desperately sorry.  My heart aches for you.  Our hearts are bound together by a common mourning.  You are not alone.


To everyone else, thank you for being the Tender Mercies that someone around you needs.