Monday, January 6, 2014

Fearfully Hopeful…Question Mark?

Is that even a thing? I'm going to say yes.

Fearfully hopeful has been one of my main emotions lately, as a lot of my thoughts have centered around the idea of becoming pregnant again. Facing the idea of pregnancy after a full term stillbirth is terrifying, and with Emma being my first baby there are unique emotions associated with it.

Although I know logically that most babies don't die, and there is no reason for me to expect a loss like this again, the fear is real and it is big.

With Emma being my first child, pregnancy ending in death is all I know. I have no other point of reference in my life. Nothing to prove to me that other outcomes are possible.

Emma lived and was loved inside my body for 10 months. I sang to her, read to her, talked to her, and was connected to her every single moment. I felt when she stopped moving and her little legs no longer pressed against my ribs. I felt her being lifted out of my body in the operating room and I held her silent body in my arms. I was wheeled out of the hospital with empty arms and a hospital bag that still contained Emma's going home outfit. I went to the funeral home with my husband, my breasts engorged and throbbing with milk, and made choices no parent should ever have to. We planned her funeral, choosing hymns and passages and who we wanted to invite. We brought her home to her room in a little tiny urn. Its raw, terrifying, and uncomfortable to read, but it is what I have lived. These are the moments that are forever in my memory. Its unbearable and impossible to imagine unless you are that mother along with me. That mother who too has lived this nightmare.

When I think of confronting another pregnancy, these are the fears and horrors that enter into my mind. I will never again be that naive and blissful pregnant woman. I will always be fearfully hopeful. Hopeful that the next time it will be different. That the operating room is filled with the sound of screams not silence, that I get to bring home a living baby. But sadly, the fear will always be a part of it.

I long to be welcomed back into the world of babies and mommies. Where I'm not just the lonely broken mother that no one knows what to do with. I want a chance to schedule play dates, brag about milestones, plan birthday parties, and yes, be up all night covered in spit up and diaper explosions. Bring. It. On.

Please, oh please, let me have a chance to get off of the sidelines.


  1. No mother should ever have to go through the hell that you have endured. No mother should ever face that heartbreak. No mother should have to be terrified of pregnancy. No mother should have those feelings, least of all you. You have handled everything in a way that is inspiring. You have made me stronger and braver and more fearful and more loving because of your strength and friendship. I dream of that day when you are covered with spit-up, those sleepless nights, that screaming operating room. I dream of the celebrations and giggles and milestones for you, Britt, your baby, and Emma watching over you all. I grieve that you can't be that naive pregnant woman, just as I grieve for the loss of Emma and the loss of all our innocence. You will, however, always be a mommy. You have had more love in your heart for Emma than many other "mommies." The fact that you are able to be hopeful, even if it is cloaked in that fear, serves as a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. Yes, you are forever changed. But you will hold your own baby in your arms one day. It won't be the same as you thought a year ago, but it will happen for you. And when you have that diaper explosion, you are going to smile and love every minute of it.

  2. Sarah, I so love your blog, because it gives me a chance to hear the brutal truth of how the loss of your baby, Emma, affects you and also to tell you just how much I care about you. Your honesty and candidness may feel like it leaves you open and vulnerable, but your real feelings of fear are valid. Of course you would be terrified. Your only experience with pregnancy left you no choice. Would you choose to be scared to death to be pregnant again? Would you choose to know that you didn't lose Emma at 3 months pregnant, as many miscarriages occur, but long after that time that you would have let those fears go and would start to think about bringing sweet Emma home with you. No, you would not choose this....not for yourself, nor for your worst enemy (you don't have any enemies--it is just the saying). But here you are. Worried, scared, petrified....but maybe in there is a spark of hope, of life to come, of (dare I say) excitement, to get back on that roller coaster. I can promise you that you won't be alone. I am not sure if that is good or bad. A part of you may wish that you could just go away for the 9 months and not deal with anyone else. But please know that we are in for the long haul with you. No matter what. We can handle your fears, your tears, your pain, because we also want to handle your joys, your hopes and your immense love for Britt, for Emma, and for a new life to be.

  3. I relate on every single piece of this. That is the perfect description for it, "fearfully hopeful". Me too. I am frequently repeating 1st Peter 5:7 to myself, "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you". It helps. I truly hope that God has a new, joyful plan for us both and we get to be off those sidelines soon!

  4. This was beautiful, honest, raw, heartbreaking, and hopeful. You are a mommy and always will be. I am hopeful for you, Britt, and Emma. I am so in awe of your spirit, your honesty, and your strength daily. You are brave, friend...and I am hopeful that Emma will have the chance to be a big sister one day soon. Love you!