I have always wanted to be a mom, and when that plastic stick said “Pregnant,” my husband and I were thrilled. Over the following weeks, we picked out names, set up the nursery, bought a family vehicle, and dreamed of when our duo would soon become a trio. We were floating in giddy happiness and excitement.
At our second ultrasound, we heard the crushing words that every mom silently dreads. There was no heartbeat. Our baby was dead. We were devastated.
I felt like a balloon. Emotionally, I had been so excited about the new baby, filled with so many ideas, projects, and preparations. My secret baby Pinterest boards were overflowing! I had been inflated with joy almost to bursting! Suddenly, it was as if someone had let go of the end of the balloon. All of the air rushed out, leaving behind a flat and deflated shell. Balloons never look the same after being inflated and then deflated again. They get those wrinkly stretch lines that show the wear of the experience. My soul felt like that limp and wrinkled balloon.
I continually wondered, ‘What do I do now?’ While life was continuing as normal all around me, I was standing still. The few people who knew what had happened offered well-meaning condolences. However, in my state of shock and raw emotion, I interpreted their words as an attempt to dismiss my pain, make light of my loss, and excuse themselves from the discomfort of watching me process all of my grief.
It would have been easy for me to hide my grief, but women who had walked the same path reached out to me. Their kind message was that this would be a long and difficult journey, but that there would be hope and peace in the end. They were right. In the same way, I invite you to walk through this plan with me. I have been where you are, and I can tell you honestly, this is not the end, but only one step along the way.
Let’s take the next few steps together.