Two days ago, I picked up the phone and heard the grief-stricken voice of someone very close to me say, "Carrie, I'm losing my baby." Suddenly everything around me grew dim and I fell to my knees in tears. After hearing those words, it's really hard to hear anything else. We talked for some time, holding each other through phone lines and wondering how we had arrived at this place. At that moment, it was not certain yet, there were still blood tests to be done the following day. As of yesterday, the news was not good.
I've heard from literally thousands of women, all over the world, in very similar situations. Routine ultrasound, baby is measuring small, no heartbeat. They experience temporary physical pain and, most times, lifelong emotional scars. After hearing this story so many times, one would think I'd get used to it, but it never gets any easier to hear.
It is especially difficult in this case because the Mom is one of my dearest friends and, after I married Jon, she became my cousin. She is the avenue that led me to my home church where I met my husband and dedicated my son. When Elena died, she crocheted two tiny blankets for her - one that I keep at home with all of Elena's things and the other that was laid over her tiny body when she was buried. And she has since become a valuable part of The Shining Light Fund, entering all of the orders that we receive for mother's bracelets. She has always been a compassionate soul, an encourager.
Now, she needs my encouragement. Even though I have gone through a loss myself, it's still hard to know what to do or say. I mean, I know all the things NOT to say. My mind is moving so fast and I just blurt out all the things that come into my head..."Can I go with you to the doctor?" "Do you want me to come over?" "Call me anytime." These are really all just excess words to say, "I'm helpless." "I'm sorry." "I love you."
I know that everyone will be okay. But today, I'm sad. And that's okay, too.
Thanks for listening.