Thursday, July 19, 2012


If you're reading our family blog, you're probably a pretty good friend of ours and already know most of the details of our last month. Just in case you don't, here's the short(ish) version:

Ted and I went to our 20 week ultrasound on June 19th and discovered the baby didn't have a heartbeat. The doctors determined the baby stopped growing around the late 16th/early 17th week of my pregnancy. Because the miscarriage happened so far along, we ended up inducing labor and delivering the baby. That day was probably--well, no definitely--the most difficult day I've had yet. We had a boy. We got to hold him and name him James and then let him go. 

20 weeks is a long time to expect something. And not just something--someone, someone that was supposed to be a part of your family forever and that you'd been making plans for, and talking to, and praying over, and eating for, and growing with. I expected him. I wanted him. I wanted to raise him and kiss him and see if he had the Mosey dimple in his chin. I wanted to drag myself into his room at 2am and feed him, grumbling on the outside but feeling impossibly happy and blessed on the inside. I wanted the opportunity to be his mom. Ted and I will probably grieve that loss for a long, long time. Maybe forever.

I did get some insight into the miscarriage a few days ago. One of my blood tests showed I have Factor 5 Leiden, which is a genetic blood disorder that means I'm at a higher risk for clotting than most people, particularly during pregnancy when blood volume increases. A blood clot could have gotten into the placenta or the cord. Nobody knows for sure, but it’s a definite possibility for Factor 5 moms, and I met with a hematologist that I'll have to work alongside for any future pregnancies. You don't have to do anything for Factor 5 during "regular" life, but I'd have to give myself blood thinner shots during pregnancy or any kind of prolonged immobilization. (Ugh) It is good to know, though. 

Somehow in the middle of this loss, we noticed we are finding things, too. We have found that we are surrounded by extremely compassionate friends and family members that care deeply about us and our family. Like, blown away by the concern and support we've gotten through this. Ted and I have not felt alone or isolated for one second. Friends have cried with us and spoken the most healing words to us. Gallons of coffee and lots of tears have been shared at our dining room table these past few weeks, and for those of you who occupied those chairs or sent us encouragement: thank you. Those moments were gold to me. They rebuilt me. 

I've found there are dangers and risks associated with motherhood and I'm more than willing to take those risks--and even lose to them--to know the depth of joy that that it brings to me. I know that my God doesn't make mistakes in numbering anybody’s days, that He can take my anger and accusations, and that He'll still walk slowly with me down that road until my anger gives way to peace. 
He knows what its like to lose a son.

He’s still good to me, even when I have to look harder to see it. There's way too much life and hope and miracles abounding all around me to ever deny that.

For now, my heart is still heavy and there are definitely hours when my bitterness gets the best of me. My heart is completely broken for not just us, but for anyone that has gone through this. But I know that it has to fit in somewhere, somehow. My favorite name given to God in the Bible is the Author of Life. I love thinking of Him as a writer, and it gives me a lot of comfort to know this is part of my story, my book, that began and ends with Him. He has James now, and that just gives me another reason to long for Heaven.

A friend of mine shared some new research with me that was discovered the same month of the miscarriage. Researchers found that fetal cells cross the placenta and get into the mom’s system and stay there forever. Whether the baby was born or miscarried, thousands of their cells remain and have been found concentrated in areas of illness in the mom’s body, fighting off disease for her for the rest of her life. We shared a little cry over it. How amazing. Our babies are part of us forever, literally.

I know that everyone has their own burdens and trials, and we thank you so much for hitting pause on yours and coming to help us shoulder ours lately. 
Our hearts are healing faster for it. 

I have no doubt we’ll keep finding things that James’ life—however tiny and short—has taught us. 

“Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.”
James 1:2-4


Cherrylynn said...

Love you guys.

Renee Wilson said...

I'm so sorry to hear of your loss, Ted and Caroline. Our prayers are with you.
Renee & Seth

Beth said...

Love you all so much.

Grady Hensley said...

Your writing makes me cry and smile. I love you!

Dean, Mel, Ben and Joey said...

your words, as always, are so beautiful. You continue to be in my prayers. God bless your sweet, sweet family and I wish you peace and continued healing.

edna hensley said...

Well said Caroline. James is in our heart forever too. Love you all so much. MoM

Lauren said...

I love you so much sweet sister. I continue to pray for your hearts to heal.

Blair said...

You have an amazing gift for words and for expressing your loving heart. Prayers are still with you guys. Love you so much, Blair