Yes, I know – I suck at regular blogging. But when you regularly stay up past midnight writing for clients, it kind of makes it hard to find time to blog for yourself.

I’m such a whiner.

But hey, here I am again – whoohoo!! And yes, it’s definitely past my bedtime, but I felt the need to write tonight. There are so many people around me in such pain – couples contemplating divorce, an ectopic pregnancy, serious illness and, so horribly, the premature delivery of twins resulting in the death of one baby.

It’s times like this when I’m reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Abraham Lincoln:

I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.

Tonight is one of those times when I have nowhere else to go. And tonight is one of those times when I find clarity in my faith and understand a little bit better that I never have anywhere else to go. (Notice I don’t totally get it, because I’m a big huge screw-up, and I give thanks every day for God’s patience – otherwise he would have kicked me to the curb long ago.)

So I go to my knees and pray – and on nights like this, I don’t even know what to say. In times like this, words fail me. Fortunately, another thing I’ve learned is that I don’t have to say a word. He knows my heart, He knows the pain and He’s always there, ready to comfort us when we seek Him out.

Think I’m nuts or some crazed “Jesus Freak”? Just try it – or better yet, try Him. What do you have to lose – your pain? Your depression? Your anger? You’re right – it would be a shame if you lost all that, huh?

Eight weeks after the loss of our baby, we have closure on a few things that have helped so much. First, genetic tests revealed that the cause of our baby’s death was Trisomy 18. It’s a fatal disorder, with most babies not making it to birth – those that do almost never live long after birth and suffer from severe birth defects. We are grateful that our little one went straight to heaven and never suffered.

We also learned that our baby was a boy, and we’re so grateful for that knowledge. We’ve decided on a name – Carson Jacob – but we also decided that his nickname would be Jake. It’s a good old fashioned name that makes my dear knight smile every time he says it – he says it would sound good when pro sports broadcasters said it: “Here’s Jake Thompson taking the snap in the 2035 Super Bowl!” (Dads always seem to go straight to the Super Bowl for their proud dad fantasies, don’t they?)

This knowledge helps so much. I feel like I’ve passed through the fog of grief and emerged with God’s faithful promise of hope and peace lifting me up, encouraging me to go on, enjoy every moment I have with my princesses and look forward to the day when I can hold Jake in my arms. My heart is heavier, and until I can hold him, my arms will ache and never feel entirely full, but I am better. God’s love and His thoughtfulness in surrounding me with amazing friends have ensured that I am better. And I am grateful – thank you all for your love, prayers and support. They’ve all helped more than you will ever know.

Carson Jacob (Jake) Thompson

Born into Heaven

December 19, 2009

First, thanks to all of you who have contacted me in the past week with comments, emails, phone calls, and in-person hugs. You can’t even begin to imagine how hearing from each of you has helped, and I am so thankful to have such supportive people in my life – especially my dear KD sisters I haven’t seen in years. (AOT indeed – love y’all!)

So here I am a week later. I am numb. I rested for a day, I cried a lot, and I threw myself into preparing to host the extended Thompson family on Christmas Day (and that, my friends, is a lot of family). My only goals for Christmas were that my princesses would have a marvelous time, and I would hold it together through the entire day. Mission accomplished, I spent most of Saturday in bed or on the couch, watching the girlies enjoy their gifts and even occasionally joining in to play.

At first I thought I was numb because I was so exhausted. But, having slept more in the past couple of days than I have for most of December, I don’t think that’s the case. I think my brain is just trying to wrap itself around what has happened and what can, or should, or might, happen next.

My first miscarriage (and first pregnancy), almost exactly eight years ago, was the result of a blighted ovum- we never got to see a heartbeat before we found out the pregnancy was lost. I’ve always described that experience as a loss of innocence about pregnancy, and anyone who’s ever had a miscarriage can probably relate. Instead of worrying about morning sickness and stretch marks and cankles (none of them fun, I know), I worried about far different things during my second (and third) pregnancies – I checked the toilet tissue for spots of blood every time I went to the bathroom and felt like didn’t fully breathe until we saw those little heartbeats at seven weeks. Even after, that “shadow” – as my doctor describes it – never really left, because I never felt completely secure. I knew what could happen – not just intellectually, but in my heart – and the mere thought was intensely painful. 

(Please know, I’m not trying to minimize the fear of miscarriage that every pregnant woman experiences. I’m just trying to explain – and not very well, I’m afraid – that once you have experienced it, you never fully relax, and you never take one single day of your pregnancy for granted. Each day is a gift you relish.)

Now, with the loss of our baby after having seen the heartbeat (that theoretical line that, if you cross it, gives you a 95 percent chance that all will be well – given that, I’m glad I’ve never had the urge to gamble), I feel stuck in processing it. I want to understand what happened, but once I get that information (which may take six weeks), I don’t know what I’ll do with it. We realize now how much we really want another baby, but do we want to play the odds again? Can we even get pregnant again? I’m no spring chicken – was it a fluke that we got pregnant this time? And if we do get pregnant, at what point do I really believe we’re going to bring a baby home from the hospital?

And as I struggle with all this, I also struggle with why I’m even asking these questions. I know there are no answers to these questions. I know God is completely in control of all of this. I need to simply surrender it all to Him and look to Him for guidance and comfort. I know He is there – so why can I not just let go? Why am I struggling with my faith when He has always been faithful?

So I am numb. And I am praying. And I don’t know what will happen next.