Our story started in August of 2019. We found out we were going to have another baby. We were excited to add to our family. We had a lot going on. We had just purchased a new home, working on moving, and harvest at the farm. I was more nervous with the pregnancy because I am labelled high risk due to “age” and Crohn's Disease. I knew I would have a lot more doctor appointments (which I always dread) but was excited to add to our family and welcome this new life. Around the 7 or 8 week mark, we were able to have an ultrasound and hear the heartbeat. So incredible to hear that even so early!
The evening we got home from the ultrasound, I noticed the bleeding. I wasn’t concerned because I had spotting with my firstborn. But it continued throughout the next day and so I called my OB. They said they could do bloodwork but that was about all that could be done at this point. This was on Friday. On Saturday, the bleeding grew heavier and that was the point that I knew for certain that something was wrong and probably not going to right itself.
Sunday early afternoon, we headed to the ER. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle at the ER, I felt everything let loose inside of me, and I knew it was over. Blood is flowing down my legs. The lady inside the ER told us we would need to wait a few minutes. I headed to the bathroom to try to clean up some. I’m panicking. I’m distraught. I hear nurses knocking trying to come in. For some reason I had locked the door. I couldn't figure out how to get from the toilet to the door. I finally manage to unlock the door. One of my thoughts was that I didn’t want my husband to see this. This mess. To have those images in his mind. To protect him from that trauma.
They wheeled me back to a bed. We arrived at the ER at 1PM and were there till about 10 pm. They were concerned about the bleeding. The dr was young and did multiple exams which were highly uncomfortable and painful. During one exam that lasted forever, I was holding Jermey’s hand and trying to just focus on anything other than what the doctor was doing. Psalm 23 came into my head. All out of order. Jumbled up. Every phrase keep flowing - “the Lord is my shepherd. Though I walk through the vally of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.” These phrases kept permeating my mind. I focused on them. At the time, I did not know God would use the same passage to comfort my husband in the coming days.
They finally admitted me to the hospital around 10 PM. My husband was an advocate for me. It is so important to have someone to advocate for you during these times. He stood up and asked questions and pushed for answers and held my hand. As they were admitting me, the admitting nurse told me that she herself had two miscarriages. I could tell that they were still heavy on her heart though they were years ago.
I was told I would need a D&C. Which they performed the next morning. My OB came to see me and told me, “You will find healing from this through having another child.” When I heard this, the thought went through my mind “What if there isn’t another child? Does that mean that there is no healing for me?”
But as a follow of Jesus, I rejected that. Jesus says “Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.” So I decided then and there that healing could be found. And it wouldn’t take another baby. But it would take looking to my Savior and Lord. My OB was only sharing what had helped her. So I ‘m not saying this would not help other women to hear this. For me, it just wasn’t helpful and perhaps there are others like me.
They sent us home after the procedure. We had our own journey of grief to walk through. We went home without a baby. We’d had visions of that ride home from the hospital. We saw a carseat with a baby. A new room to welcome the baby that I had been preparing for that baby. But when your dreams and visions die along with that baby, you have to walk through it. You have no choice but to take the next step and the next step. If you stop moving, you become stagnant and something inside you dies.
The grieve comes and goes in waves. It’s not a steady upward climb. There are times when it’s easier. And times when it’s hard. I learned to express the grief. To not suppress it and allow it out in some expression, shape or form. One way we grieved as a whole family - we planted a rose bush at my mom’s house. all my nieces and nephews were there. We were able to have a conversation as a whole family about grief and loss. We live on a broken planet that carries a lot of pain. To give our kids the tools of navigating this is so important.
Around Mother’s day the next spring, my mom sent me a picture of the first rose that bloomed off this bush. It touched my heart - and I decided to create an art piece based on it utilizing the resin I had been experimenting with. It turns out so beautiful. I fell in love with it and it became a keepsake for me. A remembrance of this child that had such a brief yet deep impact on our family. It now hangs in the main room of our home. We see it everyday. Guests in our house see it. This child is part of our family. Forever. Always remembered. Always loved. This was the beginning of Shadow Flowers. So named because of the rose full of meaning, and the shadow of death through which we have walked.
