July 08, 2008


So I just wrote this morning about how safe and easy this deployment is. Now I'm going to write something mildly contradictory.

CaliValleyGirl just pointed me in the direction of the I Should Be Folding Laundry blog. This blogger, Beth, sounds like the kind of woman I'd like to be. Everyone speaks glowingly of her. She lost her pregnancy (twins) back in February, and this is what haunts her now:

So, on February 25th, 2008, when the nurse could not find their heart beats, I was fearful and faithful, I had faith as I took the elevator down to ultrasound, faith that these babies would soon be kicking me in my ribs. I had faith.

But then I watched the words "no cardiac movement" being typed slowly with one hand onto the screen. A piece of me died at the moment. And sometimes? I think that piece of me was my faith.

Because now I tread through life cautiously, I fear cars running into our's and injuring my children, I don't get my hopes up for our new house because I'm certain the deal will fall through, even with the closing being less than a week away. I fear another pregnancy, I fear I'll never see Brian again when he leaves for a business trip, I fear for Be Design, I have lost faith in myself and people and my surroundings.

I fear the rug being pulled out from beneath me in every situation.

I understand this "loss of faith" completely. I was carefree going into this second pregnancy, but when it too ended, a part of me worries that this will always be my fate. I actually plan to lose the next baby, figuring out who I'll call and what I'll do. I imagine giving all my baby stuff away in the future because I've never used it and the tags are still on.

And the worst of this is the nagging feeling that the loss of this pregnancy means the loss of bigger things. I've imagined my parents dying before they get to become grandparents. I've imagined losing a brother. I imagine someone breaking into the house and killing Charlie. Or me. And I often have the ridiculously morbid thought that "at least I won't be pregnant when the Army comes to the door and tell me my husband is dead." Because the only reason I can see for denying me the joy of a baby is to spare me the agony of raising the baby alone.

So I worry about my husband, not because there's anything to worry about but because I too fear the rug being pulled out from under me.

And then last night in my book, A Short History of Nearly Everything, I read about the likelihood of an asteroid hitting earth and killing us all. So there's that rug to worry about too.

Posted by: Sarah at 06:01 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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1 I think that this worry is totally understandable. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It helps me be prepared when bad things really do happen...and, in the rare instances when a lucky break does come along, I get to be pleasantly surprised instead of just expecting it to happen.

Posted by: Ann M. at July 08, 2008 07:15 AM (HFUBt)

2 this is exactly how I felt each and every time I got pregnant. So, basically my entire twenties. And it never totally ends, either. Even now, with the getting pregnant problem fixed (supposedly), I still plan for the worst case in everything. I mean, if I plan for the worst, and the worst doesn't happen - that makes it a good day, right? After about 3 miscarriages and 1 baby, I reached the point where I would pretend to myself I wasn't pregnant until I managed to hit the middle of the second trimester. I couldn't stop getting pregnant (I mean, I got knocked up on Nor Plant, for goodness sake!) and I couldn't stop losing the babies. But if I pretended I wasn't and I lost that one, too, then it would just be another period, right? Just a really heavy painful one. When I was pregnant with my son, no one who didn't see me every day even knew until I was almost 25 weeks. I think it's anticipatory grief, too. It's really not that different from how we plan for that knock on the door mentally.

Posted by: airforcewife at July 08, 2008 08:55 AM (mIbWn)

3 My minister lost nine babies to miscarriage. I think often about her faith and how sorely it must have been tested. She now has 2 healthy and happy boys,7 and 5.

Posted by: mar at July 08, 2008 11:53 AM (nCdh+)

4 I very much relate to this post. When I lost my Mom and the following year afterwards was just so very hard, I just started expecting the worst to happen to me and to my family. At times I was even surprised when bad things happened to people OTHER than me, and I would feel guilty that it was happening to them and NOT to me. I guess it's part of grief. But it's no fun. I hope and pray that little by little you'll get your faith back and that you can anticipate and accept GOOD things happening to you too.

Posted by: Val at July 08, 2008 01:32 PM (AVNZx)

5 I'm sure that is part of your grief, and it won't go away anytime soon. The loss of hope and faith is a great loss. But with the personality you have shown on this blog, hope will return, it will just take a while. Maybe until you are holding your husband in your arms or even your own little baby, but it will return for you.

Posted by: Ruth H at July 08, 2008 02:47 PM (Y4oAO)

6 I can completely see her and especially your thoughts on this. I have to say that in all honesty I'm still angry at God. It's so hard to unwind my fingers. To me though isn't that the strongest faith? The ability to scream at God rather than present a b.s. facade about a perfectly boring life without any actions?

Posted by: Darla at July 08, 2008 08:38 PM (tIKcE)

7 That's a really good point Darla. Is it like a "Catch 22"? You can't be angry with God unless you have faith enough to believe in God. It's ok Sarah, it's ok to be angry. It's ok to be fearful.

Posted by: Maggie at July 09, 2008 05:47 AM (XiJJE)

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