Waves
It felt straight out of National Geographic: the reef, the jewel-toned fish, the sunshine dancing through the water. Then it appeared; the aged and graceful sea turtle peacefully dancing through the coral.
I’m familiar with being in awe of the magnificence of God on display in nature – I love nothing more than standing in all my human smallness in the shadow of mountains that kiss the sky. But this was different, more precious and fleeting. To see this massive turtle in the wild, undisturbed and older than generations of our families, the picture of longevity and perseverance, made my world stop for a moment.
After a few short breaths, it was gone.
A full week in the Mexican sun left me more relaxed and happier than I had been in months. While the beach was dreamy, the best part happened the day before we left for our trip: after a year and four months of trying we were finally pregnant again. I’ve never been so happy to feel so sick in a beautiful place.
The nausea felt like a reassuring hug. With August I had hardly any pregnancy symptoms, so any uncomfortable sign of a healthy pregnancy this time was welcomed with open arms.
I had every symptom you could possibly have, intensely, and it all felt like hitting smooth air after turbulence. Like our family would finally be as complete as it could be this side of heaven.
We prayed for, cried over, and begged God for this child. To get the crib out one more time. For a living sibling for Lora.
Norah taught us to name our kids very quickly. We know we’re not guaranteed the option of waiting until they’re born to meet them and decide; giving them a name helps us connect with them for however long we’re given. I felt strongly that we were given another girl and while sitting poolside, the name Ava Fae settled on my heart, with a few alts in the event I was wrong.
Once we got home, we contacted my OB-GYN and did some early hcg monitoring via bloodwork to put my mind at ease. I felt perfectly pregnant, but my anxiety about the first few weeks wouldn’t let me simply wait and see.
The call with the first set of hcg results was a happy one, but a few days later the second call started with ‘unfortunately’; the results had indicated an impending miscarriage.
Finding out about yet another dead baby was heartbreakingly uneventful; I brought Lora to daycare, finished our taxes, found out the baby wasn’t developing appropriately, picked Lora up, we ordered pizza, and had a movie night.
It felt like the world should stop, like the planet should somehow acknowledge this little life in all its brief beauty. But the sun continued to rise and fall with unrelenting consistency.
There are no funerals for miscarriage. No maternity leaves to physically and emotionally recover. No cemeteries to visit. There are no pictures to cling to, and the memories are usually quiet, private moments known only by the parents or a small inner circle.
Even though my body is still in the process of saying goodbye to Ava, our daily life has been minimally interrupted, or at least it would appear that way from the outside.
But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
With time I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay. This isn’t our first experience with loss. But right now it’s really tough, and if I don’t let it be what it needs to be it’ll come out sideways over the next few months/years.
Right now I’m not fine. I’m not going to put a bow on it or share some poetic insight. I’m shattered and furious and heartbroken and confused and angry and numb. I’m weary and burnt out on hope.
I’m sick of being heartbroken.
I’m sick of dead babies.
Physically, I’m going through the experience of miscarrying naturally at home, which is a lengthy, painful, and heartbreaking process. I’m exhausted. Having never physically labored before, this miniature version of an unmedicated home birth isn’t exactly the experience I naively dreamt about years ago. This is my fourth pregnancy but my first experience with my body doing the work entirely unassisted, and the novelty of it is infuriating.
But because Ava brought us so much joy and light I refuse to allow this experience to be driven by darkness. I’m holding space with tired arms held up by fierce mama bear love and protection. If this is all the time we’re given with Ava, it will be filled with as much gentle love, peace and beauty as possible. The song ‘In Jesus Name’ by Katy Nichole is on repeat. Fresh flowers are in the bathroom. The curtains are open to let the sunlight in and at night I watch moonlight dance through the trees. We paint and dance and laugh with Lora, and cry when we need to. We’re eternally grateful for the support that surrounds us.
Looking through photos from our trip I see Ava in our smiles, in the turquoise water, in the sea turtles. The time we had with her was magical, however fleeting it was.
Maybe getting to raise Lora, with Norah, August and Ava waiting for us in heaven is the full story for our family. Maybe not. Maybe the feeling of ‘completeness’ that I ache for will never go away. Maybe it will.
All I know is that right now we’re tired and resting in God’s hands.
Mama, take care of Ava for me too. Norah, tell her what it’s like to feel our love. August, let her know how we’ll carry her in our hearts every day of the rest of our lives.
“When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:2
In Jesus name.
Ava Fae Zuidema
02.19.22
