As I left the hospital, I drove home in a daze. I didn’t listen to any music, or roll the windows down to enjoy a beautiful September afternoon. I just wanted to be home. I didn’t care that I would be alone; I just wanted to be as far away as possible from the hospital. Once I got home, I crawled into bed and stayed. What else could I do? The ultrasound tech had said everything. I was empty.

If you’re not familiar with the effects of miscarrying, the aftermath on your body is agonizing. For me, it felt like my stomach had been ripped out and put back in the wrong way. There is also the added element that your mind goes through. I think the mind games I played with myself were more excruciating than the actual physical pain my body was undergoing.

In a matter of 48 hours I had gone from the highest high to the lowest of lows. I was pregnant on Saturday, and without child on Monday. In this time frame I had become someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t like. I remember vividly coming home from running errands with Mr. in town on Thursday evening and talking about having to work with ladies who were expecting. How was I going to be able to face them? How was I supposed to be excited for them? I was JEALOUS of them.

Mr. tried his best to support me, but I would say things and he wouldn’t know what to say back. On this specific ride home, he was being as supportive as he could be and said, “I love you.” My response was, “How can you love me when my body destroyed our baby?”

Oh, he got so mad at me for saying that! But, that’s where my mind was…not in a good place. Mr. did his best to try and be normal. Normal was gone; we would never be the same again.

As the weekend approached, Mr. asked if I was planning on going to church. My reply, “Um, no!” He didn’t push the issue until Saturday evening. He told me we were going to church. I’m thinking, ‘no way.’ He said I needed to be up and ready to go Sunday morning. He wasn’t going to leave without me.

I woke up that Sunday morning and reluctantly threw my hair up in a ponytail and put on some black sweat pants. I didn’t want to be at church, and I certainly didn’t care what I looked like. I had no one to impress. I wasn’t going there to worship. I wasn’t going there because God wants His people to hear His word. I was going because Mr. made me.

All week I had been questioning God. I was as mad at Him as I had ever been in my life. What would God have to say to me when I got to church? Nothing! We weren’t speaking. He had failed me, after I had done everything right for Him my entire life. I was ready to walk away. God, He had other plans…

April 27th is a day that is just a normal day for many people.  For me, it is a day where for the past four years, I tend to get a bit weepy and emotional.  April 27th should have been our little girl’s birthday.  Today- she would have been four!  Many people, who are close to me, know that I suffered a miscarriage in September 2012. This experience is apart of me now, and I feel that the more I share it, the more I am able to honor my sweet little girl, Kimble, that I lost.  If you would like, come along with me over the next few days, as I feel it is the appropriate time to share my experience through this devastating loss.

This event has changed me forever, and for the better I think.

Here is Part 1:

Mr. and I decided in May 2012 that it would be a great time to expand our family of two (and our two kitties) to three. We never imagined how easy it would be to get pregnant. It took only two months for it to happen. I took a pregnancy test in August, and the results proved to be what we wanted…we were on our way to becoming parents.

I had already planned everything out in my head. I knew what I was going to do to tell our folks that they were being promoted to grandparents. I knew how I was going to publicize it on Facebook. I even knew how I was going to announce my pregnancy to my coworkers. Every detail was planned. I was elated!

August tuned into September, and I was looking forward to Labor Day weekend. (When you’re a teacher, you look forward to your weekends; they are valuable.) I was ready to say goodbye to summer “officially”, eat some of my in-laws famous turkey burgers, and my Dad’s amazing hamburgers. Nothing was going to ruin this weekend, nothing.

Mr. and I celebrated with our families and headed back home. I was feeling great, but was ready to get in bed. As I was getting ready, I noticed that I had some spotting. Which, I dismissed after I read on the Internet that was normal in the first few weeks of pregnancy. I went to bed, woke up the next morning and knew something wasn’t right. I told Mr. he needed to take me to the emergency room.

I silently prayed on the way to the hospital that God would save my baby. That He would spare me, and give me what I wanted. I walked into the ER and said, “I’m 6 weeks pregnant, and I’m bleeding.”

About half an hour later, after some blood work and a couple of other tests, the doctor confirmed my worst fear. I had lost the baby. I sobbed. I have no other way of describing what I did. I was livid. I was absolutely devastated.

I took the rest of the week off from work, and followed the doctor’s order of resting. I was pretty much in a fog. I mean- who miscarries? Am I the only person who has experienced this? I didn’t know of anyone else who had lost a baby.

Certainly this was a nightmare and I would wake up at some point. I mean, I had done everything right my entire life and was shocked and OUTRAGED that God allowed this to happen. I mean- after all- I am His child.

Why would He let this transpire? I have gone to church my entire life, read my Bible and done devotionals, I even waited until marriage. This was how God was going to repay me for being so faithful to Him?   I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was I didn’t want anything to do with God.