small things

In the spruce grove

Last May, I went for my annual exam with my midwife and left with an order for a mammogram. Welcome to my forties! I didn’t schedule the mammogram right away because I had a friend coming to stay and wanted to wait until after her visit. One evening towards the end of her week with us, we went out to dinner and she teased me for getting up to use the ladies’ room so frequently. It didn’t occur to me that there might be an underlying reason for those visits until about a week later when I realized that a pregnancy test might be in order. Sure enough, the test was positive so I scheduled an appointment with my midwife for what I estimated to be the 8th week of the pregnancy. After having lost a baby the summer before in the very early weeks, we were nervous and uncertain. Would this baby have a heartbeat? But at the same time, this pregnancy felt different somehow, so I was hopeful.

The baby did have a heartbeat. My eyes filled with tears and I got the same feeling that I have had every time I see a new baby’s heart beating for the first time. The two midwives in the room laughed with Jonny and me. According to my chart, I shouldn’t have been pregnant. But I was. This one’s meant to be we all agreed and I thought ahead to February when our little baby would arrive. I wondered at the timing of it. Jonny was in the midst of interviewing out of state. We thought we would be moving before the year was out. There were all sorts of possible scenarios including him moving and us staying behind for a while. A pregnancy would make it all so hard, but we would figure it out, I was sure. I knew that God must have a plan for us and this baby.

While I quickly needed to start wearing looser clothing, I was a little concerned over how well I felt. I wasn’t tired. Really, I felt great and I attributed it to God’s Grace. A few episodes of feeling ill reassured me that all was well, not to mention the weight I was gaining. But I started feeling a little uneasy. Then I had a difficult week emotionally with anxiety and sadness almost paralyzing me. I hoped it was all the job and moving uncertainty, but told a friend that I was worried there was something wrong with the baby. In hindsight, I know now that my baby had died. It’s a terrible thing to carry another soul inside you and have it leave this world. I felt it before I knew.

In the early hours of the miscarriage, before things were at their worst, I started knitting. I had been just about to cast on my first project for the baby and still wanted to make her something. I ended up knitting a tiny little pouch to hold her remains. It gave me something to do for her and I desperately wanted that.

I can’t describe the physical loss of our baby as anything less than brutal. I labored at home but packed a bag in case I needed to go to the hospital. I knew to be careful and sat over a bucket so that I wouldn’t lose her body. I was grateful that I was able to stay at home and I recovered some small remains of her to tuck inside that tiny knitted pouch.

During the 6 weeks or so that I knew I was pregnant, Jonny and I had our usual bedtime conversations about baby names. He is never a very willing participant in these little talks, but I start obsessing over names the second I see that second line on a pregnancy test. The way it usually goes is I make suggestions and he tells me, “Not that one.” We never did agree on a boy name, but I thought the baby was a girl anyway. And while we did choose a name for her, a different one kept popping into my head: Eleanor Frances Eugenia. Had she lived, I don’t think this would have been her exact name because Larkspur’s first name is Eleanor (for my maternal grandmother). But I do love thinking of her with this name now. Frances was my grandmother’s neighbor, and I loved to visit her when I was a little girl, and Eugenia is for my Aunt Genie. I like that it feels as if her name was given to me. It seems like an acknowledgment that she was real and important, she was here with us, and in some mysterious way, she still is. God did have a plan, just not one that I can understand and I accept that. It’s been three months now, and I still think about her. My body has been a bit of a mess since the loss and that makes it harder to forget. It’s not that I don’t want to remember her, I just want the grief to lift. Such a deep, unexpected grief it has been.

Two days after the miscarriage we drove to Big Meadows, and in a nearby spruce grove that Jonny and the kids had discovered just a few days before, we buried that tiny little pouch holding her remains, said prayers, and shed tears together. It was hard to leave at the end of that day, but it felt like the right place for her. Somewhere we can always visit, a place we have held dear for many years. A place where I take all my babies.

In the days that followed friends sent meals, flowers, and cards and I deeply appreciated those gestures. I saved everything that had a connection to her and have it all tucked away in a box. Yesterday, Jonny and I and our younger kids visited Big Meadows for our 21st wedding anniversary, our first time back since this summer. I wasn’t sure how I would feel when we reached the spot where we buried her remains. Would it be hard to walk away again? But, it wasn’t. I felt peace in the knowledge that she isn’t there. She is with her Maker, and she is with me, and she will always be.

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Blessings to you and condolences. I am so sorry for your loss. I know your sweet Eleanor and my Immanuella are praising the Savior together. My heart grieves with you and for you.

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  2. This moved me to tears, what a lovely tribute to Eleanor Frances Eugenia.

    Do not stand at my grave and weep
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circled flight.
    I am the soft stars that shine at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

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  4. Thank you for sharing little Eleanor’s life with us. I’m thanking God for her precious life.
    I wish you could’ve held and known her this side of heaven.
    I pray for peace in the grief, and that our Maker comfort you and speak tenderly to you.

    In the mass for our son Jude Emmanuel the priest said something that God used to help me in my grief., and after losing another baby the following fall, the priest’s words have been a great sweetness to me. He reminded us that our children’s lives have an eternal purpose in heaven. That no matter how brief their time with us, He made each one for a great work. There is no reasoning away sadness, nor should there be. But this helped take away a little of the bitter bite of grief, though I will mourn their loss as long as I live. Sometimes gently, others stormily.
    My heart stands with you in your missing your babies, Ginny. And I can hardly wait for the day we see our Jesus, and their precious faces right next to Him, beaming at us.

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  7. Such a wonderful tribute to your baby. I have had 6 miscarriages. When each of their grandparents passed away, my husband and I both said that they were now with their other grandchildren. I never named any of them, but I like the thought (as another commenter said) of being tapped on the shoulder in Heaven and hearing “Hi, Mom! It’s me!” Ginny, take care of yourself.

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  9. Praying for comfort for you and your family! I’m the oldest of 10 children and my mother had 2 miscarriages, so I can sympathize a little with the feeling of loss. Much love to you <3

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  10. Ginny; very sorry for your loss. Prayers, hugs, and blessings to you and your family. Thank you for sharing your story.

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  11. Thank you for writing this post. I have seven children, but have never had a miscarriage. I can imagine the deep pain, but not having experienced it personally, it is helpful to hear others stories so that I know what and what not to say to grieving mothers. And most importantly, I can pray. I can imagine the great blessing and memorable event it was for your living children to experience your reverence for little Eleanor’s Frances Eugenia’s death. Peace be with you, Ginny.

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  12. My heart and tears are with you. How beautiful that you were and are able to honor and share the lives of all your children. I have been blessed with five children – one infant death, one miscarriage, two living, and one adopted. I was never allowed to grieve my losses. Your gentle way with words has given me the release of tears.

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  16. Firstly, I am so sorry. Hugs to your whole family. I love to follow your blog and am so struck by the photos and how you and your family handled this very sad situation. Peace.

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  17. I’m sorry doesn’t seem adequate, but I am so very sorry that beautiful Eleanor Frances Eugenia was on this earth so short a time. I’m praying for you and your family, Ginny.

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  22. Thank you Ginny for your willingness to share this personal story! I love how you were able to care for your baby and honor her life. That is a gift as my only miscarriage was too far along and I was told I could only have a DNC and it was hard to feel anything. It was numbing. But you have written something beautiful and in this day and age to see your baby cared and loved for, named so sweetly and know she’s with her Heavenly Father, it’s beautiful and touching. ???

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  23. Dear Ginny,

    I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. I admire how you are able to handle it so gracefully and word it so beautifully. I’m glad you have the support you need and take the time to grief, whenever necessary. It must be rough nevertheless.

    Your sharing and your vulnerability truly touch me, thank you.

    Amitiés, Frauke

    Reply

  24. Mes condoléances, I’m so sorry to hear about your loss.

    How beautifully you speak about it! The little girl is loved, that is for sure.

    I’ve been able to conceive and carry and birth my two children rather easily, and reading words such as yours makes me realize how lucky I have been.

    I also realize how precious your faith and your vulnerability are.

    Thank you for sharing, truly.

    Sincerely,
    Amitiés,
    Frauke

    Reply

  29. I’m so sorry for your loss Ginny. Thank you for sharing your story. I have also suffered several miscarriages. You and your baby are in my thoughts and prayers. Sending you love ❤️

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  31. My dear, I started reading this post and immediately had to put it away, go put on comfortable PJ’S, finish making dinner for my family, eat dinner, and here I am again and I have read your post and my heart hurts. I have suffered through three miscarriages. Each one was painful and very private. At least it felt private. Although I shared each miscarriage with others, I didn’t share the grief I was feeling. I felt that if I did, others would think that I was trying to get attention and the thought of that embarrassed me. Isn’t that funny? It’s true though. I never saw that I had any remains to bury. I never thought to sit on a bucket. I wish I had. I did name each one. Christopher Richard, Maple Margaret, and Roan Titus. These were to be their names, are their names. I rest in the anticipation that once I am in Heaven I will have a tap on my shoulder, turn around, and be greeted with a, “ Hi Mom, it’s me, Christopher.” I cry whenever I think of it and I don’t tell people that the remembrance of losing them still makes me cry. Again, how would they understand, thinking I’m just trying to draw attention to something that I should be over by now. After all, I have so many other kids, right? A sarcastic response to something and someone who is eternal: my baby.
    Thank you for sharing this with us. I feel I can grieve with you.

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    • I understand how you feel. I had 7 miscarriages and a stillborn son before my two boys were born. At one of those low moments, a nurse said to me, “You will have a lap full in heaven.” It still makes me cry to think about it but that simple kind gesture meant and still means so much to me. I believe it with all my heart. Peace!

      Reply

  32. Thank you for sharing this sweet, tender story of your love and loss. I am so sorry you lost this dear child. God has given you grace and peace to accept this huge disappointment. I’m so glad you named her and buried her and set a memorial of her brief life. God bless you!

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  33. Thanks Ginny for sharing. I’ve never had a miscarriage but I’m so thankful when people share their experience of it. It’s such a brave, and useful, action. Thankyou so much. I’m so so sorry. God’s peace and healing be with you.

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  34. Joining with these other women to say how sorry I am for your loss. I’ve lost three children, two sons in the second trimester of pregnancy. I’m learning it’s a loss that a mother never forgets. Blessings and peace to you.

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  37. Thank you for sharing this. Our first pregnancy was a miscarriage. And I was still blogging at the time and I remember feeling like I was supposed to blog about it. Walking through that experience with our baby, whom we named Cadence, opened my eyes to how many women suffer silently. Thank you for being vulnerable enough to share your story.

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  38. I am so sorry for your loss Ginny. Thank you for sharing about her sweet life. I hold 5 babes here on earth and have had to send four to heaven. It is an ache that never leaves. May you continue to be comforted.

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  40. Sending much love and peace your way. I have had three miscarriages, my last one was when I was 44 years old, it happened to be on Good Friday. That loss was especially hard as I knew it would most likely be my last chance at having a baby. I mourned my loss and grieved for weeks. I watched a lot of Mother Angelica during those days and she brought me a lot of peace.
    Fast forward to two years later and turning 46, I decided to get rid of all the baby things I was holding on to once and for all. One day later I found out I was pregnant with my little Hazel May who turns two next month. She was born 13 weeks early but she is the strongest and fiestiest little creature there ever was. She has 6 older siblings who adore her and we couldn’t imagine life without her. God’s ways are not our ways but we know He is good! Many blessings.

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  42. Oh Ginny. My heart hurts for you all. What a beautiful thing you did to write about her, your experience and how you made a place for her. Prayers for you all.

    Reply

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