A Mother’s Journey Back To Love

“Can we hear the heartbeat today? This is our first ultrasound as a family.” I looked up into the kind but tense face of the Emergency Room nurse.

“I can try,” she smiled weakly, her furrowed brow giving away her concern.

Silence filled the room, except for my husband’s and 10-year-old stepdaughter’s rapid breathing that roared like thunder.

She’ll try…what does that mean? Lord, please. This is Jade’s first ultrasound EVER. I looked at my beautiful stepdaughter’s glistening brown eyes, so excited to see her baby sibling on the screen. Please say the bleeding wasn’t anything serious. I silently pleaded with my Savior, as I shifted my gaze toward my husband’s hands, holding mine a little too tight. He’s worried too…

Rub. Rub. Push. Push. She probed my belly frantically.

Still no heartbeat…

I’ve never heard my family so quiet. Their mouths agape with anticipation, eyes focused on the monitor. The nurse finally stopped probing and a different silence fell upon the room. The machine stopped beeping and the sound of my loved ones’ breathing hushed. I closed my eyes and tried to relax my grip on the bed rails. But silence overcame me like dark clouds. Inhale. Exhale. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I knew a part of me had left with the storm.

She never let us hear the heartbeat.

The lock for my bed engaged as I shifted my weight to brace myself for what I knew was coming.

There wasn’t a heartbeat. The lump growing in my throat grew until the tears burst. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, and my hands trembled with fear.

The doctor entered the room just after I silently motioned Alan, my husband, to take Jade out of the room. I couldn’t put on a brave face any longer and I didn’t want her to see me fall to pieces. Anger raged through me as I thought about her losing her first little sibling…

“Okay, Sweetie, just breathe. Deep breaths.” The doctor’s tone fueled my anger.

My first child’s dead body is laying inside of me, you asshole! And you want me to be calm!?!

Hyperventilation began with a vengeance. My fingers curled back and clung to the insides of the bed. My rapid heartbeat ignited a frightening pain in my chest, and every inch of me began to shake. I was losing control.

“What…did I…do…wrong?” I stammered, begging for an answer in between shortened breaths.

“Nothing, Sweetie. Absolutely nothing.” The doctor tried to console me, placing empathetic hands on my trembling shoulders as he made eye contact, “The baby wasn’t right and your body knew it, so it let it go.”

“My body…” Inhale. Exhale. “…let him go?” My jaw clenched.

“Yes, there was a chromosomal error and your body knew to stop the process.”

“But…I…” Pain cracked in my voice. “I wanted…him…” Inhale. Exhale. “Sooo…much.” Tears poured and puddled with the snot now running down my face.

A silent tear ran down his cheek, “I know, Honey, but honestly, it is a miracle because that baby would not have been healthy. He may have had…”

His voice trailed off as anger raged from the pit of my broken spirit. Miracle! This is a miracle?!? A dead child is laying inside my womb! My God would not call this a miracle. This is not His work. My God…My Father who has always been there for me…who I trusted with this baby’s health!

The trembling intensified, and the doctor’s voice drifted further and further away as I tried to make sense of what he was saying.

How could You do this! He was mine! I wanted him! And I had him! I hate You, God! If You’re even up there! You hear me? I hate You!

The doctor noticed I was no longer listening and detected my increasing instability. Kindly, he proposed that I use the restroom down the hall to clean up and rinse my face with water.

I made my way down the hallway, and felt dozens of eyes staring holes through me.

What the hell are they looking at?!

As I approached the door, I tripped over my half-opened gown and fell into the hospital’s sterile restroom. With no strength or desire to stand, I laid there face down and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I hadn’t just lost my first child. I had lost all faith.

 

Putting on a brave face for Jade, I held my breath as I got into the passenger seat and glanced at Alan. He looks different – tortured – maybe robbed is a better word! A silent tear ran down his sweaty cheek and guilt shuddered through my body. He wanted a son so badly. I was supposed to give him that.  

When the tears returned and quickened my breathing, a soft, young voice halted its acceleration. Her tone was divinely pure. “It’s okay, Cici. We’re gonna see him in heaven someday. Remember in that movie Heaven Is For Real? He’s gonna be waiting up there for us.”

Her words cut me like a thousand razor-sharp knives. I had left my beliefs of heaven on that bathroom floor. How could a God that allowed this create any place that I’d want me or my child to ever be in? I used every ounce of strength I had left to nod my head, so as not to ruin the pure faith our child displayed – faith that we had so wholeheartedly instilled in her.

We returned home. My second mom and the round, seven-month pregnant belly of my sister-in-law were waiting for me with tears in their eyes. Trembling and crying in my sister’s arms, I looked down at my carpet and saw the baby shower invites I was making for her. She noticed and immediately pleaded, “Hermana, please don’t worry about the baby shower. I’ll finish everything.”

No, I will not have her doing this on her own at seven months pregnant. You need to suck it up, Cici, and finish these invites tonight. The party is in two weeks. Suck. It. Up.

 

I pretended to be normal for the next few days, studying for finals, preparing for Stephanie’s baby shower, and wrapping presents for Christmas. I think at one point I even had myself believing all was normal. I had stopped speaking to my belly and telling it stories. I had stopped rubbing cocoa butter all over my tummy each night. And I indulged in my favorite foods again.

And then…the cramping came.

I tossed and turned all night with the excruciating pain. Various times, I awoke to get heating pads, IcyHot patches, and Tylenol…so much Tylenol. Nothing lessened the pain.

Then a tender voice from within encouraged me. “Get up. Go to the restroom.”

No, it hurts too much to stand. I argued. Almost thirty minutes passed when I heard the soft, gentle counsel again. “Cici, get up and go to the restroom.”

Ugh. I don’t want to. I’m just going to hold the heating pad on my belly a while longer… I forced my eyes shut.

About an hour passed and the once-so-gentle voice awoke me again. This time, its tone was sharp and my middle name was used – just as my Heavenly Father had always addressed me when we’d converse in my journal. “Isabel, get up now! Go to the restroom.”

The thunderous command shook me from my light nap. Immediately, I stood to my feet. I took my first step and whoosh. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, I began screaming at the top of my lungs. Blood oozed down my legs and puddled at my feet.

My husband jumped to his feet and then completely froze. Panic paralyzed his every limb. His face flushed white and tears filled his eyes. My best friend, Carly, raced towards my bloodcurdling screams, grasped my paralyzed husband’s face, and stared into his eyes, “Go get Jade. I’ll take care of her.”

I looked down and saw the face of my child lying on my carpet in a pool of blood. Shock arrested my breathing, and my body trembled with fear. Carly quickly grabbed my upper body just before I collapsed and sat me on the toilet. For hours, we sat there and cried as my womb expelled all the safety it had created for my unborn child.

Three days later, I returned to work, believing the worst was behind me. I had never been so wrong…

Hoping to treat my serving shift just as any other, I staged the best smile I could and greeted my first table, “Hi folks, how are…” I stopped mid sentence as the wife reached for her 3-week-old son. “I’m…uh…sorry folks.” I cleared my throat as I tried to hold back the flood of tears. “I’ll uh, give you a second to settle in and be right back.” I turned and ran for the restroom.

The toilet my refuge, I sat and cried uncontrollably. Cici, it’s okay. You got this. You have a job to do. You have finals coming for school. Christmas is almost here. You can’t break down like this. Go get out there. Suck it up and finish your shift strong.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I went back to work and was doing a good job of putting on a brave face when the conversation of two coworkers caught my attention.

“Ugh, yea…I just found out that it’s Mike’s. That idiot was never good at using protection. How about you just push me down the stairs after work and save me the trouble.” Both girls giggled and moved to a different workstation.

What the fuck! I felt my nails dig into the wooden terminal station as rage coursed violently through my veins. How could she say that! See God! This is why You are a fraud! You give children to people who don’t want them every day, but You took my child?! The one I wanted so desperately. You are not a just God. I can’t believe that I ever believed that You cared for me.

I left work that evening feeling emptier than ever before. All I had inside was anger. So much anger. God had been my world, my leader, my refuge, since I was a child and suddenly He was nonexistent to me. I couldn’t believe in His power or will for my life after “He allowed” something so devastating. He wouldn’t do that, so He must not exist.

 

Pulling into my driveway, I felt a part of me break inside. My sprit, my flesh, my heart, my soul – they no longer felt whole. And the void terrified me.

I grabbed my phone and called my loved ones, who all said the same thing:

“Cici, God has a plan.”

“Cici, God loves you so much. There is a blessing in this.”

And the worst…“Cici, you can’t shut God out or blame Him for this. YOU JUST NEED TO HAVE FAITH.”

My blood began to boil so much that I felt the urge to vomit. Faith? Seriously? Faith? Are you freakin’ kidding me?!?

Their responses did nothing for me. They did not ease my pain. They did not reignite my faith. In fact, they only generated more anger. So I picked up the phone and called the one person I knew would be able to help me.

“Mandy, I feel so broken right now.”

“I can only imagine. You’re going through some awful shit, Ciara.”

“This girl…this terrible girl at work. She said the most horrible thing about aborting her baby. And I just cannot understand how God would give her a baby and take mine. How could He? Why would He? I have always been faithful to Him. I thought He loved me, Mandy. Why would He do this?” My voice cracked and the pain ripped deeper and deeper with every breath.  

“Sis, I am so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine losing a child. But…” She took a deep breath, as if asking herself if it were even a good idea to say what she was thinking. “But what if…God doesn’t give babies to us? What if He doesn’t take them away? What if…He has given us the gift of conceiving life and losing it when it’s not developing the way it should?”

I wiped a tear away. “But I’ve always believed that God gives and takes life?”

“Yeah, I know. But…” Again, another deep breath. “Just because it’s what you were taught and what you have believed…doesn’t make it true. If it were true, wouldn’t that make God so awful?”

“Yes,” I gulped, “it would. It has. But I’ve never thought about God this way.”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe God wants to show you He’s bigger than your beliefs about Him?”

My sister’s simple question breathed hope into my life that day.

Is there really a way to get past this? Most of my pain is from the anger I have towards God, for how He has played, or NOT played, a role in this tragedy. Is part of my pain really just a consequence of the perspective I have of God and how He works?

I couldn’t stop thinking about who God was to me…who He always had been…and WHO I WAS MAKING HIM OUT TO BE.

What if…I have it all wrong? What if…I have a totally different perspective of God than who He truly is? What if…what I’ve learned isn’t the whole truth? I posed question after question, scenario after scenario, and suddenly my image of God began to expand.

God, I have put You in such a small box…

“Yes, Isabel, you have.” A loving voice from within responded to my apologetic heart.

“I am so sorry.” I whispered.

“Don’t be sorry. Everyone has a comfortable box that they like to keep their ideas of Me in. It makes them feel safe.” I felt His spirit wash over me.

“But after this miscarriage, I don’t feel safe or even happy with my belief of You.”

“That’s because it is time for your beliefs to change, Isabel. I am so much more than what you perceive Me to be. I Am that I Am. And I am so BIG.”

“But how am I to grasp how BIG You are?”

“Walk in love, my child.”

“Walk in love?”

“Walk in love, and walk with Me always. I am not what you create Me to be. I am LOVE. And I am everywhere.”

Tranquility calmed the relentless throbbing in my chest. Peace besieged me.

I get it. God is not some guy in the sky, giving favors and playing takeaways based on my behavior or faith. God is LOVE. God wasn’t taking my baby away and certainly not taking any pleasure in my loss. God has been watching over me – loving me through my hopeful stepdaughter’s words and in the arms of my distraught husband. He loved me through the best friend who sat and cried with me and then picked my baby up off the carpet. Love answered the phone when I called for help. Love gave me the strength to continue to function. Love did everything He could to help me see who He is more clearly – in the eyes and embraces of those around me, in the smile of my newborn niece, in religions I would have shunned before this tragedy, and on the tongues of those who call Him by so many names.

And then… there was the blessing. Suddenly, the loss of my unborn child was transformed from a painful tragedy, to a time that I will forever look back on as “the time when God erupted from the box that I confined him to and showed me that, above all things, He is Love.”

~ Ciara Isabel Gutierrez