"This is the recipe of life...
Think of those flowers you plant
in the garden each year
they will teach you
that people too
must wilt
fall
root
rise
in order to bloom."
-Rupi Kaur
I'm often asked, "How did you tell Ryan when you realized you were pregnant?"
It's always a tough question to answer. This is my third time being pregnant. I remember the first time, I felt as if I could barely breathe. I was so excited to tell him. We had been married for several years and had prayed earnestly throughout that time to know when to have our little one. By the third pregnancy, I also felt like I could barely breathe. But I was scared. A woman changes when she experiences pregnancy loss. She becomes tentative. But with those painful experiences, she can also become strong.
I remember the day we returned home from the hospital after my second miscarriage last spring. I felt empty and it seemed almost painful to be in our beautiful apartment that afternoon. It looked just as we had left it. And now, as we returned, it looked the same. But everything had changed. So, I changed out of my hospital gown and I went to my garden.
Just hours before, I had officially begun again the painful process of miscarriage both mentally and physically. And now, I was kneeled down on two-by-four planks weeding my garden and tending to my delicate little sprouts. I watched as my own tears rolled down my cheeks into the soil. I was so glad I had decided to plant my garden earlier that Spring. That day, I felt as if my body had betrayed me and did not allow me to nurture the seeds within me. But as my bare hands touched the soil, I knew I was still meant to nuture. Just in different ways for now. Just as I had nurtured before.
There was plenty of sadness in the time that followed, but I'd always find peace when I visited my garden. I'd often wake up myself up crying in the nights that followed as complicated pregnancy hormones left my body. I had physical reminders for several weeks. My employer showed me so much compassion and let me have several days off, I just couldn't be near the children at school for a while. I think the most difficult was going to have an ultrasound to be sure my womb was completely empty. I sat in the waiting area watching several pregnant mothers come in and out, beaming with their brand new photo of their little miracle. Conversely, when my appointment ended, the pillow in the ultrasound room was wet and needed to be changed. It was a strong example to me that we never really know what another person is experiencing, so it's always best to be kind and sensitive.
So, when I saw my pregnancy test this time, I vividly remember holding my belly and tenderly asking the baby to stay this time. When I told Ryan, we prayed together and then we vowed to try not to focus on it in attempt to not to be so attached until we were further along. So, that's what we did. And we've celebrated each day, each week this little one holds on. Our experiences with pregnancy loss are deeply woven into our fabric now. It is something that was placed in our path to make us stronger and more filled with gratitude for what we have at all stages of life. Those difficult days brought us closer together and caused us to rely on peace that can only come from Heaven. Peace that was found in many quiet places, but especially as I knelt beside my rainbow carrots talking to my Heavenly Father, pleading with Him to care for our little one until we could.
This Spring, we planted seeds again for our little garden as a gentle reminder of how Heavenly Father often cares for us in unexpected, small ways if we only take time to recognize them.
