The After

Thursday, June 04, 2026: 6:12AM

I slept as long as I could before The Reality sank in and I couldn’t turn off my weary mind.

I went to sleep thinking about my Maggie, holding my husband’s hand as I drifted in and out of sleep. I woke up looking in the mirror, once again feeling empty knowing my Lucy isn’t in there anymore.

I had a D&C yesterday. It all felt like deja vu, but also a fresh kind of pain and agony. To pull into the same parking lot we did just months before on a cold winter day, this time only to be met with sunshine and green trees, felt too familiar. To walk the halls I now know so well after using them as an indoor track to stretch my legs after giving birth to my baby girl who was in Heaven felt unbearable. 

But it was different, too. No maternity ward this time. No quiet, solitary rooms. I am in a pre-surgical room next to a man making small talk about his job in waste water management, a few doors down from a little girl who was scared and resisting medical help. Even farther down the hall was a prisoner with guards. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was in for- in every sense of the word.

“So what are we having done today?” I know each nurse and medical staff member has to ask to confirm they are, in fact, talking to the correct patient and have marked down the correct procedure, but goodness, please don’t make me say it again.

“How far along were you?”
I squeak out, “Eleven and a half weeks.” I know the half doesn’t truly matter, but I just needed to prove to myself that Lucy and I had gotten a few days farther than others may know.

My OB- new to me this time around, as I hoped to move forward from past loss with a new face- came in and immediately pulled me into a long hug and said how sorry she was. Apparently switching OBs couldn’t help me outrun this inevitable tragedy.

I sat in that bed, watching the minutes tick by, knowing that within an hour, my baby girl would no longer be in me but forever part of me. But how? How can I hold her close when she’s not with me anymore?

They wheeled me away after I told JB I loved him. I thought I would be more scared, being that I have never had a surgical procedure in a hospital.
But I was indifferent. Ready to be under anesthesia and have a break from this misery.
The surgical room was so white. It felt like I was one of the doctor shows I enjoy watching. Although I’m not sure how much I will enjoy watching them right now.

My OB held my hand and gently stroked it as I heard my racing pulse beeping and beeping moments before I fell asleep. She and the surgical nurse made small talk about their dogs’ poor behavior and their crazy scuba diving training stories, and I know it was just to distract me.

I fell asleep crying, staring into my OB’s compassionate eyes who kept nodding and telling me she’s got me. 

I knew there was a strong chance I would wake up in the same state, but I slowly came to feeling numb. Relieved that part was over. In my post-anesthesia state, I felt like I was still dreaming- even like a little piece of Old Ruth was back.
The post-op nurse made small talk with me, and I followed her lead, even though I couldn’t focus very well. She mentioned to me that my OB has been her OB as well and how much she loved her.
I mistakenly asked her how many kids she had.
“I have a toddler, and I am 16 weeks pregnant,” as she looked down at her belly, with a joy in her voice that pierced through my anguished soul. In my hazy state, I almost blurted out, “That’s how far along I was when I lost my first daughter.” But I quickly reminded my brain that’s not something we say out loud, feeling a protectiveness over this young mom who still had the cherished gift of having hope and excitement in her expecting state.

But boy, did my heart break into a million pieces as I stared at her stomach and held onto those words right after waking up from yet another pregnancy abruptly and painfully ending.

There are no words.

Going Home
My dear husband took me home after I managed some crackers and ginger ale. I was grateful I tolerated the anesthesia okay. But I told JB on the way home, if I truly thought about what we just went through, I would fall apart. And my body hurt too much- my heart hurt too much- to go there. He grabbed my hand, knowing all too well what I was describing.

I was so tired. I am so tired. But I can’t sleep much. I have bad dreams. I have racing thoughts. Or I have no dreams and wake up in perpetual heaviness. I ache internally and externally. I look at the sunshine and beg God to shine a little glimmer of it into my broken heart.

The only things that have helped are to hold onto the love my people are showing me, look for small things to appreciate, and try to find one Bible verse or story to desperately cling to a day. Sometimes I have to force myself to do any of those things. Sometimes I just don’t, and I allow myself to sit in the utter disbelief and darkness of losing a child. Two children.

To see the tears of my friends as they shake their head in disbelief and hold me is healing. To be able to have honest conversations with the love of my life about how weighed down we feel- how numb, shocked, and defeated we both feel- is therapeutic. We are in this together.

To turn to my dear husband and just blurt out, “JB, I am feeling so sad. Can you come sit next to me and hold my hand?” before I fall apart in his arms once again- those are sacred moments. But oh, how I wish we could stop experiencing them.

I look out the window and see the seasons have changed. And yet for our family, they haven’t. Heartbreak, agony, physical pain, and dragging ourselves through the day, just trying to keep our house in order and our kids fed, has continued.

I didn’t think our summer would start out this way after such a horrible winter and difficult spring. I lament it.

But as the gently falling snow made me think of Maggie, so are the chirping birds and early morning light reminding me of my Lucy.

Saying Goodbye
How do you find closure before a D&C? I hate that we had already experienced a loss farther along, but that means we got to hold our beautiful baby girl in our hands and sing over her the first time around. What is there to capture with this precious little one? I agonized over it; I really did.

I can’t describe the state of Hell I felt I was in, walking around knowing my baby was gone and was still inside of me for 5 days. But I also didn’t want to miss an opportunity for me to connect with her before it felt too late for me.

And so, we found our way through the twisted agony of saying goodbye to our fourth child. The night before my procedure, JB and I lay in our bed. I stared at our ceiling fan as I have done so many times. My eyes slowly meandered from the ceiling to our curtains. Curtains I bought after losing Maggie because they reminded me of her- feminine, beautiful, soft. I turned on some songs that spoke of Heaven, asking my heart to be a little open to the reminder of our daughters’ incredible reality. I can’t say it worked, but that’s okay.

I put my hand on my belly for the first time in days. Every other moment since that nightmarish ultrasound, I tried to ignore my stomach- don’t look at it, don’t touch it. But this time, I leaned in. I talked to Lucy and thanked her for making me brave. For showing me how to love through sacrifice and fear and pain. I told her how special it was to see a positive pregnancy test on Easter morning and hold her daddy’s hand at church, worshipping through tears and disbelief. I told her how her big sister inspired me to leave my public school teaching career, and that she gave me the courage to apply for a new job and try something so different and exciting- a job at my church I accepted just the day before she died. Everything I did, I did for my children, and I thanked them for giving me the courage to do it. I thought of how important her name is to me and JB- Lucy Kay. Her first name to mimic my mom’s name, and her middle name to replicate her other grandma’s middle name. Thanking God for both of these loving moms and grandmas who have poured out their love and prayers over us during this painful season. I told her how much I loved her and wished I had gotten to be her mommy on Earth.

I am so thankful I got to say goodbye.

Missing Her Close By
And yet, I am bereft of peace. I spent hours researching yesterday when I finally came out of the post-anesthesia state.
What can I do to remember my girls? To be reminded of their present reality when I feel grief stricken?
I couldn’t bear not having more things around my home, my body, my life, that reminded me they mattered. They were real, and they are part of me and this family.
But even after the beautiful windchimes were ordered and the designs were made for decor, it struck me: I want them so close, but they aren’t and never will be this side of Heaven.

And once again, I realized I can’t avoid this. I can’t outrun it. I can’t “research” things away- trying to delve into why this happened, poring over my medical records and wishing I could be some world-class non-medically trained genius who can solve this mystery- to make it better. There are no amounts of books on loss, cherished items of remembrance, or moments of escaping with tv that can take this away.

This is loss. This is pain. Grief. The heavy ache of unspent love.

Lucy Kay Schwartz

Sunday, May 31, 2026: 8:41AM

Lucy Kay, I love you. I miss you. I endured for you as best as I could. I wish it had been a sweet meeting- you in my arms, me smitten.

Yet, you have the better reality than I right now.

Are you playing with Maggie as I speak? Dancing in the fields of gold together, giggling and hugging each other like your big brother and sister do on this earth?

The strength of my fear often marked the depth of my love for you. I would have endured it 100 times over if it meant I got to hold you in my arms and watch you grow.

And yet, my fear has been replaced with such loss and crushing grief. Because of my love.

Mommy loves you, Lucy.

Say hello to your big sister for me.

Grief Upon Grief

Sunday, May 31, 2026: 8:03AM

She’s gone. I’m honestly in disbelief as I write this.

Another baby girl in Heaven- another devastating loss.
I had really hoped this time would be different.

Three days ago, I had some spotting that led me to reach out to my doctor and ask if I could have an ultrasound the next morning. I had had spotting in this pregnancy before, as I had a hematoma- all just like with Maggie. But I just had a feeling that something was wrong.

I shook off the feeling, hoping it was another wave of anxiety, and we piled in the car as a family to go see baby girl before we all parted ways for a busy day.

I laid down in the ultrasound room, excitedly chatting with the sonographer about the surprise we experienced finding out it was a girl, eager to see how she had grown this week.

It’s too familiar a feeling now- to see the change on the sonographer’s face. To see the baby laying there hauntingly still when she had once been wiggly and active. The eerie, haunting sound of silent fuzz when searching for a heartbeat that no longer exists.

My very insides broke as I whispered, “There’s no heartbeat, is there?”. Tears ran down the sonographer’s face- one who has been there for me through every ultrasound and blood draw- as she said, “I am so sorry” and wrapped me in a hug as I wept on her shoulder.

There was less shock this time. The bubble had already burst from the reality that this nightmare could happen just months before. We just skipped over the feeling of numbness and went straight to the agony. And we wept.

To have our kids there was so tragic, and yet a relief in some ways. This time, we didn’t have to come home to their smiling faces and watch their little hearts break all over again. They could tell something was wrong. So when we pulled them in for hugs and told them this baby sister, too, was no longer alive, we all grieved together.

My mother-in-law wonderfully came and picked up the kids so we could discuss options with the doctor. It’s the little things I have to thank God for in these moments. Jan is one of them.

The fact that the doctor was so compassionate was another. The little things they did to make us comfortable- leaving the lights dim, bringing me tissues, holding my hand- were such treasures.

But to have to sit there after my heart has been ripped out of my chest and make a decision about how I want to endure this trauma from here feels like absolute torture.

To pull out our calendars and decide the best day to lose my daughter for good feels so wrong. How can a calendar dictate any part of this when time itself has stood still? And yet it does.

And now I am in a waiting game because it is the weekend, and the surgical wing can’t fit me in on a Monday for a D&C. And so we wait and pray that my body can wait as well until it all falls into place.

Going to sleep holding my breath I don’t wake up with agonizing contractions, praying God will be merciful in this but knowing it is out of my control.

It’s all out of my control.

What is wrong with me?

What did I do wrong?
Is my body broken?
How could one not ask that after two losses in a row?

My mind wants answers, wants to make connections. I ate ice cream the night before I found out both babies were gone. Was that it?

Was it _____________?

Was it because I __________________?

I cannot stay there. And I know it’s not anything I did. Most of the time.

But I feel broken down.

This time, I went pretty much straight to angry tears and a sense of hopelessness over our future family planning.

Whereas immediately after losing Maggie, I knew I would brave this and try this road again, this time I feel done for good. I know that could change, but I can’t possibly imagine enduring any part of this again.

Why did you bless us with another pregnancy, Lord?

I know they’re in Heaven together, but that is my only comfort. And honestly, it doesn’t give me much peace. Certainly not any joy right now.

These past two months of pregnancy with this precious girl have been the most difficult months of my life. And to endure it, only to have the same end, feels like torture.

God, if You don’t plan for us to have more living children, please take this desire away. Because I can’t bear this.

Compound grief. That is what this is. We were still grieving one daughter, only to lose another in such a short time. It feels like a sad, tragic snowman that keeps adding mounds of snow to his stature. Piled on higher.

Losing Maggie felt like the wind knocked out of me from a fall. Losing this sweet baby girl feels like a gut punch. And this time, I’d prefer to stay down for a bit, kicking and screaming in my fleeting moments of strength.

I know God can handle it. I know He hates this, too. 

I have to trust that He is holding me as I keep begging Him with “why”. 

I am at a loss for words. The only comfort I find is in being held by my loved ones, tears streaming down all of our faces. It is such a beautiful thing to be wept over. To feel safe and understood and heard.

Right before I went into that ultrasound, my daily Bible reading plan gave me Truth I didn’t know I would need. While I feel bitter that I need it right now, I am letting these words rest on me until I believe them again:

“When trouble strikes, our instinct is often to escape or to lean on our own strength. But the psalm we’ll read today points us somewhere deeper:

God Himself is the refuge.

He doesn’t just give us strength. He is the strength. He doesn’t just provide shelter. He is shelter…

Only God remains constant when everything else shifts beneath our feet.”

Psalm 46: 1-3: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.”

Psalm 46:4-5 reminds me of our little girls’ realities:
“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.”

Something New

Tuesday, May 26, 2026: 10:49AM

Isaiah 43:18-19 says, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

This verse was dear to me in my pregnancy with Maggie. Whenever I felt nerves or discouragement during those last couple of weeks with my placenta previa diagnosis and spotting, I would turn to this verse.

And here I am again, clinging to His words. A new thing.

We are having another baby girl.
A new thing.

“But God, how can this be new?”
A new thing.

Maggie can’t be replaced.
This is a new life.
A new soul.
A new story.

Just because it’s the same gender does not mean it will be the same outcome. Even if it were the same tragic loss, it would still be something new and different.

Oh Lord, can this baby girl please make it into my arms, alive and well?

Referring back to the braid I previously wrote about, finding out the gender was another braided moment of joy and grief. To see the words “female” on the blood test results brought up a lot of feelings.

Part of my reaction was complete and utter shock because I was 99% convinced that I was having a boy. This pregnancy has felt different. I thought I could read my body and how it reacts in pregnancy accurately.

I also had a dream I was having a boy, much like I had a dream I was having a girl with Maggie. Scripture references to our chosen boy name popped up several times the day before we were due to receive the gender results.

Did I misread everything?
Or did I read into something that wasn’t even there?

My ragged heart is disappointed in the sheer fact that those “signs” may not always be what I think they are. And in this state of trust and fear perpetually circulating through a vigorous cycle, misreading what I thought were little nudges from God broke my heart a bit.

I know it’s not a “matter of first importance”, but I long to feel Him with me, guiding and comforting me; even in the small things, as He has done before.

A girl. Flowers, big bow headbands, girly tutus, painting nails, a big sister to dress her. Sweet snuggles and picking out a feminine name.

I didn’t get to experience those things with Maggie. But maybe I will get to with this new little one.

Finding out the gender was also a transport in time, bringing me right back to the time and place when we found out the gender of each of our other children. The sweet joy of Emma and Ethan. Wonderfully healthy babies, beautiful news at the anatomy scan and picking out onesies. A simple, innocent belief that these babies will be perfectly fine, and they were.

And then our sweet Margaret. The eerie sound of silence. The haunting image of a frozen life. Finding out the gender so we can meet and name our baby who is already gone.

Yet this time, something new has already happened. We found out earlier and have the reassurance of a bit more who this baby girl is. We can pray for her by name.

I am listening to “In the Garden- Acoustic” by Abby Prado as I write, and it is so comforting to hear a song I have always loved since I was a child. I am staring at the trees that have finally burst with life, swaying in the cool summer wind.

It’s amazing how life goes on and grows.

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” -2 Corinthians 4:16-18

From Complaint, to Remembering, to Requesting
My mind is still the rich training ground for taking my thoughts captive.

The “whys” of it all can plague me.

Page 57 of Vroegop’s book on lament says, “Boldly asking God for help based upon who he is and what he’s promised eclipses the complaints… It captures the fact that why questions are not always answered before we move into requests. Just as one heavenly body moves into the shadow of another during eclipse, so too the why questions, and the who questions coexist, but not equally… As we make our bold requests, “Why is this happening?” moves into the shadow of “Who is God?”

Lament

Thursday, May 14, 2026: 3:26PM

The school year is wrapping up, and I feel like I can breathe and be what I need to be a little easier. I can tackle the first trimester exhaustion and the symphony of emotions in the quiet, not just in the triage-style moments found in my car on the way to work.

As performances have ended and things are wrapping up, I have been able to slip back into more dedicated time of introspection and learning, and that has been so good for my soul.

Songs that have been a comfort to me right now:
“Overthinking” by Samantha Ebert
“Flowers” by Samantha Ebert
“Forty One” by Samantha Ebert
“Manasseh” by Anna Golden
“It is Well (Because He Lives)” by Tommee Profitt and Bay Turner

My book of the week:
Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: Discovering the Grace of Lament by Mark Vroegop.

This book, along with my mom’s book, Praying God’s Blessings in Christ as We Suffer, and the book of Psalms and Lamentations have been a balm to my weary soul.

They have all reminded me that it’s not only okay to lament, but it is necessary for the Christian walk.

What is lament? Mark Vroegop’s definitions have helped me pinpoint it:
“Lament is a prayer in pain that leads to trust… Lament is a path to praise as we are led through our brokenness and disappointment. The space between brokenness and God‘s mercy is where this song is sung. Think of lament as the transition between pain and promise. It is the path from heartbreak to Hope.” (page 28)

From page 26: “Therefore, lament is rooted in what we believe. It is a prayer loaded with theology. Christians affirm that the world is broken, God is powerful, and he will be faithful. Therefore, lament stands in the gap between pain and promise. To cry is human, but to lament is Christian.”

I have been reflecting on the four parts of lament, found in page 29 of his book:
Turn
Complain
Ask
Trust

“It takes faith to pray a lament. To pray in pain, even with its messy struggle and tough questions, is an act of faith where we open up our hearts to God. Prayerful lament is better than silence. However, I’ve found that many people are afraid of lament. They find it too honest, too open, or too risky. But there’s something far worse: silent despair. Giving God the silent treatment is the ultimate manifestation of unbelief. Despair lives under the hopeless resignation that God doesn’t care, he doesn’t hear, and nothing is ever going to change. People who believe this stop praying. They give up.” (Page 31)

While I have constantly felt at the end of myself these past few months, I have never ceased to pray and talk with God. Even when it has felt like He has been silent, I still long to talk to Him. Reading through the lament Psalms has reminded me that it is a beautiful and vital part of the walk to bring our questions, our thoughts, our pain, our disappointment and heartbreak to Him. He longs for us to.

James 4:8: "Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you..."

Psalm 73: 23-26: “Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

Matthew 11:28-29: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Self-Doubt
I have been having an internal battle, feeling shame for my questioning and complaining to God. Satan loves to work when we are feeling weak and low:

“How can you be a faithful follower of Christ if you question Him? If you complain to Him?"
“Do you really believe He is good?”

Page 36 speaks to this:
“…laments are possible only if you believe that God is truly good. You see, the character of God—his sovereignty, goodness, and love—creates a tension when we face painful circumstances.

Lament is how we learn to live between the poles of a hard life and God’s goodness."

Anchors of Hope: Remembrance and Thanksgiving
I’ll be honest: I have gotten really good at the concept of complaint these past few months. It’s so freeing to lay out my concerns, anger, and sadness before God.
But complaints can’t be the final word. There must be a turning- a “yet”.

Psalm 22:1-5:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from my cries of anguish?

My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, but I find no rest.

Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;
you are the one Israel praises. In you our ancestors put their trust;
they trusted and you delivered them.

To you they cried out and were saved;
in you they trusted and were not put to shame.

Psalm 73:21-26:
When my heart was grieved
and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant;
I was a brute beast before you.

Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.

Even when my eyes can’t readily see the praiseworthy things in my life or my heart right now, I can reflect on His past faithfulness.

And what glorious wonder are we invited into as we behold the power of the cross.

Page 36 in the lament book talks about how the psalmist in Psalm 77 demonstrated his faith in God based on the exodus event- the Israelites fleeing from Egypt toward the Promised Land. That is often the major faith event the psalmists would reflect. But we have something much greater to draw our hope and faith from- a garden so full of God’s love and redemption. It was all demonstrated through suffering, loss, and death.

“For the Christian, the exodus event—the place where we find ultimate deliverance—is the cross of Christ. This is where all our questions—our heartaches and pain—should be taken. The cross shows us that God has already proven himself to be for us and not against us.”

To think that death- the Son of God’s death- brought life. To think that His suffering led to my redemption. His loss became my gain. All because He loves me, He loves Maggie, He loves you.

I am doing a Bible reading plan with a friend called, “When Worry Gets Loud” in the Bible app, and the devotional tied so beautifully to grateful remembrance:

“Notice the pattern: anxiety rises, so you pray. You don’t just “think positive.” You bring real requests to a real God, and you bring thanksgiving with them.”

“Why thanksgiving? Because gratitude is faith with a memory. It reminds your heart, ‘God has been faithful before. He will be faithful again.’”

“Today, take one anxious thought and turn it into a prayer. Be specific. Then add thanksgiving: name at least one way God has provided for or sustained you in the past. You are not ignoring the problem. You are refusing to let it become your god.”

“Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” -Philippians‬ ‭4‬:‭6‬-‭7‬

Another part of the reading plan said this:
“Remembering is not nostalgia. It is spiritual warfare. It means calling your heart back to the evidence of God’s faithfulness. You rehearse what He has done, not what you fear He might not do. Asaph moves from staring at his feelings to staring at God’s track record..”

Psalm 91:
“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent. “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Reflections

Wednesday, April 22, 2026: 8:12PM

The Braid
Someone who experienced the loss of the child once said that there is a braid that becomes part of the fabric of one’s life when they lose a child. It is the braid of celebration/joy and grief. Every significant event and mundane moment will have both.

Birthdays, Christmas, future family memories. It will be a union of loss and love. Of joy and heartache. Of being grateful for what I have and mourning what I don’t. And that began the moment I held my daughter in my hands.

The braid imagery has been woven into so many moments lately as the waves of grief have tossed me to and fro and as moments of joy and celebration have come to our lives.

Twisted Timelines
I stood at the vendor booth of crocheted items, realizing I stumbled upon a booth of baby items- bibs, blankets, and comforting stuffed animals.

It was too hard to register at first until a very pregnant woman came up next to me and said, “Oh, these will be perfect! I will need these soon.”

I thought I would, too.

But you’re pregnant again, Ruth. Shouldn’t you feel differently now?

Let’s speak truth into this. Yes, I am relieved I can get pregnant again. I am grateful. That is not the case for many women, and that is heartbreaking.

But of course, this pregnancy does not cover all the loss and grief of the last. This baby doesn’t replace my Maggie. Saying it aloud to myself feels obvious, but it is crazy what a mind untamed can jump to.

Spiritual Stretching
I have discovered while in the depths of immense grief and deep hope, I have still wrestled with my sinful nature. It surprises me at times…oh right! I’m still in constant need of Jesus’ refining Word and growth. I have felt frustrated that I still have to “deal” with longing for the simple comforts of life.

To go through the entire miserable first trimester with Maggie, only for her to die…that grieved me. And to go through it once again now in such a short time…on one hand, I am grateful. But honestly, in my moments of grumpiness, I have felt bitter about it. And I once again, turn it over to God and ask Him to create in me a clean heart. To cling to Him in the discomfort.

This entire pregnancy is a very stretching time of daring to trust God. To cling to His character. To the truth of Jesus on the cross. Not on the what ifs or the fears.

And it can bother me that I need to fight daily. I’ve been through enough, Lord. Why do I need to be refined or grow in this? Why can’t I just be left to my panic-stricken, bitter state all the time?

It can feel tempting.

But it doesn’t actually sound like the kind of daily life I want to experience. It’s certainly not the wife, mom, or friend I would aspire to be. And there is a reason God speaks to this in Scripture. He is a good, loving Father who longs for me to trust Him, seek Him, and lay it before Him. He wants me to walk in His light, even when threatened by the darkness.

Matthew 6:26-27:
“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?”

Matthew 7:9-11:
"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"

The News

Wednesday, April 22, 2026: 7:08PM

I’m pregnant.

Again?
So soon?

Those are the comments I have braced myself to hear when sharing this news.

And yet, that has been few and far between. I have mostly received loving hugs, compassionate tears, and dedicated prayer and joy. Thank You, Lord.

I can’t tell you the host of emotions I feel in this. I can’t untangle it at times; it’s messy, it’s raw, it’s confusing. But if it brings us a new little one, we are willing to endure.

I had my first ultrasound at 6 weeks. My OB wants to be extra thorough, and I so appreciate the attention to my emotional well-being in this.

I stared at the familiar ultrasound screen with a new due date, a new gestational age, and it felt surreal. And then I saw the little one and heard the heart beating and continued to feel…surreal. I wasn’t in my body. I felt the tears in the corner of my eyes, felt my dear husband’s hand, but I wasn’t fully there.

My first thought was that because Maggie died, this baby is now here. I didn’t want that to be my first thought, but I don’t begrudge myself for it. It is a sobering, confusing internal dialogue- this pregnancy and this loss. And that tension continues to settle on me.

I knew this journey would be full of tensions and seeming contradictions: joy and loss, grief and hope, sadness over the past and fear over the future, death and (hopefully) life. But I have been encouraged by my new Christian counselor who has encouraged me to embrace it all in my mind as not actual contradictions, but dual feelings and realities that both serve a purpose. One does not negate or cheapen the other emotion.

They are both of value and both important to hold.

I knew being pregnant would not take away the grief, and it certainly hasn’t. If I am being honest, it has felt like it has multiplied it.

I am wrestling with the questions,

“Why choose one life instead of another, God?”
“Will this happen again?”

It is not easy.

I grieve Maggie. I grieve being 7 weeks along when I thought I would be 7 months along. Instead of a bursting belly and strong kicks, I am fatigued, nauseated, and silently growing a new life.

Instead of preparing a nursery and finalizing plans, I am planning a memorial and walking into medical appointments holding back tears.

This isn’t how it should be. This broken, broken world.

I am also crushed by the weight that a “simple pregnancy” is gone. The illusion of security in statistics and the comfort in certain thresholds being met hold no meaning to me now.

Each appointment and ultrasound, I walk in holding my breath. Waiting for the bad news. It sometimes takes everything in me just to get out of the car and through the OB office door- to tell my brain that this is a new story. To live in the moment and not project the past into the future.

And I have certainly had my moments of panic and fear. I blurted out in an exasperated, weary moment why I even thought to try for this again, and a loving friend spoke gently and said, “Because you wanted to have another child. There is nothing wrong with that.”

I am so thankful for the encouragement in my life.

And I am thankful for daily, hourly dependence on God when hormones are all over the place, thoughts are swirling, and my body that has been through so much slips into its understandable responses.

Today, I am pregnant, and I am grateful for that.

Clawing Through

Monday, April 20, 2026: 6:58PM



From the song, “I Will Carry You” by Selah:

There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this?

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness
But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says

I've shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?

I have had trouble feeling consoled lately. Desperate sadness and grief has covered me like a cloak as I slog through the rainy, cold days and approach the end of many things. Do you hear me, Lord? Are You near?

As I grieve and hurt, the only comfort I find is in Heaven. Maggie in Jesus’ arms.

From Seasons of Sorrow- a prayer of Thanksgiving to God the author offered up over his son:
“Thank you that though he is not in my home, he is in yours. Thank you that though he is absent from his body, he is present with the Lord. Thank you for the assurance you’ve given that you didn’t first take him from me, but first took him for yourself. Thank you for the certainty I have that his arrival in your presence was a gain far greater than the loss of his departure from my own.”

My heart remains weighed down and full of sadness, and that’s okay.

Is Everyone Pregnant?!
Spring is here- well, it was for about two days… Now it’s just rainy and dreary. But as Spring approaches, I am reminded of the turning of the seasons. And of who is not here with me.

I miss Maggie so much. I grieve the death of the dream of life with her. All the images I held dear in my mind of a growing belly, tired feet, and a wiggly baby keeping me up at night feel so far removed from me now.

And yet I see the growing life around me and wonder, “Why me?”. I try not to dwell there, or it will consume me. But it’s hard to not wonder as I see all the growing bumps and alien-eyed newborns.

This is why Paul encourages us to guard our minds. It is out of God’s great love for us that He encourages us to take every thought captive (2 Corinthians 10:5). He knows that if left to my own defenses, I will spiral into an abyss I can’t climb out of.

I am not sure I am handling the delicate dance of pushing myself and protecting myself, but I find myself more and more emotional as I approach Maggie’s due date. Each mention of a baby, each invitation brings pain and loss.

I have had my steady days and then days of feeling so desperately sad, eager to shed off some of this heaviness and feel some relief.

But I also long to celebrate the life and growing lives around me. To not resent that my path is different from others’.

I don’t want this path for anyone.

Such a battle of the mind and the ultimate lesson in contentment. To allow myself to feel my pain but also lift my eyes up to the Heavens and say, “Thy will be done”, knowing He wipes my tears and holds my days. That God lost His own son. That Jesus endured every kind of suffering and weeps with me.

Help me to trust You, Father, when it hurts. When I cry out with ‘“why”, catch my tears. And please comfort me.