It's been a year. It's been 365 days since we were told by our somber-faced doctor that the twins in my womb were decidedly, irretrievably gone. We knew about the pregnancy at the 3-week mark. We learned that we were expecting identical twins at the 6-week mark. Then, at seven weeks, our short-lived parenthood came to an end.It wasn't a simple matter. The products of conception would stay stubbornly in my body, anchored to my system with ironic security, for another two months before we proceeded with a D&C. I suffered morning sickness, including all the sores and vomiting, without ever meeting our children. The journey before and after those three hopeful weeks ran the length of almost an entire year.
It took me time to open up about it. We tried to grieve privately, telling only our immediate family, closest friends, or people whom we knew had similar experiences. We were aware that there were people who would care and offer genuine, godly comfort in the face of our sorrow. But I also knew there would be way too many people who would react (intentionally or misguidedly) in unhelpful ways.
I saw my friends who'd had miscarriages before bombarded with judgment or demands: "Maybe it was something you did or something you ate." "Maybe you didn't rest." "You were too stressed." "You didn't do this." "You should have done that." "You should have known better."
Pregnancy loss is a keen, life-changing sorrow - and all these empty words just sound like "It was your fault. You killed your baby." to couples who are already grieving.
The length to which expecting couples, especially mothers, go for the benefit of their unborn children is immeasurable. It's heartbreaking that their sacrifices and adjustments could be so flippantly discussed just because the Lord has chosen to give and then take away.
So I kept quiet.
I chose not to tell people because I was so afraid of the inevitable condemnation that I would rather sacrifice the potential solace.
Thank God that His grace is always sufficient.
During one session of our shared devotional time late last year, the book Tim and I were using asked us to discuss what the darkest time of our married life was.
To our surprise, we realized that the loss of our twins - our detour into the valley of the shadow of death - was the time when the goodness, faithfulness, and sovereignty of the Lord shone the brightest in our lives.
Sometimes, it takes darkness for us to appreciate the light even more.
Three months after the miscarriage, an older sister in Christ pulled me aside after church. This was a mother of one of our close friends. I figured she might have heard of what had happened to us.
I braced myself for the queries and judgment - for the abundant unsolicited advice so inevitable in our tight-knit Filipino-Chinese community.
What I didn't expect was for her to hug me and whisper, "Wen, I admire you so much. To know what you guys have gone through and to still see you and Tim loving and serving the Lord so faithfully. I appreciate it so, so much. Praise the Lord for your faithfulness."
I cried.
Even now, as I write about the memory, I cry.
We don't know what the next chapter of God's story for us will be. We have our hopes and our wishes - but, most of all, we seek for His will.
And I pray, I pray so hard, that no matter what He chooses to give or to take away in His omnipotence and grace - that we would be able to show with our lives that, indeed, blessed be the name of the Lord.
