The Lighthouse

 

Somewhere between 1993 and 1997, I had a miscarriage. I think it was closer to ’97.  Before I go any further I want to forewarn you, some of the details I am going to share are graphic but necessary.

Stuart and I had not really talked about having another kiddo. We were barely making ends meet with the three of us, as it was. The fighting between husband and wife was more often than not. We didn’t know how to react when we found out I was pregnant. We were happy of course but bewildered as to how we would afford another mouth to feed. Where on earth would this new baby find comfort in the Love Shack?

Around week nine, if I remember correctly, I started having contractions that would double me over and in a curled up ball I would stay. I made several trips to Doc Crowder and he told me that I needed to take it easy, not bed rest but take it easy.

Somewhere around week 8 or 9 I had my hair colored.

Three weeks had past since I was told to take it easy. I was, as easy as a momma with a rambunctious toddler could. I started having the contractions again, this time accompanied by a discharge. I knew something was wrong.

Not sure why but my natural instinct was to sit on the toilet.

I had a miscarriage. I wasn’t sure at the time but it would be confirmed within a few hours.

I didn’t look. I closed the lid. I picked up the phone and called Robin, my best friend at time. Our kids would spend most of their formative years together.

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Our boys. You couldn’t separate these three.

She was working but arrived at the Love Shack within minutes. I’m sure at the time it felt like an eternity but she was there in true Robin fashion, lickety split. She brought Kay, another good friend of mine with her.

Somewhere between the time that I called Robin and their arrival, I had contacted Dr. Crowder. He asked me if I could bring in whatever was in the toilet.

I could not lift the lid. Robin took care of that for me. I remember holding a blue washcloth in my lap all the way to the doctor’s office.

In that washcloth lay a twelve to fourteen week old baby boy per Dr. Crowder. I was far enough along that it was discernible.

Stuart was at work trying to make ends meet. I needed him at home with me. He was saddened but wasn’t feeling the gut wrenching heartbreak that I was feeling. I get it now, but at the time I felt that he had a black hole where his heart should be.

It is hard for a man to understand the heartbreak of a miscarriage.  A pregnant wife isn’t bulging with child at this point. There has been no, “here feel this moment.” The idea of a baby in the womb until it is visual is abstract to them. They are excited don’t get me wrong, they just don’t have the tangibles yet. Go easy on your guy if you have a miscarriage and he seems aloof.

Robin took me back home after a drive through McDonald’s. For the life of me, I can’t remember where Corey was through all of this but I can remember that we drove through McDonald’s.

God gives us friends for a reason, season or a lifetime. Although we don’t see each other anymore, I consider Robin a lifetime friend. She would be bedside when Casey was born.

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Robin at the birth of my brown eyed beauty.

Once home, friends departed, I sat. I sat and cried. I started blaming myself. It was the hair coloring. It had to be. It was because I didn’t drink enough milk. Maybe I missed my prenatal vitamins a time or two. This kind of thinking went on for days.

The following Sunday I was to sing a special at church during the second service. My music director asked if I wanted to cancel. I did not.

I stood before the congregation and shared the news of our loss and preceded with my song. I didn’t shed a tear. I didn’t bat an eye. I just started to sing.

There’s a lighthouse, on a hillside that overlooks life sea. When I’m tossed about it sends out a light, that I might see. And the light that shines in the darkness now, will safely lead me o’re. If it wasn’t for the lighthouse, my ship would be no more. 

I’m not sure if I made it through “my ship would be no more” before I started bawling, point being, I didn’t get far before the flood gates opened wide.

I continued singing, voice quivering.

And I thank God for the lighthouse, I owe my life to Him,
Jesus is the Lighthouse, And from the rocks of sin,
He has shown a light around me, That I might clearly see
If it wasn’t for the lighthouse, Tell me where would this ship be?

As I sang, one by one, the congregation started to stand. Kay, the friend that accompanied Robin, led the charge. As they stood in support of me, my tears subsided and my voice got stronger. Together we would finish the song.

That moment is one of the most precious memories I have regarding my savior. You see, the congregation showed me the heart of Christ that day. They reminded to look towards the Lighthouse, as this storm raged.

It is so easy to loose sight of the Lighthouse as you barely hold your head above the waves in turbulent waters. Storms make us stronger it’s true. We don’t need to go them alone, He is there shining that light. Why is it so easy to loose sight?

We loose sight of the beacon because we are flawed. If we weren’t jacked up what would be the point of a savior?

He loves me despite me and for that I am grateful.

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Drawn during another storm but so relevant.

6 comments

  1. I love and remember every character and moment in that story. You replayed it beautifully.

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