Loved Baby: A 7-Day Plan After Pregnancy Loss

Scripture: Psalms 56:3

There I sat on the cold, porcelain toilet—blood pouring, stomach contracting. I didn’t need a clinician to give me the news; my baby was gone. I was no longer pregnant. I was not going to decorate a nursery. I was not going to deliver my baby in November. 

It’s hard when our world just stops. Nothing makes sense. Fog descends. We feel robbed, broken, and betrayed by our own bodies. 

You might have felt the blood. You might have seen the ultrasound image. You might have heard the devastating phrase, “There is no heartbeat.” The nurse might have called you and said that your HCG levels were dropping. You might have doubled over in pain from your ectopic pregnancy. Your water might have broken too early. Your baby might have emerged through a caesarean. You might have felt the pains of labor and deliv­ered your perfectly formed baby whose breath was silent. 

Our lives changed—forever. We all have different reactions, but most of us report shock and confusion.

I’m so sorry you are sitting in this nightmare where anger, guilt, sadness, loneliness, yearning, anxiety, and depression swirl. Not to mention you’ve faced immense physical pain—something for which we are totally unpre­pared. 

What are we to do with all this hurt? Are we to push it aside or feel all the feels? 

Grief research suggests we must embrace these feelings. There is no way around grief. We must plod right through it. You are sad. You want to express yourself. You yearn for your child, and you yearn to find a meaningful reason for such loss. 

Sweet one, we must make daily decisions to work through the grief. This doesn’t mean there is a cure to grief, but it can give us a sense of order to our emotions and help us as we get to a place where sadness and peace coexist. My mother delivered her first child at seven months. He was born sleeping. She says, “The heart-stabbing pain and guilt does go away. Eventually it will be replaced with loving acceptance and knowl­edge that you will see each other again in heaven.” 

Right now you are still in that raw stage of grief. Faith means trusting plans we don’t desire. Even though we are afraid, we must trust God to guide us through this valley as we rest our minds on the promise of heaven. 

Scripture: Isaiah 40:31

A field of perennial wildflowers grows in my front yard—bright pink, sunny yellow, and vibrant orange beauties wave in the wind. The honeybees from our hives rest upon the delicate petals and soak up the sweet nectar. These lovely flowers are not only eye-catching, but they also bestow life for the bees and crops on our farm. Wildflowers were created to be carefree and to grow wherever they are rooted. 

We, as sisters in Christ, are much like these wildflowers, aren’t we? At our strongest we nurture others and radiate love. We are fetching, glorious creatures. We yearn to grow life and enjoy a carefree existence, but the loss of our baby changes that for us, doesn’t it? 

Dear mama, you are like this field of wildflowers. You were your bright self when all of a sudden your precious child left for heaven. You did nothing to cause this, yet it is far from where you thought your life would be planted this season. Now you are suffocating. You don’t feel or look like your former self, do you? You can barely take care of yourself—much less give life to others. 

Your very roots have come undone. You wonder if you will ever emerge from this sadness. 

Gather close as I tell you: You will get to the other side of grief. You’ll go through a frigid winter, but eventually spring will emerge. Just like the wildflowers in my field, you, too, will gain new strength from your former self and establish new roots and new life. A new you will slowly begin to emerge. “How?” you might ask. God says that we will all be a new creation and molded into new strength from our suffering.   

Scriptures: Philippians 4:6-7, Revelation 21:4

Deadlines. Goals. Plans. We love order, don’t we? Our society helps us (wrongly) believe we can plan our families, maternity leave, and the number of years between siblings. Pharmaceutical companies burst with pregnancy prevention options. People fight over making choices. We talk about starting a family as if we are making dinner plans. 

Therefore, it must be harder to prevent pregnancy than to get pregnant and have a baby. It’s under the covers, and nine months later you deliver a baby, right? Sheesh. 

Did you think you could plan out your life too? 

Not only do we grieve for our child, but we also grieve because our plans failed. And because we falsely believe we are the ones in control of our lives, we often (wrongly, I must add) feel like failures. Our souls start to send out the crushing, false message: My body failed me. I failed our baby! Our soul screams, This wasn’t part of my plan! I thought this was supposed to be easy! Isn’t having a baby a part of happily ever after? 

Those of us who have experienced loss are now changed souls. But please know that the death of your child is not your fault. Unfortunately, we are promised a life of hardship. John 16:33 reminds us, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” 

Do you see that promise? Ouch. You see, our lives are not promised to be pure happiness. We are actually promised lives that are intermixed with troubles. Earth is not the place where pure happiness exists. That is why we long for heaven—a place absent of suffering. 

Can I whisper a promise to help you in the days ahead? Although your baby died on earth, your baby was born into heaven. This isn’t the plan you would have chosen, but there is an absolute promise. 

Our heart suffers right now in the present, but there is the promise that one day you will greet your child. It is in this place where glorious happiness shall forever exist. Trust that in the future, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).   

Scripture: Matthew 5:4

Today we wear black to funerals. Did you know the tradition of clothing yourself to express sorrow actually harkens to biblical times? “Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days” (Genesis 37:34). Sack­cloth was the original black funeral dress. 

Our modern times don’t dictate appropriate costume for the period of grief. In fact, our grief is invisible to many. But we feel like we are clothed in that itchy sackcloth, don’t we? We feel the heft of hurt, the constant pricking of it on our souls, the veil that disjoints our very view. The difference between times of old and today is that the outward sign of grief has been removed. Our grief cloaks only our souls. 

I’m not suggesting we revive the tradition of mourning attire, but it is rather nice how historically there was an outward sign saying, Hey I’m hurting over here. Let me cry. Pray for me. Don’t forget me. 

Even though our culture doesn’t give us protocol—especially in the case of pregnancy loss—we must give ourselves permission to mourn. It’s okay to not be okay and to feel the blackness of grief. This is called mourning. And mourning comes before the comfort. Mourning is a biblical process of coping. Others might minimize our sorrow, but the Bible tells us we are called to mourn. Abraham mourned the loss of his wife. Warrior David cried. Our very Savior Jesus wept. And you too must settle in for a time of mourning. Know that it is okay to cry. 

Others might minimize your loss or utter hurtful comments. But please know your tears are worthy. Your baby, who resides in heaven, is loved. You can be sad for this, but know that your little one is now in the state of complete perfection. 

Scripture: Psalms 46:10

Why? It’s the question that torments us, isn’t it? But we aren’t the only ones who have cried out this question. The Bible provides us instance after instance of people lamenting their concerns to God. There is none more profound than Jesus hang­ing on the cross: “About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ (which means ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’)” (Matthew 27:46). 

Jesus felt abandoned. You probably feel abandoned. In his forsaken­ness he cried out to our heavenly Father. Why me? 

Jesus felt cast aside. Do you see what he did? He talked with God directly, and he even asked the question that is on all our minds. Ask­ing why is not a sin. However, please know that God won’t answer in the way we prefer. There won’t be a big CNN special or writing in the sky. In fact, God might never answer this question while we are on earth. This is hard to accept. 

You might find a medical reason why your baby died; however, you are not promised you will find a spiritual answer. Instead, however hard, we must trust that God’s grand plan is the right one. And as we talk to God, grappling with these issues and laying our hurt at his feet, we must be real. We must unburden our hearts. Praying will not reverse the course of action, but it will pour comfort onto our broken hearts and in the process change us. Grief causes us to question. To dig deep in our faith. Go ahead and ask God those hard questions, but then follow the questioning with prayer, digging into the Word, wise counsel, and being still in his pres­ence. 

Scripture: 1 Samuel 1:20

Have you met Hannah? From the Bible? She’s front and center in 1 Samuel. Hannah’s story is like so many of ours—she is our biblical soul mate. Although our stories are distinctly different, those of us who have had miscarriages, late-term loss, or battled infertility can understand the longing of Hannah. Our hearts have ached, our lives have changed, and we find others (even some husbands) don’t quite understand the torment. 

The verses showed me God recognizes this unmet longing for a child in our arms as a reason worthy of tears and anguish. Hannah’s despair is featured in the Bible. To me, this authenticates our sadness and gives us the ultimate permission to cry out to God and express our fullest emotions. 

Hannah moaned, howled, ugly cried to God. Have you done this yet? Squalled those tears and screamed those horrid cries? Did you know it is okay to direct these emotions at God? Crying in sorrow is a way of communicating and talking to him when our souls are seared with pain. 

Sweet mama, I don’t how your story or mine will progress, but I do know our heavenly Father hears our cries. The grief you feel right now is a universal experience. Grief over the desire for motherhood transcends time and is so important that it is featured in the Bible. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our emotions of anger, jealousy, and sadness. Instead we should cry out to the Lord and express our inner turmoil. 

Scriptures: Job 8:21, 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Our minds swirl with negativity after loss, don’t they? Nightmares, traumatic recollections, whispers of blame. Beloved, if we don’t attempt to control our minds, our minds will soon control us. We must make an effort to train our minds to find good in spite of bad situations. 

No one should ask you at this point to find good in the death of your loved baby. We won’t understand that until we meet our heavenly Father. But what I’m encouraging you to do is to identify good in other aspects of your life. 

Throughout the day, can you be still and look around and find three things to count as blessings? Make it a habit of mind. These blessings might be small—like not getting caught in traffic on the way to work. They might be insignificant—like enjoying a decadent slice of choc­olate cake. Or they might be big—like looking out the window and witnessing a sunset drenched in colors. 

Even right in the middle of the painful now, you can find glimmers of glory. Remember the goodness that other people displayed after the death of your baby. The hugs they gave. The very fact that you cradled a loved baby within your womb. 

Mourning is a must, but at times we must refocus and identify hap­piness so we don’t let our souls dwell in darkness. We can visit grief, but we don’t need to make it a permanent home. Even though sadness overpowers your life right now, there are ways to find waves of blessings to cherish. God instructs us to “be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Grief isn’t something that easily passes. The storm will linger and revisit you, but you can be prepared for the days you are living. You know some moments will be a downpour and some moments will come on like a hurricane. But you can and will make it to calmer waters. 

In the meantime, anchor your soul in gratitude for what God has provided. Hold tight, dear friend. In the midst of the tempest, choose to cherish. It will help ease your soul and calm your mind.