“The truth is you don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.” ~ Eminem
Once our paychecks started to bounce, things got bad. We continued to work for my parents, but we had just bought a house and a second car. We had BILLS. Mr. Bodyguard (my husband) had his main job at the security company, but we were used to having three paychecks instead of one. From what I was told, the owner of all the property (including the Church property) had a HUGE tax debt and there was no way my parents could ever get enough from the business or the Church to pay it off. They had wanted to buy the property, but they couldn’t. They were about to lose it all unless my father could come up with the cash. My husband and I decided it was best to quit. Two less paychecks for them to have to try to pay and I could look for a job somewhere else to replace the income I was losing. It was a very stressful time and everyone was arguing. I missed seeing my family, but it wasn’t a good situation. My father tried to save the business and the Church. He refused to let it go. One day, he called me and wanted to know if there was anything I could do. He was desperate. I felt so bad for him. The only thing we had that was paid off was my husband’s pride and joy… his beautiful Camaro. I actually got him to go down and get a loan by putting his car up for collateral. Then, we gave the money to my father to help him with the business. It wasn’t enough to save it by any means, but it was something. My father was so happy, he took the money and he told us he would make the monthly payments on the loan. We had nothing to worry about.
I was constantly being pulled back and forth between my parents, listening to both sides and the stress was awful. I do not like to pick sides. I love them both. Even though I was an adult, I was still their child. At the same I was a wife trying to make a life with my husband who was coping with all of this in his own way. The long phone calls I had with my parents (especially my mother) ALWAYS took priority over spending time with my husband. (My parents marital problems overflowed like crazy into my life and I’m not going to go into details about what all happened because, “When telling your story, it is important not to tell someone else’s“. It is their story to tell. I know for a fact they do not want it told… ever.) My mother is the kind of person who can talk AT you for hours at a time. I have been known to lay the phone down, go do stuff, come back, pick up the phone, and she is STILL talking. Those kind of conversations aren’t conversations at all. That’s just someone talking at you and not really caring about you, your opinion, or even letting you try to help them understand the problem and figure out a solution. There is a huge difference.
My husband would get upset at how much time I spent on the phone with my mother and I began to be disrespectful to him. At one point, my husband had enough and he reached over to grab the phone from my hand while I was talking with my mother. When he did, he accidentally grabbed my hair with the phone and pulled it hard. I screamed in shock and he NEVER did that again. He had never physically hurt me. This was getting out of control. We were letting everyone else’s problems affect the way we treated each other. What was happening to us was not good. I went to a couple of job interviews and I was ready to work, but I got a surprise. The very thing I had been begging my husband for FINALLY happened. I got my wish… I was going to be a mommy. The timing was awful, but I was thrilled.
I went to the mall and bought the book, What to Expect When You’re Expecting and I devoured it! I was so concerned about what foods I should eat, my changing body, and this beautiful little life growing inside me. I got some clothes to accommodate my little tummy and I was so proud to wear them. They were very modest and not sexy at all. In fact, they were a drastic change from my little short shorts and skin-tight jeans! I was almost like a different person. I hadn’t gone back to work, I wasn’t feeling well. Being pregnant doesn’t agree with me. (I’m not a glowing ray of sunshine. I am miserable and I get morning sickness 24/7.) My wonderful husband was paying all of the bills and he was stressed. He had his ways of coping and I turned my focus to this baby I had begged him for. I turned into a wife that had little left for her husband after dealing with my parents drama and trying to learn all about pregnancy. I was so ready to be a mom and I wanted everything to be perfect. It wasn’t though, there was constant stress in my family. It was just too much, being caught in the middle all of the time. I felt torn between my parents. Eventually, I pretty much stopped having anything to do with my mother. My husband had enough of her behavior. It was hard to go to Church with all of the drama and hurt feelings. We just kinda pulled away a bit and spent more time with my in-laws.
*Warning: the following contains very graphic details of a traumatic medical event.
One night, my husband was on the phone with his oldest sister (the one who was always so good to me), and I went into our bathroom. Something wasn’t right. I believe I called for him and he quickly came to see what was wrong. I was bleeding and freaking out. His sister told him to take me to the hospital. I agreed and when we got there, they put me in this room where a doctor came in and began examining me. My husband sat there beside me in silence as he watched the horror unfolding right in front of him. I remembered him telling me once in a conversation that he didn’t like the sight of blood that seeing blood to him meant… death. I’m not sure if that maybe had something to do with the line of work he was in, but I wondered how he was ever going to handle being in the delivery room! I looked over at him and his face looked like he was watching me die. I was bleeding… so bad. Everywhere. It was a nightmare. The doctor began trying to do something. It felt like poking and scraping. I was so upset and frightened, I didn’t know what was happening. I still have no idea what happened. To this day, I just have flashbacks of hospital staff members talking to me, being in that room, my husband sitting at my right side (with this shear look of horror and helplessness on his face), the doctor, feeling things I had never felt before, and seeing blood… lots of blood.
Finally, it was just the two of us in that room. I laid there for awhile. With the saddened look of hospital staff I was discharged. I was so confused. We stopped at the desk and I had questions. I didn’t understand what had happened. All I knew was that I was to watch for anything (pieces/parts) and collect it. Then, I was to take anything there was with me to my doctor’s appointment and get blood work done to make sure my hormone levels went back to normal. If they didn’t, I think they said I would need to come back to the hospital so they could do something called a D & C to clean the leftover “stuff” out.
No, no, no… I had a due date. I was going to have a baby! I had begged for this baby. I had studied that book and I was well versed on “what to expect” and what to do to take care of myself. What were they talking about?!!! The look on their faces said it all. I was in shock, it was like watching a horrible movie except it was actually happening. I had no choice but to accept what they were telling me and follow-up with the OBGYN. As we were leaving, I stopped at the bathroom and the blood was pouring out of me. It was awful. I cleaned myself up and we went home. I think neither of us knew what to say. We were just trying to process what had happened.
My husband stayed with me for a day or two I believe before he went back to work. I was grieving, but still in shock. I remember before my first doctor’s appointment after that, something came out and I was so upset, my husband had to put it in the plastic bag to take it in for them to examine. It was a very… unsettling experience. When we arrived at the doctor’s, I sat there with my brown bag containing what looked to me like my baby’s spine. As I looked around the waiting room, I just wanted out of there. After everything I had been through, this was just too much. They called my name and I went back to have my blood drawn. They took the “specimen” in my little brown bag and disappeared with it around the corner. After my blood was drawn, I was taken to another room where a nice lady came in to talk to my husband and myself. She sat down and began talking. I was to return for more blood work just to make sure my levels went back to normal and we were told to wait at LEAST 3 months before we should begin trying to get pregnant again. That was for some reason really important to this lady and my husband was instructed to wait at least that amount of time before trying to give me another baby. My body needed to recover and she was pretty stern about it.
She told me that one day I would have babies. Was she out of her mind? What was she talking about? At that moment, I didn’t want to “one day have babies”. I didn’t want another baby, I wanted THAT baby. It wasn’t like I had lost one of the beautiful diamond earrings my husband had given me for Christmas, I had lost my BABY. Humans can’t be replaced. As she talked, the reality set in and I broke down… oh did I break down. I was inconsolable. Eventually, I got myself together and back to the car. The drive home was awkward and when he went back to work, I fell into a very familiar pit. I never went back to that doctor’s office after that, I couldn’t. My mind raced and I knew I must have done something to cause this. I took full responsibility. No matter what anyone said, I just knew I had caused this. I felt horrible. Once again I found myself in the deep, dark place my husband had pulled me out of once before, except this time… it was a lot darker and he seemed to be falling into one of his own.
My mother called and left a message on the answering machine, “I’m so sorry to hear about the abortion…” Abortion? My husband heard it and he was so mad. I had never heard anyone use that word while comforting a couple who had just lost a baby. Most people would say, “I’m so sorry for your loss” or “I heard about your miscarriage“. I remember my husband was so upset with her that when she left flowers at our door, he tossed them. He wanted nothing to do with her or her gifts. I agreed with him. For once, I chose to respect my husbands wishes when it came to having boundaries with her. I chose him.
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” ~
I was alone most of the time recovering at home. It was quiet, too quiet and I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened. It was so heartbreaking and I was only 19 years old. I didn’t know how to handle this. I made up a small basket of little mementos from my pregnancy like the positive pregnancy test and little things I had for the baby. I sat the basket on a shelf in the living room. I got out my book and in the back of it, I wrote to my baby. I also wrote about the experience. I wasn’t planning on having anymore babies, so I was done with reading that book. I decided to name our baby and I wrote that in the book as well. My husband came home from work in the evening to a dark house and me crumpled in the floor crying. He came over to me and got me up off of the floor and held me in his arms. Dressed in his uniform, his gun on his side, and his ability to handle anything… he held me tight (it was so reminiscent of when he got me off of the floor at work and held me after the cabin incident). This time, no matter what he said or did, he wasn’t able to pull me up like had before. I couldn’t get over losing our baby. There was nothing happy about our home anymore… nothing.
My husband and I were so torn up. We didn’t know how to help each other. He had his coping mechanisms and I had mine. I needed something from him that he couldn’t give me and I felt like he was moving on too quick. I felt alone in my grief even though he was there beside me. We decided to go back to Church. We sat on the front row like we always had. It was nice to see the Church people again and be in the presence of the Lord. With all of the division in the family, I had missed all of that. I had grown up going to Church 3 times a week. To not be going at all… that was just so unlike me. My faith in God has always been the one thing that is unshakable. No matter what, no one could ever knock that out of me. As far as my faith is concerned, it has never mattered what people around me do, they can act all kinds of crazy and lose their minds. It’s okay, I don’t look to them, I look to God. They will not make me lose my faith in God… ever. I know what I know. I believe what I believe. Even when I don’t look like I’m saved… I’m still my father’s daughter and that will never change. What he taught from the pulpit was never wasted on me. During one part of the service, my father stopped, looked at us and said something to the effect of, “You will have babies. Do you hear me? Daddy is prophesying. You will have babies“…
My sweet baby, I know you are in better hands now. Mommy loves you…
*My thoughts, my feelings, my story and my opinions are my own. I don’t want to cause any trouble for my family members who are preachers and the ministries they have built. I love and respect them. It is not my desire to hurt anyone or the images they have made for themselves. That being said, I am not above or beneath anyone and I have a right to share my story just like anyone else.
Amazed By His Grace,