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Editor’s note: this post discusses pregnancy loss

I still see the blood when I close my eyes. Life was pouring, draining from my body. Why did no one scream? How were their eyes dry, their faces expressionless?

I screamed. Not where anyone could hear. But in my mind and my heart, I screamed. 

I’m still screaming. 

I sobbed into the mask that was placed over my mouth and nose, both welcoming and dreading the oblivion that waited for me. When I woke up, it was gradual. Minutes passed before I could speak. But the moment my mind wokethe exact instantis when the tears started again. 

Because even though I couldn’t remember the day or the time or exactly where I was, my mind was reminded right away that the only heart beating on that table was mine. 

They handed me a small, plush heart that some sweet volunteer had probably sewn and donated to the hospital. It had a ribbon in the shape of a flower attached to the top. They told me it was a gift from the hospital, to express how sorry they were for my loss. 

I accepted it without a word. Ran my fingers over the ribbon. 

Two. They should have given me two. 

I was never able to bring myself to say the words. I wish I had. 

In the weeks and months after I lost my twin babies, I experienced a level of loneliness I never knew possible. Questions raged inside my head and heart. What did I do to make this happen? Why couldn’t I protect my sweet babies? And when will this cavernous pain in my chest go away?

The worst part about grief is that it has no end date.

Instead, it drapes its heavy presence over your soul and sinks its strong fingers into the everyday mundane. Life has no concern for whether or not you’re actually ready to take a step forwardit simply forges ahead. 

I went grocery shopping, worked, cooked dinner, played with my kids, paid bills, and kept smiling. People stopped asking, and I didn’t blame them. Because life goes on. 

I still cried. Every night. 

Hope broke through on one of those nights. Bone-weariness begged me to give in to sleep, but my mind refused. The hour was late, but all I could do was stare at the ceiling and try to stifle my sobs. 

Soft, almost imperceptible footsteps padded nearby. Our bed squeaked, and I felt the weight of my 4-year-old as he wedged himself between me and his sleeping dad. My back to him, I drew a ragged breath and swiped at my tears. I didn’t want him to know I was awake, much less upset. 

After a few moments, my son sat up. He crawled over my back, nestled himself against my chest, and wrapped his arms around my neck. 

My tears began to flow again. 

A Scripture I’d once read whispered into the quiet moment: 

“You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? . . . This I know, that God is for me . . . in God I trust; I shall not be afraid” (Psalm 56:8-11).

It was as if God had stirred my son’s heart and moved him to remind me I am not alone in my grief. Every tear I’ve criedevery night I’ve tossed and turnedGod has been there. And even when no one in the entire world understands the depth of my sorrowGod knows. 

I whispered a prayer of thanks and fell asleep within minutes. 

In this world, we will have trouble. We will walk through dark valleys riddled with grief and sadness. Our hearts will clench in pain, and the sorrow in our chests will feel so tangible we’ll wonder if things will ever be good again. 

But take heart, friend, take heart.

Because there is a God who not only sees you in your pain but is with you in your pain. 

Take heart, friend. Because there will come a day when the darkness of the valley will be shattered by His marvelous light. 

Take heart. Because the Creator of the universe has promised us one day there will be no more tears, no more pain, no more sufferingno more death. 

Take heart, hurting friend, because His wordsall His wordsare trustworthy and true. 

Take heart. Because Jesus Christ has overcome the world. And no matter what kind of pain is ripping through your chest right now, if you know Christ, then nothing can separate you from His love and His presence. 

The Lord gives. And the Lord takes away. 

And He has taught me to say, through tears, but with confidence and conviction

It is well with my soul. 

Blessed be the name of the Lord. 

Originally published on the author’s blog

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So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Mary Holloman

Mary Holloman is passionate about communicating deep truths through story-driven writing. Her first children’s picture book, The Anxious Lily, released in March 2023. She is also a contributing author for three books, and has written for many online publications, including Lifeway Research, the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission, Charisma Magazine, and the Christian Broadcasting Network. She and her husband have three beautiful children and live in the Triad of North Carolina. She loves to create rhymes, act silly with her kids, and eat dark chocolate. You can follow along with her at maryholloman.com.

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