Published Tuesday, January 05, 2010 by David Larsen
When I get asked certain questions of fact, I find myself fumbling to provide what should be a quick, easy answer. For example, when asked about my age or the age of my wife I find myself computing the answer rather just spouting it off as a memorized fact. It’s not that I have trouble understanding the question or have to interpret the askers intent. It’s just a slowness of brain.
Other questions—which I find being asked more and more frequently these days—cause a similar pause which the asker probably finds odd. In this case, it’s not because I don’t know the answer; it’s because I do. I’ll give some examples.
“Is this your wife’s first pregnancy?” The plain answer: “No. She was pregnant twice before this, but the babies didn’t survive.” The answer I often give: “This will be her first live birth.”
“How many kids do you have?” The plain answer: “Four. Two died and two are still alive.” The answer I often give, accounting for what I think they mean: “Two.” I’m assuming they’re asking how many children are alive and well in our home.
(The context for those who don’t know us well or for that long is that my wife has had two confirmed miscarriages—possibly a third.)
Sometimes I’ll break the pattern and throw out the “real” answer depending on the situation. I’ll leave the contemplation of what I should say for another time. For now, I’ll just let these examples illustrate one simple point: we have not forgotten any of our children.
Now while I can’t say our departed children come to mind every week, there has certainly not been any week where I did not think of them. It’s not just when people ask about our kids. They come to mind at various times and in various ways. Sometimes the thoughts are those of sorrow. Sometimes its speculation of about what they would have been like had they were still with us today.
After the first miscarriage, each new positive pregnancy test—to be perfectly frank—brought mixed feelings. The doctors had checked out my wife thoroughly. Their explanation was simply, “Sometimes this happens. There’s nothing we see that puts you at a higher risk.” While we were thankful that there were no major medical issues, it also meant that it could happen again.
It did.
Now fast forward to our discovery of Elijah’s conception. At that point, we had no idea of the outcome. We hoped past experience was not an indication of the future. With each good report from the pregnancy checkups, our hope and excitement grew. Nevertheless, we knew that complications could arrive suddenly and the pregnancy could end without much perceivable cause.
I don’t think Elisha or I was being cynical or pessimistic, but in a certain sense our excitement was going to be held back until the moment our boy was born alive and healthy.
Fast forward to mid-November. We have a tradition among my siblings to gather guesses about the birth time, date, length and weight. Most of the guesses on birthday clustered around our early-to-mid-December due dates. (Dates? Another story for another time.) These guesses were predictable.
However, one guess was eerie. Matt guessed December 21st. On one hand, Elisha really wanted the baby to come soon, so a late birth meant more discomfort. Furthermore, a birth that close to Christmas would present its own challenges concerning the logistical aspects of our holiday routine. But the eerie part was that December 21st was the day of Elisha’s 1st miscarriage three years ago.
When we realized the correlation, I found myself constantly remembering the events and emotions of three years earlier. The baby’s death had been confirmed at an appointment down at Kaiser the day were also driving up to Grass Valley to celebrate Thanksgiving. This year, when we went to the Christmas party with my dad’s side of the family, it seemed like we didn’t even attend that year since we knew the actual passing of the baby would be soon.
Elisha had been having mild contractions for most of December, but when they intensified on the 19th I was amazed that we might actually hit the 3 year anniversary on the nose. As you know, Elijah was born on the 21st at 2:53 AM. It wasn’t until a few days later when I looked back at one of Elisha’s blog posts and saw that the miscarriage took place not long after 2:30 AM.
When our first baby was conceived, God knew the length of her days would be short. He knew when she would pass. And that night as we mourned our loss, He knew that we would joyfully receive a live, healthy, beautiful baby into our arms exactly three years later.