There was little joy in the weeks following the miscarriage.
There’s a heavy burden in loss; as though a physical weight has been attached to your body. Every day requires additional effort to carry around all the extra weight. It’s exhausting, physically demanding, and – at times – soul destroying.
In the beginning, there are people to pick up the slack. There are people around letting you know they are thinking of you, offering an ear, generally asking after you. Although it doesn’t really lighten the load, it brightens things, just a little bit, to know you are loved.
Eventually though, there is a return to ‘normal’.
For me, this part is the hardest. The world around you just keeps on turning: the clocks keep ticking, the grass keeps growing. It’s incomprehensible that the world hasn’t just stopped. Of course, in those moments, my world had stopped. But for other people, time passes. It isn’t constantly on their minds, they don’t have the same agony to carry every day.
Eventually though, the weight starts to lift. Not every day. Not all day. But for moments. And looking back, I realise that in these moments joy still exists. It’s not the same unbridled sense of joy I felt before this happened to me, full of life and wonder. But there are moments: a call out of the blue from a friend to catch up, check in, and see how we were doing; singing in the shower; trying out a new hobby.
I thank God for allowing me to see these moments of joy, these snippets. And I pray that I can trust in Him that one day, my life will be entirely filled with the joy I desperately want.