"Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters; they saw the deeds of the Lord, His wondrous works in the deep. For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. They mounted up to heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight;
they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven." Psalm 107:23-30

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Neither here nor there.

My womb was once full of life, now it houses death. I am not barren. I am not with child. But I am reproducing for heaven. I get to be excited and then devastated. My body gets to change, I get to endure 12 weeks of flu like nausea without the vomiting, I get to gain weight, and then I get to go through body wrenching pain and a grotesque process as my insides crush to deliver the dead body.

I am not barren. To the rest of the world I am 4 times blessed, more than enough, with the most amazing husband in the world.

People keep telling me how to grieve. How to feel. How to live.

But I feel like an outcast, neither here nor there. I'm not barren, but my womb only produces death. Now my living children seem like a gift from a life that has passed as my body has turned over to death.

A friend is making me a beautiful cross stitch that I'm going to frame with a large matting. This way there will be plenty of room for me to write in the names and birth dates of all the babies that die in my body if I have any more babies.

Tonight I congratulated a woman shopping near me in Target who had struck up conversation with me on her pregnancy. She is due right when I was with Anastasia. I ended up telling her when she asked about how many children I have that I was due with her but my baby died. She gasped and said, "oh my, so this was your fifth pregnancy?" I actually cringed when I had to say, "No, my seventh." Seven times. I have seven children.


  1. I am so, so, so sorry. So sorry.

  2. Oh dear sister in Christ I wish I could give you a hug.

  3. Sending you more prayers and hugs from a sister in Christ. Please know you are not forgotten.

  4. Oh Melrose, I am so sorry.
    (How long, Lord?)

  5. Thank you dear sisters for your kind words, prayers, and love. ((()))