Miscarriage. An ugly word. Its dictionary definition includes more ugliness: “expulsion,” “mismanagement,” and “failure.” These words when uttered in connection with the death of a baby demand a response of beauty. So let me write: 

 

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you” (Jeremiah 1:5).

 

In the second year of our marriage, my husband and I excitedly announced to our family and friends that we were pregnant as soon as we learned the news. Friends gave us early baby gifts. One gift was a pair of yellow duck booties. Another was a hand-knitted white baby blanket. Our friend said she was knitting it not knowing who it was for and then heard of our baby. We felt the hand of God upon our growing child. In the first weeks of learning of the pregnancy, we decided upon a playful name for baby Stahl: Juanita Paulita, after Pope St. John Paul II. This would be baby’s name in utero. 

 

A few weeks later, we went in for my first ultrasound. The technician brought the image of Juanita up, moved the wand around, and then excused herself without explanation. We waited. A doctor arrived to redo the ultrasound and share that our baby was no longer alive. 

 

With the grace of God is the only way we carried on. Many parents who suffer miscarriage grieve alone because news of the pregnancy is kept quiet until a time when the news can be safely shared — usually after the first trimester. “Safely.” Another ugly word in this context because it ensures private grief over a lost baby, an unknown grief that is thus unsupported by the parent’s friends and faith community. By sharing our news so loudly and widely, my husband and I were graced with the ability to grieve openly and be comforted freely. Yet with our second pregnancy of our now 16-year-old, we waited for that safe time to share. There is no right or wrong answer. 

 

It is important for grieving parents to stay connected to each other. Spousal communication is imperative at this time. Spouses of course often grieve differently. My husband and I both threw ourselves into our faith. We asked our parish priest for a short, informal prayer service. We called it a “celebration of joy” for Juanita that included the duck booties and the baby blanket. 

 

Through the sanctifying grace that we received on the day of our marriage, we were able to celebrate the joy that the news of Juanita’s life brought to all. Trusting in God’s mercy, we celebrated the joy of knowing that her soul lives in Heaven eternally with God. 

 

As with any death, the ripple of grief moves outward to grandparents, siblings, family, and friends. All those who grieve the miscarriage of a baby can take comfort from the quote above from the book of Jeremiah. 

 

The passage speaks of God’s intentionality in creating a human life. Each life, no matter how long beyond the moment of conception that it lives, is loved into being by God to share His life eternally. 

 

Our relationship with our lost baby continues. We are all part of the communion of saints. Juanita can intercede on our behalf. Our son knows he has a sister who will watch out for him and who we will meet at the Eternal Banquet. 

 

Each life, even life that dies in the womb, points to the Author of all life. In this way, a baby that dies before birth lives a too-short life of meaning and hope. 

 

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, on your own intelligence do not rely” (Proverbs 3:5).