Brittany Lee Allen

The world still spins. People continue to laugh together. They eat dinner with their family. Friends go get coffee. Children keep playing. But my world is tearing at the seams as the evidence of the death of my baby takes over my body and my heart shatters.

Miscarriage: Those Little Lives Matter

Warning: There are some short and somewhat graphic descriptions in this article.

The world still spins. People continue to laugh together. They eat dinner with their family. Friends go get coffee. Children keep playing. But my world is tearing at the seams as the evidence of the death of my baby takes over my body and my heart shatters.

The cramping almost works as a distraction from the pain in my heart. A distraction which simultaneously works as a reminder of reality. The heartbeat I rejoiced over has faded. And only God knows his/her name. The blood is like a thorn, pricking my heart with every sight of it. “You lost your baby!” it screams. No one talks about how bad it is. No one prepares you for what it’s like to see parts of the child you longed for in the toilet or on a pad. It’s frigid and wrong, and yet there’s nothing you can do. Seeing that does something to you. It wrecks you. The pain is as treacherous as labor pain. Those labor pains which were meant to produce joy at the end. Instead, they act as swift kicks to your bruised heart, reminders of that baby you had already grown so attached to. The one you’ll never meet on earth.

I am amazed at the amount of dear women who have told me their stories these last couple days. Women I knew personally and yet never knew they had such grief in their life. It’s common, but that doesn’t make it less painful. That doesn’t make it okay.

I can see why they don’t talk about it. The pain is too deep and the memories are horrific. Mix that in with the culture of death in America, which creates a stigma that causes women to hush.

The world would say I’m mourning a clump of cells. They would say I’m insane for being so attached. No, I’m mourning a baby whom God knows. One who had a strong heartbeat. A little life that for a short time grew in my body. Don’t tell me my pain is meaningless! Don’t you dare tell me to keep quiet because that life doesn’t matter! That life changed me. God used our child to change me from within my womb.

These little lives matter. They had purpose.

Sweet friend, if you’ve lost a baby from the womb, your baby’s life matters. You don’t have to grieve in secret.

We have found so much comfort during this time through the prayers of the saints. We know that there are people in our corner bearing our burden with us. Friends have cried with me, prayed with me and held me. If you are part of a local church, let them know and watch God work through the people there. The Body of Christ is meant to bear burdens (Galatians 6:2), but they can’t do so if they don’t know. Be brave, and God will use fellow believers to comfort, provide and bear your burden with you. Don’t rob them of the joy of being the hands and feet of Jesus.

This pain is like no pain I’ve ever felt. I’m confused, heartbroken and feel like I’m living a nightmare. I fear the sting that is most certainly to come when a friend gets pregnant or when I see a baby bump at Target or those cute onesies I was waiting to buy. I fear starting over and can’t even think about trying again right now. But I know God is good. And just as he met me in this fear and has walked us through it, he will do so time and time again.

Our gracious Father has orchestrated things so perfectly, like only he can do. I look back and I see his sovereign hand. From causing friends to stay in town a little longer so that I had a friend to walk with me who has been where I stand to providing drivers to camp who took my husbands place so that we could be together. Little graces like gift cards, sunshine, offered meals, baby bunnies, cute little foxes and puppy cuddles all point me to the truth that he is with us and he is good.

I must cling to that truth. It’s all I have. After all, am I to accept Gods goodness in the form of gifts and not in the form of suffering when Christ so suffered on my behalf? Am I to accept only joy in this life and not sorrow when Jesus experienced the depths of sorrow for the joy set before him? Am I to believe the lie that I mourn without hope?

No, in all things, even miscarriage, I have reason to rejoice. Because of Jesus.

12 Responses

  1. Brittany – there are no words for your loss, except that I am so incredibly grateful for the hope we have in Christ, and so glad that you’re able to hold on to that. I pray the enemy doesn’t distract you from clinging to Jesus. May God give you and your husband healing through this, may your faith only grow.
    “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” (Psalm 56:8)
    “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

    1. My heart is completely crushed for you. I am joining Emily in her prayer that has been so aptly put.

      “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” James 1:2-4

      It is so hard to read these verses in the midst of trial, but at the same time, they really are comforting. He is so faithful to have us come out on the other side having grown immensely, as we seek Him. I pray that you would not lose heart, and would continue to seek the Lord with your husband. I pray that you’d be surrounded by godly women who have walked this road before, for comfort, wisdom, and encouragement.

      “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in You.” Isaiah 26:3

  2. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. I am familiar with the pain of miscarriage. Tomorrow actually marks the 1 year anniversary of my own loss. While the pain is suffocating at times, God’s goodness and God’s gentleness towards me have been so clear as He’s carried me through my grief. Keep leaning into Him. Praying for you and your family. ❤️

  3. I know there are no words. My heart aches for you and the pain you’re going through. I pray that God will carry you through all those times that sting and remind you of your pain.

  4. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. Our tears are not in vain. God knows each of His children intimately, and every tear we shed has meaning to Him. He remembers our sorrow. And in the end, He will share His joy with us. Keep looking up sweet girl, and allow God to carry you through these heartwrenchingly hard times.

    Psalm 56:8 You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.

  5. hi Brittany,
    i just had a miscarriage yesterday. at 6 weeks plus. i was too traumatized to look at the material when it fall into the toilet bowl. please pray that I can heal from the trauma

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