Theo David McLean

I found out today that I did, in fact, lose my baby.

I had been hoping, truly hoping, that I was just another one of the 20-40% who bleed during pregnancy.

When I shared the test results with my sister, she apologized for helping me hope. But honestly, I would rather spend my time hoping than worrying; I would rather waste my time hoping than waste it despairing; I would rather run the risk of greater disappointment because I hoped than run the risk of being broadsided by good news because I was wallowing in anxiety and fear. I am grateful for her hope that filled in the gaps of my own; a lovely gift to help the time pass by without the pain it could have held. Thank you, sister friend, for helping me hope.

It’s been a strange few days between the first tears I shed and the affirmation that my son didn’t make it.

First I became vividly aware that though his life was still news to me, my heart already loved him. I wept for a life I only knew existed for 6 days and for the pain of possibly being separated from this tiny child who not only rested beneath my heart, but who already filled it.

And then I sat in prayer on Wednesday, praising the Lord with an honest heart. And as we sang and worshipped and blessed Him, I felt my womb cramping as the life inside it was snuffed out. And I thought how strange it felt to rejoice in Life as death occurred inside of me.

Because I think I knew, even though I held out hope that I was wrong, I knew he was gone that day: May 6, 2015.

I named him as I sat before the Lord that night. Theo, which means “divine gift.” Something that is divine is either something that is from the Lord or something that is for the Lord. I knew that Theo was a gift from God, and as I sat in wait and wonderment at the reality I faced, I told the Lord that He wouldn’t have to take my son from me. If He wanted my child to bypass earth, I would give him to the Lord with an open heart. Because a gift is always given, never taken. “Come what may,” I told Him, “Theo is a divine gift.”

God is good, you know. When my doctor called me, I was with my family; the ones who have walked with me through all my losses. Their tears were real as they hugged me; their hugs were full of that physical love that assures me things will be ok. And I was grateful that, though the place to receive the news was not ideal, the people were just who I needed beside me when I heard that my baby didn’t make it.

So now I face the unknown; emptiness echoes with sadness where giggles of excitement rang; innocent wonderings about the growth of my family leave me sober; the baby outfit I ordered in eager anticipation will show up in the mail and there will be no one to wear it; and Mother’s Day will reveal that one of my children will never be in my arms this side of heaven.

It’s been a strange few days,
and I am sad.

Until heaven, my tiny son.