170

170: Written March 15, 2012.

Pieces of my heart

broken, like your precious pulse. 
Tiny hope, no more.



On Friday, March 2, 2012, I had surgery for an abdominal pregnancy.  Though I was asymptomatic, my doctors had been watching me closely since blood work indicated that hormone levels were not increasing properly, nor could they locate a heartbeat.  On a hunch, my doc sent me for one more ultrasound and the technician located a heartbeat up close to left side of my rib cage, outside the fallopian tubes, so I was sent for surgery at which time they found I was already beginning to bleed internally.  God was surely watching out for me.  I am thankful for excellent medical care and simply to be alive.  However, each morning I rub vitamin E cream into my scar and am reminded.

Knowing that a little person, about eight weeks grown, with a regular heartbeat of about 170, had to die so that I could live is hard.  That seems backwards somehow.  Life is so sacred.  He (I like to think of the baby as he) was fearfully and wonderfully made.  I don't pretend to understand the whys and wherefores of eternity, but imagine he is with Jesus, a beautiful little soul that I can meet someday. 

Many women I love have experienced loss of a child in some way.  Burying a stillborn, suffering miscarriage, all result in small, broken pieces of our hearts.  Jesus mends brokenness.  When I attempt to mend something broken, often there are tiny shards left that can't be glued.  Perhaps He collects and uses the broken bits to create a mosaic, something that will be lovely when it is complete, but the little bits are sharp and can still cut if we handle them. 


Today I will allow myself to feel loss, accept heavenly comfort as well as human kindness.  I pray it will keep my heart more tender, allow me to better understand the rest of broken humanity, and  increase my ability to see things with the love of Jesus.