One of the most amazing things about being the wife of Michael T. Bean is that he lets me deal with things the way that I need to deal with them. He lets me express my pain and grief the best way I know how, and sometimes that looks really messy. Sometimes it involves crying, eating, starving, running, and here recently... cleaning. Sometimes it involves diving into the Word of God to see what He says about everything, and sometimes it deals with diving into my work. My husband holds my hand through the crazy train, and when it is all said and done, I walk out of situations feeling bolder and encouraged. Michael kindly presents truth without pushing it into my face.
I started a post about a week ago titled "The Line between Dying and Living." It was basically a rant about how if this baby were out of my womb and ended up dead, people (in general) would have been more considerate. Honestly, though, we have had lots of love from all sorts of people, and there is hope where there is tragedy. I am blessed by the flowers that sit on my table and other items of love we were given from people. I am so thankful for the love that was heaped upon us.
If you ask Michael and I how we are doing, we will tell you good. That is what people have been trained to say right? We ask these questions, and we say these things because being "real" with people is scary. The mixture of emotions in my head is way too complex to explain to people in short surface level conversations. This was the second baby that we have lost. The second baby now dead. The second baby without a grave, and honestly, I think I may have grieved more with the first. I almost expected this one to end like this. Does that make me a person of little faith? Perhaps.
Michael didn't think this one was gonna end. From day one, he knew that he were going to get to keep this one. He believed we were going to hold this baby. He is not a person of little faith.
Friday night, I shot a gala. Later, we went to my brother and sister-in-laws house to watch a movie. We talked and laughed late into the night, and before we went home I had to run to the bathroom. I had finally got to the point in my pregnancy where I stopped checking for blood when I went to the restroom. When I saw the blood... I thought I was living a dream. This couldn't be real... not this time. The doctor said my numbers looked good, and we saw the baby. Why was I bleeding? This is not normal... this is not okay. I called my husband into the bathroom, and the look of horror on his face sent me into tears. This was it... our baby was dead.
When you are considered "high risk" like me, the doctor's really do not want to give you hope that your baby is going to make it the whole nine months. Early in your pregnancy they tell you what to expect when you miscarry. They call the process passing. I hate... HATE the word miscarriage. It is a mask that pro-choice America labeled a dying baby because the reality is too hard to handle. I wonder about my own stance on pro-life and pro-choice debates. I am a big pro-life supporter, but why am I so pro-life? Is it because I believe that the child in the womb is in fact a baby, or is it because I know that soon the baby will be born and then it will be a child with a great future?
Saturday morning I woke up thinking the whole thing was a bad dream. I even looked up information about bleeding during pregnancy. The blood had definitely slowed down, and I thought, perhaps, our baby was still alive. Around 2:30pm the "passing process" began. Did you know that when your baby dies (even at six weeks) you still have to deliver the baby? That is what they mean when they say miscarriage cramps and passing. You have contractions, and you have to deliver the baby. I would say around 7ish, we delivered our baby. Though I feel like I grieved more with the last pregnancy, this pregnancy has left a scar on my heart I can't seem to get over. A traumatic event that has got me terrified of answering the question, "how are you doing?" There are so many events that have happened that has me wondering if I was a good mother. I saw a picture of a six week old baby, and I wanted to throw up. My baby didn't get a grave. My poor little baby was given the same funeral we would give a yucky bug that we just killed. The guilt and shame on my heart because of this one thing is the thing that keeps me up at night. I think about the day I see my baby again. I want to apologize to him.
God is here. He hasn't left me, and He is still good. The worst words right now are that God is in control. These words are incomplete and just leave me bitter. God is in control... I know that! I just struggle with the idea that God is still good. My head knows that God is good... all the time. My heart is just struggling with believing. That Saturday, three things happened. I fell more in love with my husband. My dear, sweet husband didn't get a moment rest. By 5:30pm, I was in so much pain I couldn't move. He held my hand and texted back and forth with my mother-in-law. By 6:00pm, I was in a hot bath and starving. My husband had to make dinner and run back and forth from the kitchen to the bathroom. He never once threw in the towel. He kept telling himself, "Right now, I focus on Paula... the rest will come." The next thing that happened is something that will haunt me for awhile still. The last thing that happened was a decision that my husband has sworn to help me with. My disease is killing my children... so I must kill my disease.
So how are we doing...really... good. I am terrified about going back to church, but I know that I am going to have to go back sometime. I have started getting rid of everything in our house that isn't useful. We have too much stuff, and I need life to be simple right now. We don't cry all the time. We even have days where we do not cry at all. I do not answer my phone all the time because I am an emotional mess right now, so I am trying to take my time with people. I am recovering physically. I still have to work, but I am thankful to not have a full time job right now. Yes, there is still a God, and yes, He still is good. I know that He has a huge purpose for us, and I honestly believe that the next child... we will get to keep and hold. I really do think that we will bounce back more quickly this time. However, there will always be the scar.
Alex Ezekial Bean: Alex means protector of men, and Ezekial with an A means God give me strength. If he had been allowed to walk this Earth, he would have been a powerful force for the kingdom, but since God decided (for whatever reason) to take him early. We must stand for him.
