Ruby is her name

There have been so many things on my mind the last few weeks it's really hard to sort out and put into words the chaos inside of me.  I have thought several times now that maybe a blog post would be a good way to sort out the uncertainty and attempt to make sense of what is so completely confusing.  I thought maybe writing a blog would be a good way to say what's on my heart to those who are wondering without having to say the same things over and over again. If you choose to read this all the way through please know that my feelings are incredibly raw right now.  I am trying my best to put into the most gentle words, the things that are like shards of glass to my soul.  As you read text its easy to assume a certain tone or context but let me just say that this blog is written "quietly" and as gently as I can "voice" it.  Maybe "voicing" what's going on inside of me will be relief to you because you're wondering how I feel, or because you can relate because you've been there. Maybe reading this will be uncomfortable for you because you don't see things the way that I do, that's ok too.  It's not necessary for you to feel the exact same way that I do.  Writing this blog seemed like the easiest way for me to share my story because honestly sometimes I'm ok with saying out loud what is on my heart and sometimes I want to be completely left alone. I really don't even know which moment I'm in, until I'm in it. 

How can I expect anyone else to know what I want or need when I don't even know myself most of the time.  One minute I'm "doing ok" and other moments I'm a crying mess and can't seem to get it together.  Even in this chaos there are a few things that remain constant though, when my heart hurts and everything is so confusing and consuming I just need to know that I am loved.  I need to know that the love for me is not circumstantial, only present when the tears are dry and I have a smile on my face.  I need to know that the love for me isn't when I am meeting everyone else's needs or carrying on like I always have before.  I need to know that when I am broken, and shattered, and hurting, and confused, when I'm angry and silent, or anxious and distant, I need to know that I am loved then too.  I need to know that you care.  You may not know exactly what to say, or exactly how to react around me (trust me, I see it in your eyes) but I don't know how to react around you either.  I don't know if you really want to know what I'm thinking or if you want me to just not mention it because it's uncomfortable, but I promise you, you'll never go wrong with just a hug or saying "I care about you and what you're going through." Being distant is far more hurtful to me, than saying the "wrong" thing.  Being distant feels so so much worse than just having someone say "I care about you" because this is such a lonely and isolating situation already. Being distant feels the same way as saying "I don't care". Also, I don't need you to try to make sense of my circumstances for me.  I am saying this, knowing that I am guilty of this for others.  When we see someone we care about, going through a trial it feels like if we can just make sense of it, we can get through it.  If we can see that it was for a purpose or that we will grow from it, it will be worth it, we just want to take their hurt away, I get it...but right now I haven't even asked God to make sense of it for me.  If I don't question Him, if I don't ask why of the one who gave us life, and has the ability to take it away, if I don't need Him to tell me why, I don't need anyone else to speculate why.  This is one of those times where there innumerable possibilities as to why, but none change the outcome.  This is one of those times where it's up to me as His daughter to find peace in the "because I said so." Please let me say that I do appreciate your attempts to comfort me, even if it's not quite what seems "right" to me at the time, because knowing you care and want to help my heart mend is very precious to me.  (Like I said I'm chaos inside)

Anyway, here's our story of our baby and some of the thoughts I've had along the way.  I don't expect you to agree with me, or see things the way I do because this struggle is unique to me, but I hope that maybe reading my story you will see just a small glimpse as to what's going on inside my heart, and be able to be patient with me along the way. 

Ruby is her name.  I realize that to some people it seems odd to give a gender specific name to a child you have never met, to a child that you don't really KNOW a gender for, but Ruby is her name, and we love her.  From the moment I knew I was pregnant, Ava insisted she was having a baby sister and no amount of "well, maybe it could be a brother too" would change her mind about it.  I dreamt of our precious baby long before my womb was full, but the only gender specific dream I had, our baby was a little girl so that's what is comfortable to us.  If we get to heaven and have a son waiting there for us, then we have a son named Ruby, and that's ok.  We'll be in heaven and he won't be mocked for having a "girl" name...it's heaven.  I loved the name Ruby long before we decided to welcome another child into our lives.  I loved the name Ruby because Proverbs 31:10 says "Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies." some translations say "A woman of noble character is more precious than rubies" I just love that.  I loved the thought of having little Ruby Drue like me, little Rozi Drue, so I just loved the name Ruby.  Ruby seems like it fits all through life, I pictured another curly haired little girl named Ruby and someday a grandma with a lap full of grandbabies named Ruby.  I thought of her life all along the way and Ruby just fit for me.  Dustin didn't agree.  For whatever reason he just wasn't a fan of that name, so when we conceived it wasn't on our list of names we were mulling over.  Ruby was my birthday present.  I took a pregnancy test on July 1st (my last day of my 20's) because I thought IF I was pregnant (I didn't really think that I was) I couldn't think of a better way to end my 20's than knowing there was new life inside of me.  The birthstone for July is ruby so it's always been my favorite (what can I say, I love red).  Then when we knew we wouldn't meet her until heaven, I struggled with wanting to name her.  She was more than embryo, she was more than a lost pregnancy, she was our baby and we love her.  As I searched through pinterest for Ruby quotes I came across a scripture I hadn't heard before.  "She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her" Proverbs 3:15.  We only had her with us for July, and nothing we desire can compare with her so we decided Ruby is perfect. She is her own child, and truly nothing we desire will compare with her because she is uniquely ours in her own way, just like Mya and Ava and any future children. 

Here are the things I've struggled with along the way, Ruby's story starts long before we decided to have her, like years before, and I think that's why letting her go before ever holding her hurts so incredibly much for me.  I've desired her for years and struggled with feeling worthy and capable of having more babies.  Dustin has such a content nature, and is happy with the two kiddos we already have that he just wasn't up for adding another baby.  Our big girls are sleeping well, and more self-sufficient by the day, they are fun to play with and are just such cool little people he didn't "need" more babies.  His heart is content and full just the way it is. I struggled with being grateful for the happy healthy girls we have, and the desire to have more.  There are so many days I am overwhelmed with all of my duties as a wife, and mother, and sister, and friend that adding another person to care for to the mix, by all accounts is "crazy" but that didn't change my longing for another baby.  I spent a LOT of time trying to convince myself internally that I didn't really want another baby and it was just "baby fever" but in reality my heart knew better.  It wasn't until I started trying to get rid of the kids' baby stuff that it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I sat on the living room floor in literal heaps of baby clothes I was trying to sort and sell, and sobbed.  I wasn't ready to be done having babies, but everything I have ever known was telling me I had to be. I had to get rid of their clothes and things because I couldn't keep hanging onto them and looking at them just hoping. It felt like the world had so many reasons why we shouldn't have more babies and why I was crazy for even entertaining the idea.  We couldn't "afford" more kids, I already have too much on my plate, I'm impatient and easily overwhelmed, the list goes on and on...but my heart and desire never changed.  All I've ever wanted in this life is to be a wife and a mom.  At that moment I started praying for Gods will.  God if it's your will, please let us have more babies.  I talked to Dustin about it here and there, just little snippets because having a serious conversation would just leave me discouraged and vulnerable.  His different desire fueled so many insecurities within me (not his fault by any means, just what happened within me) I just kept thinking maybe if I could be a better mom, a better wife, have it more together I could prove that I was good enough and mom enough to love another baby and still care for the two we already have. I have struggled with feeling selfish for wanting another baby since it affects all of us adding another person to our lives, and I struggled with the battle of "why can't you just be content?!"   Every time I would feel myself frustrated with Mya and Ava or overwhelmed with just the day to day things that happen in life I would feel defeated and insecure and like "see, this is why you can't have more, you aren't good enough for the two you already have" That insecurity raged like wild fire for a long time, and still does.  When Dustin's mind didn't change, and the desire never left me, I started praying differently.  Lord, if this is not your will, please change my heart.  Having something you so desperately desire be so far from your reach is incredibly painful, especially when it fuels your insecurities of being good enough.  As I kept genuinely praying and desiring Gods will rather than my own, He didn't change my heart, He changed Dustin's and we decided to try again to expand our family.  In the midst of this decision our home dynamic changed and we had my sister, brother in law, and their 3 children move in with us.  We went from a 4 person home to a 9 person home which was a trial all of it's own.  Having a toddler around again (whom I love, very much) reminded me of all that a toddler requires.  It reminded me of the things you forget when you start sleeping through the night again, and suddenly I was afraid.  I started thinking God, NOW are you trying to change my heart? NOW that we have made the decision to expand our family, are these second thoughts coming from you? So again I started to pray "God, if it is your will, give us another child, either way, please let me have peace about it." Then I got pregnant.  This was the first time I have ever cried when I found out I was pregnant.  With Mya I was shocked and over the moon, with Ava I literally jumped up and down for joy, with Ruby, I cried, I was scared.  What if I can't do this again? What if I can't love her enough to make her feel important in this life? What if I love her too much and it makes the other girls feel less important to me? What if I don't have enough time to devote to each of them to make them feel special, what if they ever question how much I love them? When I took the pregnancy test I handed it to Dustin (I was shaking) and all I could say was "I'm scared" before I burst into tears.  It's more than just the hormones, its a million doubts and insecurities, wonders and worry, bursting to the surface along with overwhelming joy all in one.  What will people think when they know we decided to have another baby, on purpose? What will they think when money is tight or I get overwhelmed and weary? It was a lot to process, something I have so desperately desired has finally come true. 

I've always had an idea of how I thought I'd feel about miscarriage.  I have always thought when I've found out that I am pregnant that I would share right away (and have) for several reasons.  1) babies are the most precious things this life has to offer.  A child is the only thing in this entire existence that is 1/2 Dustin and 1/2 me to be created and whole.  Having more children whether planned or not is such a joyful thing for me that my heart can't contain it.  I share, immediately and often in the middle of the night.  I've woken many people up late at night just because I couldn't contain my joy not one more second.  2) if people know there is a child in my womb, they might be willing to pray for the baby, and for us.  Having a baby is so joyful but it's also difficult, and honestly life is fragile, the more prayers the better.  3) If I miscarry it will be the love and prayers from the people who care that help get us through it.  I've learned with Ruby how incredibly true this is for me.  It's the people who have come along side our family in our darkest moments that have helped us see the light.  It's the people who have held me as I cried harder than I knew I could, the people who laid in bed with me and just held my hand as I poured out my heart that have helped me keep going.  Love never fails.  But speculating how it might feel, and how it actually feels are still very different.  It's true what is said that you never truly know how something feels until it happens to you, and even then every person experiences grief differently.  There are times where I have felt so incredibly alone, like no one in the world hurts the way I do.  It feels as though life carries on without you and all around you, and you can't even collect your thoughts enough to know if you've brushed your teeth or when was the last time you've eaten.  It's hard to see life carry on at the same pace when you are at a complete standstill and it seems as though no one knows how broken you are. 

I'd never realized how many things would be hard to hear or understand (even if well intended) until Ruby died.  First is the fact that not everyone sees my baby as a baby.  Not even a good portion of my family sees her as such.  She was never alive so she didn't die, we lost a pregnancy, not a baby.  That is one of the most untrue things of all.  I didn't lose Ruby.  I didn't carelessly misplace her or forget her somewhere, she was in my womb right were she was supposed to be.  Two out of the three times I saw her, she was very much alive.  Her little heart flickered and beat although her body was only the size of a sweet pea.  Her heart rate was 129 beats per minute, hear heart beat faster than my own, I'm alive and so was she.  The second time I saw her was after I started bleeding the first time.  I asked to see her because I had to know if she was ok, if she was still alive.  Someone very special to me (who does not want to be named) came to be with me so I didn't have to go alone, and this person saw Ruby too, still very much alive, and growing.  She was 6 weeks and 6 days old and her heart was beating 160 beats per minute, stronger and faster than just the few days before. There was hope, she was alive and growing, and then just a few days later I started to bleed.  The next time I saw her, her body was lifeless.  Her heart was no longer beating, but her body was still inside of mine. I didn't lose her, she died.  Acknowledging that she lived even though it wasn't very long, and that she died makes it too "real" for many people.  Seeing her as a living person rather than just an embryo or clump of tissue makes her worthy of life, and then that means that the babies who's lives were taken by choice of another were worthy of life too.  That's too real, so I lost a pregnancy not a baby.  They terminated a pregnancy, not took the life of a baby.  I am not trying to take my grief and turn it into guilt for anyone who has made that decision in their life, but I just need the world to know that my baby mattered and wasn't anything less than that.  I refuse to minimize her importance and her life because it's a touchy subject or makes other people uncomfortable. 

I have found myself many many times now, worrying more about everyone else than myself.  I have kind of always been that way.  I'm a feeler, empathetic almost to a fault.  I regularly put how I feel last, for the sake of sparing someone else's feelings.  I have put myself in my doctors shoes, or the ultrasound technicians thinking how terrible it must be to have to tell people so frequently that their baby has died.  I could tell by the look in the technicians eyes that day, it never gets easier.  The flip side of that is I often find myself unable to stand up for myself or share my heart because it might upset someone. (This is part of the reason I decided to write a blog rather than keep posting on facebook what has been on my heart) I keep thinking if I say that, it will probably just backfire or someone will tell me how I should feel, or what I should think, or how they feel about how I feel, and this is just one of those times I wish the shoe was on the other foot. Maybe if they tried just a dash of empathy, or tried to think how I must feel, they would be a little more patient and kind with me.   People can say and act so many different ways in all of life's circumstances and you're just supposed to deal with it, but when you have finally had enough and speak up and say "this was hurtful regardless of how you intended it" you're wrong.  That has made me really withdraw and take a step back from who I can handle being around.  I know the majority doesn't purposely say things that sting or are unhelpful, but sometimes that happens anyway.  Sometimes you mean well in saying things like "well you can always have another" or "maybe God knew you couldn't handle it" but those things aren't at all helpful.  I don't KNOW that we can have more babies, we'd like to think we could but nothing in this life is guaranteed, BUT even if we do have more, it doesn't replace Ruby.  It doesn't undo the fact that our baby died, it just gives us another baby.  Hearing "maybe God knew you couldn't handle it" only throws more fuels on the fire of my insecurity of not being good enough to have more babies. Most of all, not being able to voice what hurts and what helps only leaves me feeling more isolated and alone in the times that are so confusing and hard already.

And for the last part, sharing what I have found that helps sometimes.  Prayer is a huge one! There have been a LOT of low points along the way, many a day, but just getting a quick text or facebook message that says "I'm praying for you today" (and actually doing so) means so much and helps so much! The second thing that helps a lot is just having people ask "how are you?" and then being willing to listen genuinely to the response.  Some moments I'm ok, some moments I'm not, but knowing people really truly want to know and care how I'm doing in that moment is really comforting too.  Third, telling me if you happen to think about her is HUGE! I know its intimating to know what to say to someone who is grieving but knowing that you think of her too helps me feel like she mattered to more than just me, and that she's thought of by more than just me.  Just the other day Ava and I were driving and she said to me "Mom, I really miss my baby sister.  When will she come back from heaven back into your tummy?" and so I told her "Ava, Ruby won't ever get back into my tummy, she's in heaven and we will only get to see her when we die and go to heaven too." and she started to cry and got really frustrated and said something along the lines of "UGH, but that's such a long time!!" and of course I cried too, but it was because I have thought that so many times too. I know that I'm here on this earth for a reason, I know that I have a purpose to fulfill here, and a family to take care of here, but there are moments where I have thought how lovely it will be to hug her and tell her how much I love her.  It was so comforting to know in that moment, Ava was missing her too.  It was comforting to know that in that moment Ava was sad that she won't get to meet and play with her baby sister until heaven, it was nice to know that I'm not alone in this.  So even though there may be times that what you say will bring tears to my eyes, it's nice to know that you're thinking of her too.  It's nice to hear her name.  Lastly, I think the most comforting thing of all for me, is hugs.  If you aren't a hugger, ice cream is a perfectly acceptable substitute, but I really enjoy hugs.  Hugs say everything that words get wrong. 

Thank you for being patient with me along the way.  Thank you for caring enough to read what is on my heart and for caring enough to check on me. Thank you for feeding my family (many of you have brought meals and that was HUGE for us) and for praying for us, and thank you for those of you who have shared your own experiences with miscarriage and have let me ask you questions so freely.  Knowing that I'm not alone means more than you may ever know. 

All my love,
Rozi Drue