Hope Unexpected by Amy K Radford
The world was wrapped in soft pink and baby blue. Birth announcements arrived in our mailbox. Ultrasound pictures made the rounds at family gatherings. A myriad of baby showers found me shopping for sweet little baby clothes for families and imagining having my own. I had always hoped my best friend and I would be pregnant at the same time. When she shared with me that she was expecting, I was confident soon I would be too.
I threw away the package that held the pregnancy test and shook my head, holding back tears. Another month had passed with no hope of being pregnant. It felt as if we were keeping the pregnancy test company in business. I even debated buying in bulk.
“I don’t understand,” I murmured. “Is there something wrong with me?” There were teenagers who are getting pregnant when they didn’t want to, and I can’t. It was the one thing I wanted and the one thing it felt like it was impossible to obtain. More than that, I felt like a failure.
My husband and I decided we needed help. We visited my doctor, and with compassion and understanding, she guided us through the process of fertility options. We chose to start with simple medication.
A few months passed and I realized I was a few days late. After taking yet another test, our hopes had finally come true. I was pregnant.
We made an appointment with my doctor. As we sat in the exam room and she came in with a wide smile, our hopes soared. On our way home, we stopped by a store to look for gifts for my mom and dad. This would be their first grandchild and I wanted to make the announcement special.
"Mom, I was wondering if you and Dad have a minute to stop by. I saw some things at the store and thought of you guys." I tried to conceal the excitement in my voice as I called to invite them over.
My parents looked confused as they slowly opened their gifts. It wasn’t Christmas or their birthdays, so they were unsure as to why I would be giving them each a present.
Dad opened his gift first and pulled out a book called Memories of a Grandfather. Then Mom held up a mug that said #1 Grandma.
"Dad, what does it say?" I asked with a grin.
Suddenly, his face transformed into a look of joy and Mom began to cry. "Really?" she asked.
“Congrats, Grandma and Grandpa!" I hugged them as tears formed in my eyes. I was filled with hope and joy. Mom hugged me so tight and Dad was grinning from ear to ear.
I arrived at work the next day bursting with joy. I had not felt this way since my husband asked me to marry him. I quickly popped into the first-grade class, grinning from ear to ear. My friend had been walking through the struggles of infertility with me.
“Guess what?” I asked. “It finally happened!” The look on my face was enough for her to know what I was talking about.
“Congratulations!” she exclaimed, as we began to talk about the excitement of pregnancy.
A few days later, as I prepared my classroom for the day, I began to feel weird. I rushed to the bathroom. Something was not right. It had only been three days, but I delighted in the pleasure of being pregnant. Now I wondered if it was all changing.
A few moments later, I was in my administrator's office asking for the day off so I could head to the doctor. January 13th would never be the same again. It would always be the day I lost our first child.
My husband picked me up and as I sat in the car, unable to think, my heart felt as barren as my womb.
In less than a week, I had felt joy akin to my wedding day and pain as deep as a blinding storm. I hated the thought of breaking the news to my family. I did not want to steal the warm rays of pure joy we had experienced, dousing them with the cold waves of sorrow that were already washing over me.
As the days passed, I walked around in a dark cloud. My grief was only intensified by those soft baby blues and pinks that appeared around every corner. It was as if everyone I knew was pregnant, and I felt so alone. I could not go shopping, go out to eat, or attend church without being surrounded by babies. Mother’s Day was the hardest. It seemed to mock the very thing I longed to be.
God was especially present through this time. That did not mean I did not question why it was happening. I had a lot of questions for God. I was convinced I knew what my life should look like. God had to remind me of a verse I had always loved from the book of Proverbs, “Trust in the Lord with ALL your heart and lean not on your own understanding but in all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct your paths.”
He also provided a community of women who had walked the same road. Various ladies at church and work would quietly pull me aside to share their stories of loss. Each offered hope and shared what they learned as they walked through this pain. One special friend told me how important it was to name the baby. She had bought a small baby toy and placed it in a keepsake box with a note to her child.
Wandering through the aisles of the corner drugstore, I glanced over to see a small stuffed elephant. It was fluffy and gray, with its head tilted curiously to the side. I picked it up and held it gently in my hand, assured this was the perfect keepsake. As I walked up to the front to pay for my purchase, I knew that our baby’s name would be Hope.
Amid this sorrow, I had found hope that I could get pregnant. What seemed impossible was now possible. I would someday be a mother and hold a baby in my arms. But, greater than that, I had anchored myself in the hope of my faith and that Jesus would carry me through the grief I was walking through and had given me others to help me along the way.
But as the months passed, my hope waned. I began to feel more settled with the loss, but I struggled with accepting the fact that I was not able to easily conceive. In truth, it wore on me more than I realized. By Christmas, I had almost given up. As we sat around with family, another pregnancy announcement was made. I was excited for them but devastated that we were still childless. That night, my husband held me as I lay in bed, crying.
"I will never be a mom! Why is this so hard?" I gasped between sobs.
As we celebrated the beginning of a new year with no baby, I also had been fighting what I thought was a stomach bug. Then I began to wonder. Could it be possible? I was tired of taking tests and continually being let down. I almost didn’t take one, but I could not appease my curiosity.
Quickly, I rushed downstairs. "Honey, where are you?" I could barely contain myself as I brought my hand out from behind my back and slowly unfolded my fingers. "There are two pink lines. According to the directions, that means I'm pregnant, right?"
His face slowly widened into a grin as the news registered. Joy danced in his eyes as he embraced me tenderly. We knew what could happen and that we could be facing more grief, but we would enjoy these few moments.
As I prepared to call my mom and dad, I glanced up at the calendar and nearly dropped my phone. Tears welled up in my eyes. It was January 13, exactly one year to the day we had lost Hope. I knew this was no accident. God had given us hope back again.
He had shown me how to walk through the pain of loss, but he had also given me the chance to be a mom. I knew no matter what happened, He would be with me and carry me through. I knew in my heart, this time He had answered my prayers.
As my hopes and my belly grew, in the back of my mind I still held onto the fear that I might lose this baby too. The months passed slowly, and our precious baby boy arrived, healthy and beautiful.
A few years later, my son and I stood in front of a shelf of stuffed animals. He was deciding which ones he should choose for himself and his baby sister who would arrive in a month. When he made his final decision, in his hands he held two soft, fluffy gray elephants. Their heads tilted curiously at me, and I was reminded again of the hope God had provided.
Amy K Radford has always loved a great story. Growing up in ministry and serving as a ministry wife for over two decades, there are many stories to tell. As a teacher and writer, reading, writing, and sharing stories is her calling. With an MFA in Creative Writing and extensive experience teaching, Amy’s greatest desire is to love God in such a way that lives are changed.