The Beginning of the End - Part 2

As that week went on my body began to tell me that something was wrong, yet again, with this pregnancy. I was already over 5 weeks at that point and I had waited till this point to take a test for the very reason I suspected what was going on with my body at that moment. By Friday, at almost 6 weeks, I knew that I would lose this little life too and he or she would join the others in the arms of my Savior before I even got to have the joy of their presence in my arms. When Sunday morning came, my body began the process of shedding the life that I had so desperately hoped for. Six weeks to the day.
I managed to get to the church with minimal tears that Sunday morning and I remember breaking down at the first face I saw. I could no longer hold in my grief. The Youth Pastor and Associate Pastor were there in the sound booth and immediately, as I explained what had happened they began to pray for me. The Youth Pastor prayed first and prayed for my comfort and for the baby that I had lost, but as the Associate Pastor began to pray there was a discernable difference between how the Youth Pastor prayed and how the Associate Pastor prayed. As the Associate Pastor began to pray I got the distinct impression that he didn’t believe that I had been pregnant. His prayer was almost like he was detached from the reality of what was going on. I can’t say that it was devoid of sympathy, but the tone of the prayer was like he was sympathetic to what I “thought” was happening in my life not to the “reality” of what was happening in my life. His view of reality and my reality were two different things. It wasn’t until weeks later that I figured out why there was such a discrepancy.
After this time of prayer, I managed to get through our regular Sunday morning practice with no tears and I made my way to the Pastor’s office for my Sunday morning “hello”. When I reached his office, he already knew of the circumstances because the Associate Pastor had already told him. I was expecting concern when I walked in the door, instead all I received was “I know you’ve had a tough morning, but put on a happy face and go lead the people”. Put on a happy face. Was he kidding? I was too numb from grief to respond. I mumbled something as I ducked out of his office and slunk into my office to hide for the next hour before service and try and keep myself composed. I led the people that morning just like I was told to do. God had my back where my Shepherds had not.
It’s only by the grace of God that I got through the service, or through the day, but I did it without anyone else knowing, outside the leadership and my family, of what had transpired. I thought the worst would be over as I went to sleep that night but I was wrong. I had gone through this before and survived. I would go through the grief again and it would lessen just like it had the four other times before. Little did I know that the pain and agony had just begun and those I thought loved me and supported me would be the inflictors of that pain, twisting my grief and prolonging it, impeding my healing.