Consistent inconsistencies. That might as well be the title of this chapter in my life right now. No, I wasn’t so surprised that I, sadly, found out I was miscarrying again. What is surprising is how I always need more patience than what I allot for an event. I am technically 8 weeks pregnant tomorrow, with no hope for viability of the baby, but my body can’t seem to acknowledge the fact that it needs to let go. In scientific terms, my hcg has been dropping and rising and dropping again…but will not take the plunge to “below five” which would make me clinically a non-pregnant female of pre-menopausal age.

People generally don’t know this happens – this process of miscarriage. This is definitely something that we have to learn through heart-wrenching personal experiences or loved ones’ experiences if we know at all. What I’ve learned, through sharing my miscarriage experiences, is that people generally think that a woman sees blood in the restroom and believes the fetus must be suffering, trying to survive, in that instant, and that the woman’s body must be failing. It becomes a poignant, emotional moment. This is often not true.

Many of us, sometimes unlucky enough to experience it a few times, find out our babies are measuring small in an ultrasound, don’t have a heartbeat, or simply haven’t been able to develop enough to produce healthy hcg numbers which hint at healthy pregnancy. (I say “hint” because my perspective has taught me that anything can happen at any time, especially with what seems to me as the miracle and delicate mystery that actually results in a breathing baby that leaves the hospital with you.) Miscarriage, instead, often happens through multiple trips to the doctor, weeks of anguish and prayers, and embarrassment in moments you have to look into the eyes of a stranger behind a desk and cancel an ultrasound appointment or hand over a sheet that is marked “threatened miscarriage” or “habitual spontaneous aborter.”

I wonder if my little son or daughter, seemingly stuck inside of me, developed a heartbeat. I wonder if this speck of a soul is still fighting or if he or she completed the journey on this side weeks ago. I’m not sure it matters, but it’s an uncomfortable thought with which I am trying to make peace. I mostly wonder why this happens at all because I can’t believe it just happens for me to evolve through the challenge or in order for my husband and I to realize adoption is the only way for us.

Jesus, the spirit of God’s son, was born to Mary in order to die on earth to transform us by showing us the way into connection with God. I believe my miscarriages are doing a similar thing for me – showing me a deeper way to connect with God and others – but I would love to know more about these little ones’ spirits. What is that perspective? What does this journey do for them? Is the purpose simply the rebirth, or transformation, of their spirits? Do they feel pain or are they spared that, even if scientifically they get to a developmental stage to have a nervous system?

The rambling of my thoughts could keep pouring out onto the page, but this has to be one of the great mysteries of life, death, and loss. Whatever the answers are, I do believe they all point to the progression of life and connection – on this planet and certainly beyond. What a wonderful, mysterious place this is.