Tornado of Emotions

The drive home from my doctor's office is another streak of a memory, the colors blended, mostly gray, punctuated by calls to one of my sisters and my mother. "I cannot say that nothing bad will ever happen to me, because something just did," I said to my mom. This childish statement simply underlines the innocence that, at forty-two, I should not have had but did thanks to God's overwhelming grace throughout my life. I found myself yelling at her, then apologized, because I was not angry with her, just slammed by a grief that was instant and almost physical in its power over me. I mentioned to one of them, either my mother or my sister, that I would like to drive my car into a power pole. I am sorry they had to hear such irrational and immature statements. I wish I could take them back, but I cannot. I was like a wounded dog, yelping, barking, sobbing. Over the next few days, as I bobbed around from acceptance, to neutrality to unbelief (when I stumbled upon a website filled with stories of misdiagnosed miscarriages), I was a hard person to be around, to talk to. Well-meaning friends and loved ones tried to help, but their words lit a flame of anger under me as quickly and violently as a match to dry timber. "God allowed this," became "God did this to you," in my mind. "Everything happens for a reason," became "God did this to you." At my age, many miscarriages occur because there are chromosomal abnormalities. "It was probably for the best" became "Your baby would have been sub-par so isn't it great that you are not having them" in my mind. I know that the people around me were simply trying to help me frame what had happened in a productive manner, to get a lasso around my tornado of emotions, but I was beyond help in those early weeks.