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We're the Kochs (pronounced like Cook!), a military family living the amazing dream of being stationed in Germany for four years. We are taking advantage of travelling and exploring Europe together, and this blog is our way of sharing our experiences with family and friends.

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Saturday, June 18, 2016

the day the world stopped

One year ago today.

Just the week before, I'd bought my first maternity clothes.  I was barely showing, but you could definitely tell.  I couldn't get over looking down and seeing the proof that someone was growing in there!




We were so excited to go to our 12 week appointment.  We couldn't wait to see our sweet baby again, hear that precious heartbeat, see how he or she had grown since the month before.  So giddy.  So much anticipation.  So.  Very.  Happy.

I didn't mind the cold goo on my tummy.  I didn't mind when the doctor accidentally got some on the stretchy part of the maternity pants that I'd carefully folded down.  

Rich stood beside me, videoing the monitor as we saw our baby pop up on it.  I said, "There you are!" as the happy tears came.  Our sweet, sweet baby.  

I waited for the doctor to say something.  Anything.  An eternity passed and still, he said nothing.  And I knew.  He didn't have to say it.  And I didn't want him to.  But he did.

"Mrs. Koch, I'm sorry.  There's no heartbeat."  And just like that, our world crashed.  The whole thing.  

I looked at Rich, he looked at me, and immediately I wondered what I'd done wrong. I didn't know that so many emotions could overtake a person at once.  Terror.  Panic.  Guilt. Anger.  As we left the doctor's office, I remember hearing someone laugh and I was overcome with such anger toward them.  We crossed the street outside and there were people walking, people driving, and I was angry at them too.  Why didn't they know that the world had just stopped spinning?  

It didn't take long for the bitterness to set in.  Bitterness and guilt.  I went over everything a million times in my head.  Was it because I kept accidentally sleeping on my stomach?  I didn't mean to sleep on my stomach but I always seem to wake up that way. Was it because of that heavy bag of groceries that I'd carried up the stairs that one time? It didn't feel all that heavy at the time.  Was it because of that one night I threw up the prenatal vitamin I'd just taken?  I never forgot them but I didn't take another one that night.  Was it because I stopped drinking the orange juice the doctor wanted me to drink?  I hate orange juice, but the grape juice I replaced it with had vitamin C too.

I was bitter when I saw other women with their healthy babies.  I was bitter at all the happy "We're expecting!" Facebook announcements.  I was bitter when pregnant friends would complain about their sore backs, their lack of sleep, their discomfort of carrying.  

One year later--a lot of emotions, a lot of long talks, a lot of soul searching, a lot of praying, a lot of sadness--and I don't blame myself anymore.  There will always be the question in my heart of what happened.  But I put my trust in God.  The bitterness has faded a lot and I'm no longer angry.


Our Starchild is buried in the Sudfriedhof of Wiesbaden, the same cemetery where the
Red Baron is laid to rest.  Having a place to visit has helped so much.
I'm not sure if it will ever go away, but I still feel a twinge of something when I hear the news that someone else is pregnant.  It's not anger.  A little jealousy and envy mixed together maybe, and yet I'm so happy for them.  The best part is getting to cuddle our friends' babies and whisper to them what a miracle they truly are!  

I was asked just a couple of weeks after we lost the baby if I was finished grieving.  The short answer at the time:  no.  The answer now:  no.  And while I'm on this, please don't ever ask that question of anyone who's suffered a miscarriage.

I will always grieve the loss of our child.  There will never be a time that I am finished.

To each of you who was there for us during that awful time, thank you.  To each of you who has held me as I've cried since, thank you.  To our family and friends who continue to encourage and support us, thank you.  To the kind German lady in the hospital waiting area who hugged me, cried with me, gave me her pack of tissues, and cradled my head against hers even though she didn't speak a word of English, thank you.  

Our time will come.  I have faith that my God hears me.  I will not lose hope that there will be a day that we, too, will welcome a child into this world.  Our Rainbow Baby will come.  One year later, and I can honestly say that we're okay.  



Dear Sweet Baby,

You made me a Mommy, and I was so overcome with happiness to carry you.  Daddy loved to talk to you and make funny noises for you.  You made me eat lots of pickles, and salad, and fries, and Tums.  You didn't like pork, which I found funny since you were with us here in the land of schweineschnitzel! 

Thank you for only making me throw up that one time!  Please know I would have gladly done it a hundred more times just to have a little more time with you.  

I will forever wonder who you would have been.  What you would have looked like.  What your favorite foods would have been.  Your first word.  Your best friend.  Your quirks. Your sense of humor.  I bet you would have been smart and funny like Daddy.  And I bet you would have had a Southern twang like Mommy.

I only carried you in my tummy for 12 weeks, Sweet Baby, but we will carry you in our hearts for a lifetime.  You will always be our first child.  You are our Sternenkind.

Love,
Mommy



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