That in the end was the question David and I were asking ourselves as I lie in the hospital the day after my miscarriage. We had been told a couple of days before that our baby had probably died, but there was still a sliver of hope, and now the hope had vanished.
The miscarriage itself had not gone well, if one can say a miscarriage ever goes well. After five hours of struggling through it at home, I was still hemorrhaging and could hardly stand so we went to the emergency room where I was immediately attended to. After many pokes and sticks it was discovered that I was also in septic shock and had surgery late in the evening.
It is an odd thing, grief. It keeps getting interrupted, whether by hope or illness or just the mundane issues of life, though it's always in the background, taking a bit of the color,energy and taste out of things, but in the quiet it comes on in full force with all it's pain and emptiness. How much I wanted and loved this child. How much I feel cheated to not hold it in my arms and nurse it, to not know the color of it's eyes, or to not inhale that sweet smell from our newborn's head.
I am assured by scripture that I will one day meet our child, and I firmly believe that I will. I believe in the resurrection. Like Job, though, I want to know why. Why did our baby die? I realize I probably will never know the answer this side of the veil. As to the question, "Can God be trusted?". I think I am a bit like Peter when he said, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18