Answered Prayers

In 2016 I lost two pregnancies. The first was in March, and was an obviously terrifying experience. The second time was in July, on my husband's birthday, of all days. My reaction was calmer the second time around, but just as painful and upsetting as the first. I was surrounded by a massive support system in my family and friends, who encouraged me to stay positive and do what I needed to do to heal. I tried, I really did, but most days I was completely overcome by my emotions.

I wasn't just sad; I was confused about why this was happening to me and angry that I was chosen to suffer. I was jealous too. It seemed like every single woman I knew was pregnant or had just given birth, so my social media feeds were nothing but babies and bellies. It was too much.

I couldn't pull myself out of my funk. Everything made me cry and I wondered if I was always going to be this miserable.

That August, one of my favorite artists, Lindsey Stirling, released an album called "Brave Enough". Before she recorded it, her keyboardist, Gavi, passed away from cancer, and the record became her grieving process. What I've always admired about Lindsey is that her music reflects who she is while still appealing to people of all backgrounds and beliefs. She radiates optimism; a refreshing light in a world of negativity. Knowing the pain she had recently suffered, I was curious how much of her light would shine through this dark time in her life, and how it would translate into the music. I hoped there would be a little something to help me grieve too.

I bought the album on my way to work, and as I listened in my car, I could feel the emotion she poured into every note. And then I got to track number five: "Where Do We Go".

We're sailing, We're sailing, aren't we? / It's hard to tell the water from my tears / "Don't worry, have faith," they told me / It was easier than in my younger years

I burst into tears. It was something everyone had been telling me during this journey of loss: "You just have to stay positive and trust it will all work out." The intent was always meant to be encouraging, but after the millionth time hearing it, I wanted to scream. Hearing those lyrics, I felt like finally someone understood me. I wasn't the only person tired of hearing that I should keep looking forward.

The chorus hit me even harder, turning my delicate crying into sobs that definitely made everyone on the road who saw me completely uncomfortable.

Where do we go / When our prayers are answered / But the answer is "no"

It was a concept I had never considered before, this idea that a request for help isn't always answered with a "yes", but the realization hit me like a truck. I begged the universe to help me get through this pain and help us start a family, and I couldn't understand why my begging wasn't working, until this song made me conscious of the fact that the universe was answering me, it just wasn't the answer I wanted.

I believe that everything happens for a reason, even when I can't see what that reason may be. Turns out, the reason for my first two miscarriages was that six months after my second loss, I became pregnant again, and this time, I had a perfect pregnancy and gave birth to a healthy and happy baby boy. I will always wonder who those babies would have been if they had survived, but I know that if I had been able to keep either one of them, I wouldn't have the amazing little boy I have now. Staying positive while the universe tells you "no" is hard, but if you decide to trust there is a reason for your pain and grief, perhaps you may have something better in store.

Two weeks ago, I lost yet another pregnancy, this time requiring surgery. As I waited in the hospital, wondering why this keeps happening, Lindsey's song popped into my head.

Now that I'm older / Now that it's colder / Life keeps on crashing / Day after day / Like wave after wave / We did everything right / And now I'm asking / "Where do we go?"

While I choose to believe this will make sense eventually, I still struggle with what I'm supposed to do now. Where do I go from here? I'm going to do what I did before: whatever I need to in order to heal. For me, that means a good, cathartic cry - or twelve - while playing this song.