I am praying for another rainbow baby. Not to be a rainbow baby because of Brei, but because of our third. 

I don’t know where to start. 

February 28, 2015, I gave birth to Berea Dannielle. We lovingly call her “Brei.” Ten hours and seven minutes after, she fulfilled what she was created in this world for and reunited with God in heaven.

February 28, 2016, I gave birth to, “When God Could’ve, But He Didn’t,” my blog-book about our journey with Brei, and how God’s love brought us through the whole time—from being broken to being made whole. You can purchase the ebook here or the paperback here.

February 2017, I gave birth to Chadric Noah. He’s our rainbow baby. He’s very resilient, independent, yet lovingly clingy and sweet.

Fast forward to today, October 2020. I am praying for another rainbow baby. Not to be a rainbow baby because of Brei, but because of our third.

There. So far, I’ve had 3 pregnancies, 2 births, 1 child, and an ongoing miscarriage with my third.

Okay, let’s backtrack. Feel free to just skip the timeline and jump down to the horizontal line. The details are more for those who are experiencing something similar and are looking for real-life stories to help them better understand what they’re going through and how long the process could take.

Before August 28: Pregnancy test with a faint line. Alam mo yung kinutuban ka na something’s wrong but ayaw mong i-accommodate yung thought?

August 28: Ultrasound #1. Confirmed 6 weeks pregnant, but no heartbeat yet.

September 4: Ultrasound #2. Baby still at 6 weeks based on measurements and still no heartbeat. Maybe my dates were off.

September 11: Ultrasound #3. Baby still at 6 weeks, still no heartbeat. OB confirmed the baby didn’t continue to develop.

September 16: Met with my OB. It was refreshing, as always. I just love how life-giving she is!

September 16 to 18: Meds for contraction to help my body, which at the time, has not yet recognized the miscarriage.

September 23 to 24: Round two of meds. It seems like the first round didn’t have any effect.

September 27: Not that much, but started bleeding.

October 2: Ultrasound #4. Needed to check on what was happening in there so OB ordered another ultrasound, which confirmed that the baby was no longer inside, but sac still intact in mid-to-low position (meaning, “mataas pa”).

October 4: I had discharge unlike the earlier ones (or so I thought) so my OB said to have another ultrasound done. There’s really no other way to know but to keep taking ultrasounds.

October 6: Ultrasound #5: The sac is still there, but already in low position. Sonologist said maybe it will come out this week.

October 11: A blob came out. I thought that was the sac already (yet again!). So, I should have another ultrasound a week after.

October 20: Ultrasound #6: Surprise-no-surprise, the sac is still there. But from previously round, it’s now elongated. Maybe that’s a good sign, like it’s on its way out? Sent the results to my OB and she said I can take round three of meds.

October 22: Started round three of meds. And I finally got to write this.

So, why am I writing this?

I’ve second-guessed myself a lot of times in the past eight weeks now since this all started. But having heard a lot of well-being messages over the past weeks, I think I can genuinely say, “I’m really okay.”

At first I thought I was quite numb about it maybe because of the gravity of the pain we experienced with Brei, like, this time around, there’s not much emotional investment yet. It’s just not the Lord’s will. It is what it is. Life goes on. Or maybe, I haven’t just processed things yet? Am I still in denial? Am I a case of high-functioning anxiety? It was quite a ping pong match.

But over and over again, it’s been made clear. Each of us navigates through loss in different ways and in different paces. What’s important is that:

First, I have acknowledged the reality of the loss.
Then, I have brought it before God.

In all the times I’ve second-guessed if I were really okay, the ping pong ball always brought me back to something I wrote in my book.

Don’t force yourself to run if you’re a stroller. Don’t force yourself to stroll if you’re a runner.

God’s grace works both in the stroller and in the runner. Whichever way or pace of grief you are given for a particular loss, that’s the way and pace you need to give yourself for that particular time. Another loss will be another way and another pace.

I’m writing this part of our story for those of you who experienced loss, and not long after you’ve acknowledged the reality of the loss and have brought it before God, find that you have peace in your heart and are able to say, “I’m okay.” I wanted to let you know that it’s okay to be okay. People are concerned; they are well-meaning because they love you and care so much for you. You don’t have to “prove” you’re okay. Just be yourself and love them back.

Whatever way or pace you are progressing, “…only one thing is crucial—where you draw your strength from. There is no self-help in grief. You need God, and you need people in your life who God can use” to be His love for you at this time, no matter your pace. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s also okay to be okay. 

Are you going through a painful time? Send me a message on Instagram (I’m most active there) so I can pray for you.