answers – I've Witnessed It.

I’ve dreaded sharing this part of my story. Partly because I’m often still numb to the loss. But mostly because I just can’t make sense of it… why babies have to die.

*This post will discuss miscarriage. If you’re not comfortable with details – consider stopping now.*

Are you experiencing any bleeding or abdominal pain? It’s the routine question asked at every prenatal appointment.

I answered with little concern. Bleeding seemed to be my new normal since my pregnancy with Sadie. Having a 10 cm subchorionic hematoma means you see a lot of blood. You almost get used to it. You have to. Because of that, my answer didn’t scare me like it should have.

“Yes, I have been bleeding a little bit.”

For a couple weeks now, I had convinced myself I was pregnant. I was having all of the beginning symptoms that I had experienced with both Ellie and Sadie. I was just waiting for the test to turn positive. It finally did Sunday morning (Aug 11, 2024). This baby wasn’t planned, but I was already over the moon with joy. Three under three was going to be pure chaos. But it would be the most exciting, fulfilling chaos. I couldn’t wait.

After Mom died, I pretty much swore off the idea of ever having another baby. In my mind, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world that she would never know about. I also couldn’t bear the thought of anymore loss. I told myself that as long as I didn’t get pregnant again, my heart would be spared from any possible pain of losing a baby. I was letting grief dictate how I lived my life and how I grew my family. I hated myself for it. But I was convinced it was the only way to survive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I started experiencing pregnancy symptoms. I was terrified at first. I started running through all of the worst case scenarios. But I quickly pushed them away with confidence that surely this was meant to be my healing baby. This child was going to be what pulled me out of my grief rut. In no world would the Lord deem it necessary for me to experience more death and loss and pain. Surely.

We immediately started thinking of names. Some people would think that’s crazy at 4 weeks. But it was par for the course with us. With each pregnancy, I wanted to be settled on a name right away. Having a name always made it more real for me. More meaningful. I loved being able to rub my belly and call them by name throughout the entire pregnancy. It reaffirmed the reality that God was entrusting me with a precious little life.

I called my midwife’s office the Monday after getting the positive test. They got me in for my initial blood test appointment later that day (Aug 12). This was just supposed to be the appointment that “confirms pregnancy”. Little did I know, that would be as far as I’d get.

The receptionist called the next morning to confirm I was pregnant and needed to schedule my first ultrasound. I took a sigh of relief. That relief lasted for a good two hours. A second call came in around 11 AM, but this time, it was my midwife’s nurse. She wanted to see if I was still bleeding or experiencing any discomfort. I told her yes to both. The bleeding wasn’t too heavy, but it was enough to need a liner. And the pain felt similar to a period.

She hesitated. There it was again. The hesitation I’ve become so familiar with. She informed me that my levels were lower than what is expected, so they needed to be checked again tomorrow (Aug 14). As of now, my HCG level was only 13, which was considered “borderline” for pregnancy. My progesterone was also low, sitting only at 3.59.

And so the spiraling began. I 10/10 do NOT recommend googling if you’re trying to stay calm or optimistic. But I couldn’t stop searching. Everything I read indicated this pregnancy would not last. How could this be? How was this happening? This was supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. But all signs were pointing away from that hope.

I went in Wednesday to get my blood drawn. The tech informed me I wouldn’t hear anything until tomorrow, so off I went to play the waiting game. I asked Riley that evening if we could name the baby Parker if I ended up miscarrying. It was gender-neutral, and I wanted to be able to honor the baby’s life with a name. Plus, I wanted to know what to call them in heaven. He agreed. I already knew in my gut what the results were going to say. All that was left was to hear the words. And on Thursday (Aug 15), I heard them loud and clear.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry to be the one to inform you that your pregnancy is no longer viable. There’s nothing at this point in pregnancy that can be done. You should be able to pass this at home since it is still very early. We’d just like to check your numbers again next week to make sure everything happens smoothly. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I was covering my mouth trying to contain my screams. I had to say something though. What are you supposed to say to that? I squeezed out the quickest response just so she knew I’d heard her. “Okay.” I hung up and hit my knees. For the first time in my grief journey, I was angry at God. Furious, actually. And I let Him know it.

“What have I done to You that is so wrong? You’re taking everything from me! Why is this happening? Everyone I love dies!“

Those next few days were brutal. Don’t believe the lie that an early loss is just like a bad period. It’s not. My body was painfully aware I was losing a baby… losing a life. I experienced minor contractions, severe pain, and heavy bleeding. The postpartum hormonal shift was very much there. I remember screaming at one point as I felt another contraction, “I am watching my poor baby come out in pieces!” That wasn’t entirely accurate, of course. But it definitely felt that way.

This seemed like the final straw. I had nothing left to give. I was confused, bitter, and broken. I closed my heart off that day. I was numb. What was the point of being faithful if God was just going to keep adding to my pain? All I could see in my mind was the “list of losses”. There was no hope or light for me. It was just darkness.

I lived in isolation from God for weeks. That doesn’t really sound like a long time, but I felt every second of it. Up until this loss, I had come to depend on Him for every moment. But I was in a tricky stage of grief now. I felt like I couldn’t trust Him. Parker felt like a betrayal… like a broken promise.

There were so many times I’d cry out, “I don’t want to be angry at You, God. But I just can’t get past this.” Parker was too personal. Riley and I were the only ones who would really grieve what was lost this time. With Mom and Bruce and Mamaw, so many others grieved. Each of them lived a life full of love and purpose. But my little baby never got that chance. And like I’ve said before, you can’t miss what you never knew.

I shared a piece of this in my post, Meaning Behing The Name, but it wasn’t until I heard a particular song that things started to shift for me. That song was none other than “I’ve Witnessed It” by Passion.

You’re good, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re strong, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re constant, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

You love, and I’ve witnessed it. You heal, and I’ve witnessed it. You save, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

There it was. The truth blaring in my ears. No matter how much I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t. God hadn’t betrayed me. He hadn’t turned His back on me. He hadn’t broken any promises. God had been GOOD to me. Every step of the way. I had just been too angry to see it.

Look at my husband He has blessed me with. Look at my two living children He has provided and protected. Look at the home He has handed me. Look at the family and community He has surrounded me with. Look at grace and mercy He has shown me. Look at the love He has displayed for me on the cross and every day after.

God, even in my consuming pain, You are GOOD. God, even in my weakness, You are STRONG. God, even in my unsteady faith, You are CONSTANT. God, even in my anger, You LOVE. God, even in my brokenness, You HEAL. God, even in my sin, You SAVE.

So, where does this truth leave me? I still don’t have the answer for why babies have to die. I doubt anyone does. But that’s the beauty of Christ, isn’t it? He holds all of the answers. 1 John 3:20 reminds us,

… for God is greater than our hearts, and he knows all things.

While my grief is heavy and abundant, I take great joy in knowing I’m on the side of the One who knows it all. I pray you can too.

I’ve always had a habit of getting invested in the most irrelevant things. Once my curiosity is peaked, you can bet I’ll be doing an internet deep dive for all the details. My husband used to joke with me and say, “Okay, Google…” anytime he knew he was about to get me started on something.

My brain does something like this…

“Holy cow, why are cashews so expensive?” *Googling…* “So that’s where cashews come from? Wait, what’s cashew apple? Why have I never seen a cashew apple at a store?” *Googling…*

Yes, I’m insane. I recognize this. But seriously, if you didn’t just stop to google a cashew apple, WHO are you? And HOW are you just content with not knowing something? I need to know your secrets.

Usually, this characteristic is completely harmless. Knowing random information about cashews never hurt anyone. In fact, I’m counting on this to help me win at trivia night one day. But there’s a reason for the saying, “Curiosity killed the cat.” Sometimes, the information isn’t what you expect. Sometimes, you see things you may be better off turning a blind eye to. Sometimes, you cause more harm than good.

But that’s just the price you pay for answers.

**If you haven’t read my post, The Call, pause and do that now. It’s good context.**

Caught up? Okay, on we go.

When Riley spoke on the phone with Dr. Nelson, she told him the wreck was an accident. There had been a terrible rain storm, and the other driver hydroplaned, resulting in a head-on collision. At this point, no information was disclosed about this driver. I didn’t know who it was, if they were dead, alive, in jail, in a coma… nothing.

One of the first questions I asked Dr. Nelson at the hospital – “Is the driver alive?” I had to know. I thought I was prepared for the answer. I thought I knew what she’d say. Because how could anyone walk away from a wreck like this? There’s no way, right? Wrong.

“The driver was a young man. He’s completely fine. He sustained no injuries.”

She went on to say that it was just a terrible accident due to the weather. Nothing could have prevented it. And she wanted to believe that Mom and Bruce did not suffer.

At that moment, I didn’t have the capacity to really stop and think about all she said. My brain was just trying to keep up. So much was happening.

On the way home, I received a phone call from the local sheriff. He asked me if I had spoken with anyone else regarding the wreck. I told him what little information I collected at the hospital, but that was all I knew. He informed me of the driver’s name – Nicholas Sponholz – and the charges they gave him. And that’s when it happened. The curiosity peaked.

It’s almost funny to look back now. Had my curiosity not gotten the best of me, I would have believed the wreck was just a freak accident. I would have clung to the words of Dr. Nelson, thinking Mom never suffered. I would have lived the rest of my life in ignorant bliss. Sounds kind of nice. But that’s not how this story played out. Because once I started digging, I couldn’t stop.

The short version is this…

The wreck was not just a freak accident. It could have been prevented with a touch of common sense and courtesy. Nicholas was accelarating… in a monsoon… 65 in a 55… passing a vehicle that was probably just being mindful and cautious of the rain. His speed caused him to hydroplane from his lane, over a grassy median, into a street sign, across another lane, and into Bruce’s car. Bruce took the direct hit and died on impact. Mom survived an hour, confused and in pain, before she died.

What that story doesn’t tell is the fight it took to get these answers. The lawyers. The bills. The phone calls. The EMS reports. The medical examiner body diagrams. The witness statements. The expert opinions. The depositions. The disappointments.

For over a year, my brother and I clawed our way to the truth. We wanted answers. We wanted an apology. We wanted justice. I’m not sure we ever fully got any of those things. Just limited answers, half-truths, and no apology.

Was it worth it? I’m not sure, really. I guess that depends on how you look at it.

So many people told us to move on – Mom wouldn’t want this for us. Those words fell on deaf ears. Our minds had already been made up. We needed this guy to take some responsibility and own up to his carelessness. Our criminal system is weak, at best, and it was failing us tremendously. This felt like our only shot to hold him accountable. But, in order to do this, we had to pay a steep price.

We had to read and see, in grueling detail, the final moments of our mom’s life. What she felt… how her body responded… what she looked like. We had to sit in depositions, answering 100’s of questions from a lawyer that did his best to minimize the value of Mom’s life. We had to listen to Nicholas push aside every. single. question. about that day with a ridiculous, repetitive response of “I don’t recall.” These are all things we’ll never be able to unsee or unhear.

But would I do it all again? You bet.

She was my mother. She was worth the fight. She always will be.

We didn’t get everything we’d hoped for. Of course, Mom would’ve had to walk through the doors for that to happen. Even in the disappointment, I cling to the hope that our fight will be the very thing that prevents this from happening again.

Throughout this journey, there was a particular verse I repeated over and over (and over) again. I wrote it on note cards and mirrors, highlighted it in my Bible, and even sang it in a catchy tune to make sure I always remembered.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
Psalm 46:1

On the days I felt I was drowning, I clung to these words. God was my refuge when I was consumed with anxiety. He was my strength when I was too weak to move forward. He never wavered, even when I did. He was my constant. My calm.

The good news – He still is. Our God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. No matter the valley you find yourself in, you can always cling to that truth, friend. I know this because I’ve witnessed it. And you will too.

Tag: answers

Everyone I Love Dies.

The Price You Pay For Answers.