By Megan Lacourrege
In the past, I had struggled with feeling close to Mother Mary. My miscarriage changed that.
Nothing quite prepared me for being told at my 12-week prenatal appointment that my baby had died. My doctor said I could wait to miscarry naturally or have surgery. My doctor also informed me he’d be out of town the following week. I would have to live with my baby’s body still inside of my own until at least then.
It ended up being two weeks before I got that surgery. It was by God’s grace that I got through that time. I managed to care for my toddler daughter, run errands and go to church. I even went to a party.
The party felt so strange. I was surrounded by smiling faces. The weirdest moment was when I saw a pregnant woman, glowing. Our situations were so dissonant. All the while, I felt the burden of not telling anyone about our loss. I didn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable by knowing I was bearing my own son’s death in my womb. Many people say that you should be kind to others, because you never know what they’re going through. This experience was my biggest teacher of that truth.
On the eve of my surgery, I sat and prayed. A spiritual kinship with Mary became clear to me. Mary understood my pain. She held her deceased son in her arms. She witnessed the death of her own flesh and blood while she continued living.
I was going through something similar, but it was happening inside of me as I continued to go about my daily life. I felt like a walking Pieta.
My improved relationship with Mary was just one way my miscarriage was life-altering. While my experience was tremendously hard, Mary also showed me that it was sacred.