When was the last time you had a long conversation with your buddy about miscarriage? I’d bet it was probably never, or shortly thereafter. It’s a hard thing for anyone to talk about, but especially for guys. It’s like a gut punch from out of nowhere. Sometimes, we aren’t hurt by it as much as our wives. That being said, sometimes we are hurt by it more than we realize or are willing to admit. Here’s what I’ve learned from the perspective of a husband and a Christian- because even tough guys need to hit this head on.
Facing the Storm: Devastation in Loss
Let me take you back a few years. Heather and I got married in August of 2017. By April of 2018, we announced the happy news of pregnancy to the world. Not long after, Heather started bleeding. We went to the doctor, heard the heartbeat, and were told everything was okay. Just weeks later, we learned of our first miscarriage. It was devastating. I remember calling my mom on the way home from that doctor appointment. When she answered, I couldn’t utter a word as I choked back tears—a rare occurrence for a stoic like me.
At times, it just didn’t feel real; then, at others, it was emptiness. Although I don’t think that experience tested me as much as my wife, we saw a lot of tender mercies (be sure to watch for these). Literally, our two-year-old niece and nephew said the most angelic and wise words to us. Little Jace simply and casually stated, “Your baby was sick!” What simple words, but they felt so right. I truly believe he had insight we didn’t. Shortly after, we had a visit from Gwen, my two-year-old niece. When we explained what happened, she was sad for just a moment. Then she looked at me with a smile and said, “It’s okay, you’ll have another!” As I think about these experiences, tears come to my eyes.
The second miscarriage we experienced was an easier “process,” but it taught us how difficult these losses can be if you don’t share them with others. No one knew my wife was pregnant. Let others share the burden—it lightens the load.
When Faith Falters and Morale Crumbles
After two losses and learning we were pregnant again, we knew we needed a miracle. Right from the beginning, we spread the news far and wide. We asked everyone we met to pray for us. There were hundreds of people praying on our behalf. I knew our faith was about to pay off.
But then it didn’t.
I tried to hold to my faith and accept God’s will, but I felt so betrayed. We knew this was the one. We had honestly believed this baby would be ours. We couldn’t handle another loss—I couldn’t handle another loss. We both hurt too much. We both fell into a depression. Our yard work wasn’t getting done, our dishes were piling up, and we couldn’t do anything about it. We just couldn’t bring ourselves out of this dark place.
“Jehovah is Strength”: Finding Jesus in the Darkest Place
After some time and healing, just when I felt I was finally in a good place, we found out we were pregnant again. I was terrified—I didn’t want to experience the pain again. In the past, we’d never made it past nine weeks. This time, nine weeks came and went. Before too long, we were out of the first trimester. We began getting baby gifts almost weekly from invested friends and family. Everyone knew this was a miracle unfolding. Before we knew it, it was time to find out the gender. A few days before our appointment, my wife had a dream she was feeding a baby boy named Henry. Imagine our excitement when we went to our appointment and found out it was a boy! The prospect of having a son to watch football with and take fishing was thrilling.
Unfortunately, the appointment wasn’t all positive. Up to this point, we’d had zero issues—a feat we hadn’t accomplished before. While our baby boy was very active and seemed healthy, he was rather small. A few days before Valentine’s Day 2020, we had another ultrasound. Heather was nervous and had a bad feeling, but I was just excited. After about five minutes, I could see the baby had grown but was still small.
The technician got up and explained she needed to speak with the doctor. An agonizing few minutes passed, only for the doctor to come in as the bearer of bad news: our baby boy’s heart had stopped beating. The next day, we went to the labor and delivery room to deliver the baby, whom we’d named after the baby in my wife’s dream—Henry. Henry Hezekiah Johnson. Hezekiah comes from the Old Testament and means “Jehovah is strength.”
I still couldn’t believe we had a stillborn baby—it’s one of those things you only hear about; it never happens to you. It started as a heartbreaking experience, but let me tell you, Jehovah truly was our strength through it all, and our time in the delivery room was filled with joy and peace. At times, staff would come in and say, “Sorry for your loss,” the only reminder that this was “supposed” to be a sad event. We didn’t feel it, though. It’s been sad since. It’s been hard. But God was with us in that room, and so was baby Henry. We felt them. Henry fulfilled his purpose here—so many lives were touched.
A few months later, Heather’s doctor wrote us a letter, revealing she went through the same experience with her own baby girl shortly after us. She said she drew on our experience to aid her. So what I’m saying is that God uses these experiences for a purpose. If you don’t believe in God, start believing in Him. He is there; He has a plan and a purpose for all things. Otherwise, take comfort in knowing you can be someone else’s strength.
What to Do When the Battle Comes to You
If you experience loss or infertility with your spouse, don’t be fooled: men can feel hurt too—not physically, like her, but deep down, especially when it affects your faith. For me, I bottled up my feelings in the name of having faith. It was like I was treading water with an anchor tied to my ankle. But what hurts more in these situations is that your wife is hurting so much, and you can’t fix it.
For her sake and yours, talk about it. Listen to music that breaks you down. Pray together. Cry a bit, feel it. Hold each other. Grieve the loss of your little one. Don’t blame yourself or your wife. Lead your wife through this—don’t skirt around it. Get outside; swing an axe at logs for an hour. Go on a hike. Nature was healing for us, and the physical activity helped burn off the pain a bit. Lastly, remember that we don’t control this. Leave it in the hands of the Creator.