Sometimes, I find
myself believing because you lived and died in my body, I’m the only one
hurting. Then I find your dad with tears in his eyes and we stop and talk about
you. Or I see him mad just because he needs to be mad at something within his
control, because there was nothing about you we could control. I listen to the
silence that was once his voice singing, because his song has been stolen.
There are so many questions that will never be answered; some just sad, others haunting. Were you in pain? As your tiny life bled from my body, did you hurt? I can’t stand to think of you enduring such pain with no comfort. Who would you have been? We wonder if you would have been a snarky little rug rat, or would you have been quiet and bookish? Maybe you were destined to a mass murderer and that’s why you were taken? Or did your early death keep you from a life of suffering?
I don’t know that I will ever get over not being able to touch you, not even for a second. I’ll never get to see you. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. We were head over heels in love with you and we never got to tell you. To whisper it in your ear after bath while we sniffed your lavender scented hair.
Your dad and I had already disagreed where you’d sleep; if you’d have your own room or share with your sister. Just so you know, I voted to share! I’m sure you would have given her heck, but she probably would have slept through most of it.
Mourning the loss of you has been a grueling journey. It's a hollow process, sometimes feeling as if I might be a little crazy for being so broken. Sometimes I feel like I’ve drowned in your death. My struggle for sanity and against the tears often makes me feel isolated. Because life moves on, the world only allows so much time for grief, but I don’t know what that time is and I’m sure I’ll more than exceed it. But what do I know? I’m not alone. We’ve been incredibly blessed by the people, the family, God has placed in our lives, at my darkest moments I’ve received a text, a card, a hug, some gesture that says, “We’re thinking of that baby too” and I fall apart for completely different reasons. I’m humbled, incredibly grateful for such understanding and love at such a confusing time in my life. I’m not really sure how we got so lucky.
Your father, he’s an amazing man, and I’m so sorry you never got to meet him. He has literally bent over backward grieving with me, desperately trying to help me in this healing process. I couldn’t imagine this journey without him. You would have been so in love with him!
I haven’t been angry. Overwhelming sadness, yes, but no anger. And I'm thankful for that. I know this is part of a greater story, a bigger plan, I’ve been through enough with Him to know that. I felt disappointed, abandoned at times, but it hasn’t stolen my prayers. In the past month, I feel God has kept me from being able to worship him in a large setting, forcing me instead to be intimate and quiet, and broken. I don’t do well with silence or intimacy, and I think that’s why He’s forced me into it. Constantly bringing me back to the very building the spotting started and forcing me to be silent and reflective, to break down, fall apart. He knows how I hate vulnerability, but it’s that weakness that has given Him the opportunities to reinforce His love & assurance that He does indeed have a plan. I’m not good at weakness, or tears, or depending on others. Despite all the pain and death in my life, I’ve never been good at dealing with or talking about the emotions that come with it. He brings me crashing back to my favorite verse, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
There are so many questions that will never be answered; some just sad, others haunting. Were you in pain? As your tiny life bled from my body, did you hurt? I can’t stand to think of you enduring such pain with no comfort. Who would you have been? We wonder if you would have been a snarky little rug rat, or would you have been quiet and bookish? Maybe you were destined to a mass murderer and that’s why you were taken? Or did your early death keep you from a life of suffering?
I don’t know that I will ever get over not being able to touch you, not even for a second. I’ll never get to see you. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. We were head over heels in love with you and we never got to tell you. To whisper it in your ear after bath while we sniffed your lavender scented hair.
Your dad and I had already disagreed where you’d sleep; if you’d have your own room or share with your sister. Just so you know, I voted to share! I’m sure you would have given her heck, but she probably would have slept through most of it.
Mourning the loss of you has been a grueling journey. It's a hollow process, sometimes feeling as if I might be a little crazy for being so broken. Sometimes I feel like I’ve drowned in your death. My struggle for sanity and against the tears often makes me feel isolated. Because life moves on, the world only allows so much time for grief, but I don’t know what that time is and I’m sure I’ll more than exceed it. But what do I know? I’m not alone. We’ve been incredibly blessed by the people, the family, God has placed in our lives, at my darkest moments I’ve received a text, a card, a hug, some gesture that says, “We’re thinking of that baby too” and I fall apart for completely different reasons. I’m humbled, incredibly grateful for such understanding and love at such a confusing time in my life. I’m not really sure how we got so lucky.
Your father, he’s an amazing man, and I’m so sorry you never got to meet him. He has literally bent over backward grieving with me, desperately trying to help me in this healing process. I couldn’t imagine this journey without him. You would have been so in love with him!
I haven’t been angry. Overwhelming sadness, yes, but no anger. And I'm thankful for that. I know this is part of a greater story, a bigger plan, I’ve been through enough with Him to know that. I felt disappointed, abandoned at times, but it hasn’t stolen my prayers. In the past month, I feel God has kept me from being able to worship him in a large setting, forcing me instead to be intimate and quiet, and broken. I don’t do well with silence or intimacy, and I think that’s why He’s forced me into it. Constantly bringing me back to the very building the spotting started and forcing me to be silent and reflective, to break down, fall apart. He knows how I hate vulnerability, but it’s that weakness that has given Him the opportunities to reinforce His love & assurance that He does indeed have a plan. I’m not good at weakness, or tears, or depending on others. Despite all the pain and death in my life, I’ve never been good at dealing with or talking about the emotions that come with it. He brings me crashing back to my favorite verse, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my
power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly
of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of
Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions,
and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
That’s a lot to take in, huh? We’re still not okay, and I’m
sorry if that bothers people. I’m still broken, but not bitter. I’m doing my best
to remember to lean on Him and be content during these weak moments, these
hardships, because I know it’s His strength, not mine, that will bring me
through it in one piece.
Thank you for your prayers, patience, and love! We have appreciated everything, truly. We will never be able to express the gratitude with which our hearts are bursting, thank you.
