This was my first Mother’s Day post miscarriages. Everything seemed to be okay, until a few days before. and it hit me. I wasn’t just celebrating our sweet Stella and Amelia but our babes in heaven, first our girl, JOY. Then the name I never shared with anyone for my second miscarriage, EZRA. Even now writing his name on paper makes the hurt come to life. Ezra. I stuffed the pain so hard of that loss. With baby Joy it was different- the stun, the shock, the overwhelmingness to overanalyze every detail and design of the pregnancy- what went wrong, how it could have gone wrong, what I did to contribute and ultimately realizing that I will never know why I would never meet Joy this side of Heaven.
Ezra was different. I remember the shock and the horror of finding out I was pregnant so quickly after the first miscarriage. I was angry that my body could recover and move on while I was still grieving the loss of my Joy baby. But our gracious God quickly helped heal my heart and the dream giver gave me all the feels for Baby #4. I named him Ezra. His name means help. In the Old Testament Ezra taught those who didn’t know God about his ways. My sweet Ezra. My help. I had so many dreams for his life. I even experienced something with him that I never got to with Joy. Joy couldn’t even be found. She looked like a grain of rice inside of me, never maturing past 5 weeks. But Ezra. He was 8 weeks strong and I heard his heart beat. I saw it flutter, I saw him. The beating of his heart matched the fluttering of mine and the tears that fell from my face. So much hope. And so much death just 3 days after hearing his healthy heart beat. Unlike Joy whom I miscarried in a department store bathroom, Ezra passed at home. I was alone at the time. And for many months I felt terribly alone in this world.
It made me sad, the way people looked at me with sorrowful eyes. The way they didn’t know what to say. The way I made everyone uncomfortable when someone had good news to share… mine was to fresh and raw and painful. I withdrew. I stuffed all the pain down down down. Have you ever been so angry at God that you literally turned your ears away from him and refused silence? I drowned him out with every auxiliary noise I could. Because sitting in pain and admitting defeat, the bloody gruesome death of holding your child’s undeveloped body and disposing of it in the most unholy and painful of ways is not how things ought to be, dammit. It hurt. It still hurts. I still vividly recall Ezra’s passing though I have never openly discussed how raw and painful it was.
The pain is still there. Once I acknowledged it, on Mother’s Day, it’s been coming and going in waves. First, when my daughter suggested I wear my Alex and Ani bracelet we bought for “dead baby Joy.” Then as we arrived at church and realized they were doing baby dedications. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good baby dedication. But in that moment I saw a vision of me up there, holding 3 month old Joy dedicating her life to the Lord. No wait, that wasn’t my story. I saw another vision of me sitting in the church bench, with my hands gently stroking my full belly, Alan’s arm around me, at 36 weeks pregnant. No, that wasn’t my story either.
And yet I have my two girls. I have the greatest privilege of submitting before the Lord everyday asking him to guide me in teaching them, discipling them, pointing their hearts towards our Maker, to find joy in him and to enJOY this life he has allowed us to make. But my heart longs to know my lost babies. My arms ache to hold Joy and Ezra. My strength and my help.
And I know I am not alone. Oh how I wish our church would have acknowledged the painfulness that a day like Mother’s Day can be. On corporate holidays as I grow a little older each year, I am acutely aware that every joyous occasion for me, may be someone else’s time to mourn. May our eyes see what Jesus sees in others. May we not only rejoice with those who rejoice, but mourn with those who mourn.
My heart leaps for several friends that have recently become pregnant after miscarriages and my heart hurts for others who desperately desire a family or to add on to their family.
While my heart aches and longs for my babies, I have made peace with this part of our story. I don’t long for additional children. Maybe it’s the pain. But I rest in believing the Lord has blessed me with 2 incredible earthly children and I find peace and rest in fulfilling his plan, path, and purpose for me as first his child, second a wife to Alan, and third a mom to my girls.
And to my sweet littles, already sitting with the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, his arms are wide enough, strong enough, gentle enough, full of love, compassion, grace, and I know how much he loves you, and he loves this mama. He weeps with me on my weepy days and he rejoices with me when I remember the truth, that I will meet you again one day. I imagine him cradling me in my darkest moments while he still cradles you my sweet Joy and Ezra.