I remember that day so well. It had been raining for days. A tropical storm was upon us. The girls had been out of school Thursday, Friday, and we were on the backside of the weekend. I had been in bed since Wednesday. The girls thought I hurt my back and helped papi “take care of mommy,” while I was “sick.” Friends had come and gone, made meals, helped with groceries, playdates, and even errands. All the while, I laid flat on my back, unmoving. Praying that as I laid there as still as could be, the tiny 8 week old baby, who’s heart I heard beat, and body I saw bouncing around in my belly just days before, wouldn’t slip out from this world too soon.
A gift bag filled with sweet things to make me feel better from Amelia, and sweet snuggles from Stella
The days ticked on. This process felt all too familiar as I had had a previous miscarriage just several months prior. I remember getting up Sunday afternoon. The pressure was mounting, my back aching. I knew what was coming, although I pretended everything was fine. Everything was clearly not.
Later that night, we lost our second child. I remember staring at it, this tiny little making of a body blinking my eyes repeatedly, my eyelids stinging from the tears. I walked out of the bathroom, found Alan and said two words. It’s over. And then I crawled into bed.
That day was two years ago today. Two years have whirled by and yet as I sit here and write this, time stands still, and I remember what never came to be. I remember a life that brought so much hope during such a dark time that turned even darker for a little while. I am grateful for a God who shines the sun on our dark wounds and heals the pain through the wounds of the Son.
We chose to remember our sweet boy (yes, I think it was a boy) in a couple of ways. We gave him a name, Ezra. We shared his story with our daughters and do not shy away from talking about it with them when they ask. I bought an Alex and Ani bracelet with his birth charm. My husband gifted me a beautiful necklace for Mother’s Day with all of our kiddos birthstones including the two babies we lost. I don’t push him or his sister out of my mind when I think about what life would look like with them in it. I allow myself space to grieve even if it’s not understood by others. Above all, I choose joy, love, and grace. I refuse to live in permanent sadness or bitterness or allow any of these emotions to take root long-term. I love my boy and I love my girl and someday I’ll meet them and hold them in my arms and they’ll meet their sisters and I imagine them all laughing together.
Friends, if you’ve had a miscarriage, stillborn, or infant loss… wherever the pain comes from, know you are loved. You will heal. Your life will move forward (even if you can’t bring yourself to even want or desire that at the moment.) Talk to someone about your pain, grief, suffering, or loss. You are not alone. God sees you. He is with you.
“I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the Lord.” (Psalm 40:1-3)
For the full post on Ezra’s life, click here.
rhythms-ofgrace.com 