These pictures were not planned or posed. Emotions flooded me, like they so often do, and my camera just happened to be in my hand. As the loss washed over me, my heart screamed for me to capture this... not a stormy sob-session, just the quiet mourning that a mother's heart goes through every day that her child is not with her.
I know this post is a little different from what I usually share on my blog. This is not a child-loss blog or an infertility blog, but this is a blog about my life... so I suppose it is right for those things to be included here.
I am not trying to make anyone feel sorry for me. I know I don't own the corner on loss. But much too often losses like mine are seen as small, not something that rips at the heart every single day. I am not here to wallow in self-pity, I am here to be honest... for my sake and for the sakes of so many women like me who have lost a child during pregnancy.
Every day holds moments like this. Some don't include tears, just a deep soul-sigh, while others knock me from my feet with sobs that are strong and ugly.
I want to open a door through sharing this post... a door for other parents who have suffered loss.
Dear ones, you are never alone. Your heartbreak is valid, whether you carried your child for months or only knew about them for a day... whether you have other children alive or are facing the cold reality that you may never have children. Your loss is felt.
Tomorrow is the day.
That day last year I was glowing with excitement. I had contacted a midwife. I had even bought one blouse for the next season that I knew would look adorable as my belly grew with the new life inside of me.
I had spent the weekend with my family and they were now visiting me. We went down to the nearby pool and I was enjoying the sunshine and leisurely swimming in the cool water.
I didn't feel the change. It took a trip to the bathroom with my sister for me to realize what was happening. One glance down. My heart and hopes shattered. I began to shake and tears quickly gathered, brimmed, and splashed from my eyes.
"Oh please no" tumbled out as one word. My sister heard me, asked what was wrong, and then held me as I cried by the sink.
That walk from the pool back to my apartment was the longest walk of my life.
By the next day I knew for certain.
My baby had died.
Yes, sweet Promise woke to the face of Jesus and eternal love... but the pain of never holding my child still breaks my heart. Every. Single. Day.
The only thing I can think to say as I close this post is this:
Please remember that our stories don't end in tragedy. These pictures were followed by some much-needed time in the Psalms, more tears (the ugly kind), and honest prayer with my beloved Jesus. He doesn't always give answers, but He always comforts. And even if this ache lasts a lifetime, the assurance of heaven gives hope.
"Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,”
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You."
~ Psalm 139: 7-12
Oh, sweet baby, I miss you every moment. Part of me will always be with you. You are a miracle. Your life held so much meaning, no matter how brief it was. And even though I don't understand why I couldn't keep you, I will always be thankful for you. I was a special kind of beautiful when you were with me. I can't describe how much I love you.
Till I'm with you again,