Monday, May 11, 2015

Sorrow.



It is Well - Bethel


Gut wrenching pain. The kind one can't possibly prepare for. A most dreaded fear becoming reality.

The moment we saw our sweet baby on the ultrasound screen paired with deafening silence. Silence so loud I could barely hear the technician's hopeless voice. 

How can this be? Four short weeks ago I laid on this very chair with jelly on my belly, eyes glued to the most beautiful sight and sound - a perfect strong heartbeat. Our baby. Half of me and half of him. Fully alive and perfect. 

Twelve. Twelve precious weeks I carried our child with more joy and responsibility than I have ever experienced. Weeks filled with profound moments. Unforgettable memories. The past four months carried the dearest and worst of them. As time passes, I will carry all of these with me:  

The bliss. Revealing the news to Caleb through a positive test in the butter dish. The newness of being pregnant. Family and friends sharing in our joy. The excitement and anticipation of my body changing - wanting so deeply to provide the safest space for our baby to grow. Preparing to welcome a new life  to our family and to our home.
The devastation. Walking down that endless cold hallway feeling completely numb. The long loud cries. The fear. The despair. The pain of contractions that lead to loss instead of life. Being physically carried by Caleb due to severe exhaustion. Wanting nothing more than to wake from this nightmare.
The beauty. Oh the beauty. . . of life. . . of hope. . . of knowing our baby is in the arms of Jesus. The beauty of being completely wrapped in love by our family and friends. Those who have so willingly shared in carrying the weight of our broken hearts.

 Beauty among ashes. 

The days seem longer now. The agenda has abruptly changed. I sit quietly. Praying for hope, peace, and direction. For three months I was a mother caring for her baby.  And now. . . now it's just me in this body. . . living one day at a time. . . trying to be brave again. 
I started this blog as a means of expression. A place where I can be free. A safe space to release my insecurities and experience the healing and beauty within vulnerability. For times such as this. 
So here I am, untying the pretty little bow wrapped around this space. Revealing the sadness and pain. Sharing the lost dreams. Writing about what hurts. These words won't mend the brokenness. But neither will hiding.  
I have been reminded by dear friends and others who have journeyed down this path (here and here) that my loss doesn't have to be a secret. That I don't need to be alone in this heartbreak. There are others who have been where I am and can truly understand the anguish.  Our stories are each unique, but we share in the loss of someone so precious to us.  The loss of a child.   And   we   will   never   be   the   same. 
There's a place I frequently travel to in my mind. A place where there is life and laughter. Where the dearly beloved who have gone before our child are walking beside him or her - telling stories about us. Our baby's Heaven family. All walking through a beautiful meadow. There is endless love and beauty. And our child is safe and free. Fully alive and perfect.

Homesickness floods my heart.

Yet, through it all, I will hold the moments of those twelve weeks tightly and lean on the promise that one day I will be with our child again. I will hear his or her sweet voice call me "mama" for the first time. And all this loss and deep sorrow will be redeemed.

So let go my soul, and trust in Him.

The waves and wind still know His name.

It is well with my soul.

Through it all, my eyes are on You.

And it is well with me.

5 comments:

  1. Praying and loving you to a mended heart. God has a plan!!!

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  2. Beautifully written. I know all too well that same sadness & pain you feel. Although I lost our first child almost 1.5 years ago, I still think of him daily. One day we will meet our precious babies in Heaven. Sending big hugs, mama!

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  3. love you sweet friend. so proud of you for sharing your story, i hope by doing so you are able to heal. xo

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  4. I love you. I'm crying.

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  5. I'm so sorry for your loss. Mine was nearly 5 years ago and I still think about my baby that I never got to hold. The pain never completely goes away, but it does get easier. Hugs to you.

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