In May of 2013, our family lost our baby. I wrote this after it happened and it’s been on my heart to share it with you here at Dear Darla.
~~~~Some days, you don’t know where to begin. Today started off the way days do. I woke up, started the coffee maker, and let the chickens out. Then Lila woke up, so I brought her in to kiss her daddy and brought her down to make her breakfast. The lake was calm and beautiful. The sky was clear. My sweet husband came down and greeted me warmly. So why did today seem impossible?
It’s because today started out as days do. It’s going to be a regular day. I’ll pack Jordan a lunch and send him off to work and then do whatever I want with Lila.
My reality is this, on May 28, I had a regular day. I sent Jordan off to work and kissed him and wished him a happy anniversary. I had a couple of things to do and then I packed Lila up and took her with me to my doctor’s appointment. It was just a check up. I was 12 weeks pregnant. After the initial pleasantries, my doctor tried to find the heartbeat. I had been in on May 11 for an ultrasound and heard the heartbeat and was eager to hear it again. I saw concern sweep over my doctor’s face even as she tried to hide it. I handed Lila a toy to try to get her to stop crying but I think she knew I was nervous and it scared her. I was sent over to the hospital to try to get them to find the heartbeat. After confusion, back and forth, and a half hour wait, I was led in. At this point, my sweet Lilliana had used up all of her patience points and was losing it. She climbed up on the bed with me as the technician tried to find my baby’s heartbeat. I saw her on the screen. I recognized the little bean, I had seen her only a couple weeks earlier when I got to see and hear her perfectly tiny heart flutter. There was nothing. It wasn’t a regular day anymore. In fact, that day threatens the normalcy of any day from now on. Phone calls were made. My loved ones were on their way. I’d never be the same.
So here I am. Two days later. My heart. My heart is so sad. Each morning, I wake up and have to force myself to accept the reality all over again. I loved the little baby I held in me for a short 3 months. I didn’t even get to see my baby. If I did, I’d say,
“Sweet one, you are so beautiful and loved. You were loved in my dreams before I even knew you were a part of me. You were created by a wonderful God. I wanted you so bad. We all couldn’t wait to meet you. You would have loved your big sister and, let me tell you, she would have loved you. I’m sorry that I can’t keep you. I would have done my very best, but God has a plan. We can’t possibly see it from here. For some reason, you were called home early. That does not mean you aren’t missed. I’ll think of you always and forever. My sweet lost one. Your Mommy loves you.”
So, now, I’m faced with days. Mountainous regular days. It’s going to take prayer, and practice and perseverance, but I’ll be able to do it. Today’s mission. Banana Bread. My Lila and I set out on a mission. we putzed and shopped and played and napped and eventually got a loaf of banana bread out of the oven. What a small thing to feel so accomplished about. We did it, though. On an impossibly regular day we accomplished a simple thing and I needed that.
Meanwhile. I woke up to a regular day. With my precious little girl and my strong and sweet husband. The lake was beautiful and our garden is flourishing. The wind smells sweet and the sun is shining. I must be the luckiest woman alive. It’s perspective that makes or breaks a day. I have to remind myself to count my abundant blessings and move forward. I don’t have to forget what happened. I don’t have to pretend I’m whole. I just have to see the big picture and embrace an eternal and all knowing God. ~~~~
Since I wrote this post, I’ve done a lot of grieving, wrestling, and growing. I have always felt that My Sweet Lost One is a girl and so I refer to her as such now. It has given me even more closure. It has given me permission to remember that she was real. I light a candle on infant and pregnancy loss day. I bring out my little memorial box and leave it’s contents on display for the day. I cry. I daydream about the what-ifs and the where-would-she-be-nows. I give myself permission to remember My Lost One. I force myself to be brave enough to remember, she deserves that. As her Mommy, I need that too. While the rest of the world didn’t know her, I did, and I feel her absence in a way that only other parents who have lost a baby in pregnancy, and all the hopes and dreams that went with her, can understand.
What happened next is a miracle. A light. A rainbow. It gave my heart hope after My Sweet Lost One. It made me see a bigger picture, and I’ll share it with you soon.
Thank you for allowing me to share this part of my heart. To those Mama’s who have lost sweet ones in pregnancy, I’m so sorry for your sadness and the pressure to suffer through that in silence and move on. It’s ok that it still hurts. I’ve found freedom in facing and embracing my Lost One and I hope that same freedom finds you.
-All of my love-