It's been one month since your birth. One month since the day you came into the world seven months too soon. One month since our hearts broke at the loss of your presence in our family.
I never shared your sister's birth story with the world; it felt very private and like something our family could cherish in our memories alone. But with you - with no further story to share, with no funny things you do or say, with no pictures of you as you grow - your birth story is the only story of you I have to tell. And I want this story preserved in writing. So, here it is. This is your story.
You were wanted, sweet baby. You were prayed for. You were desired. And we were overjoyed when we found out you were on your way!
Your pregnancy was much easier on my body than your sister's. I was very nauseated, but didn't ever throw up. I had food aversions and cravings, but was able to eat a variety of foods from all of the food groups. I was tired, but able to keep up with your sister. I was very bloated and already starting to show by six weeks (if you knew to look for it) and elastic waist pants were quickly becoming my favorites.
Meghan and I went to Manhattan to visit our family; Aunt Lauren and the twins were up from Texas so we traveled there to see them and spend some time enjoying our family. Your sister loved the babies and I was so optimistic that she would love you and be a great big sister to you. She would have been - she would have loved you so much! We drove home on Friday morning and I spent the afternoon unpacking and resting.
The afternoon progressed typically and after preparing Meghan for bed, I passed her off to Daddy for the two of them to read some bedtime stories while I went to the bathroom. That's when I noticed a bit of blood. A quick google search revealed that a little bit of blood can be very normal in the first trimester and that I should take it easy. So that's what I did Friday night. I rested on the couch and prayed that you were safe.
However, every time I went to the bathroom, there was a little more blood.
When I awoke in the morning I was feeling well rested and hoped that all was going well for you. There had been no blood when I went to the bathroom. I made breakfast and played with your sister. However, when I took a shower, the blood began to flow much more rapidly and I told your dad it was time to go to the ER. He stayed home with your sister (we wanted life to stay as normal as possible for her) and I drove to the hospital.
I had a very sweet nurse caring for me and she said that the first thing the doctor would probably want was a urine sample. I went into the bathroom to give the sample, but instead of urine, the cup quickly filled with blood. I could feel my stomach writhing. I wanted to cry, but somehow I managed not to. The doctor did an internal examination - the cervix was still closed. This was good news. And I clung to it. Desperate for you to be okay!
They drew some blood and waited for results.
Next was the ultrasound. The technician allowed me to watch as she found you. I saw you, nestled into my womb, looking healthy. I prayed that you were. You were measuring 5 days small; that was possibly okay. Your sister measured small her entire pregnancy and still is a very little tike. It was also possible that, despite using medications that should have triggered ovulation on a certain date, that it was actually a few days later. Then as she began to search for your heartbeat, she turned the screen away from me to hide what she was finding - there was no heartbeat. Nothing. I felt as though someone had stabbed a knife right through my heart. How could you not have a heartbeat? My precious baby, how could something be wrong with you?
The blood test results came back. My HCG count was very low for this stage in the pregnancy. Soon after I was discharged with the diagnosis of a threatened miscarriage. There was still a chance you were younger than expected and that you would be fine, but for now I was on bed rest and given a list of symptoms to come back if I experienced.
I bawled in the parking lot. Then I drove home.
I've never been one to just sit and do nothing. To lay on the couch, watching your dad and sister go about the day without me, and worry about you was so very difficult for me. But I did it. Anything to protect you. I prayed and prayed and prayed that God's will would be for you to live.
That night, as I listened to your Daddy rocking your sister - the sound of his singing and the squeaking of her rocking chair - the contractions began. I tried to convince myself I was just hungry, but they came and went just as they had in the early stages of your sister's labor. As the night went along, they came closer together, but did not significantly intensify in pain.
It stormed all night. Strong storms. They mirrored the feelings inside of me. I felt as if my whole person were being ripped apart. Into shreds of tortured pain. I knew what was happening and it was terrible. The first time I was in labor the promise of a healthy baby lay ahead and I could endure in excitement. But this. This was true pain. Physical, mental, emotional. We finally decided to go to bed and see if I could get any sleep.
By morning, the contractions had me stopping in my tracks and thinking about breathing through the pain. It was agonizing. Here I was laboring for you - and I would never get to hold you. I knew this was the last thing I would ever do for you - labor for and then deliver you.
I vividly remember 7:20 on Sunday May 17th.
I watched as my body delivered yours.
There were no doctors, no nurses. Your Daddy wasn't there watching with a look of pride and overwhelming joy mixed with a touch of disgust. You were not placed screaming and wiggling, warm and wet on my chest.
I cried. But these tears were so different that the tears I cried at your sister's birth.
I missed you. I missed you so much already.
And then, possibly the hardest thing I have ever done in my life: I flushed your little body down the toilet. My child, my littlest love, and there was nothing to do but flush you away as though you were waste. The. Hardest. Thing. Ever.
As I sat there, a crumpled mess on the floor, wondering how I could ever move on without you, my person was flooded with warmth. I cannot fully describe it and to hear me say that must sound crazy. But God was there. He was holding me. As I wanted, more than anything, to be holding you warm within my body still, he was holding me. I was heartbroken. But I was being held.
Eventually, I left that bathroom. We headed to the ER again. This time as a family.
Blood tests revealed drastically lower levels of HCG. An ultrasound confirmed that you were gone.
I missed you. I still miss you.
We drove home as a family and we cried.
As we walked into the house, I noticed out the kitchen window that they peonies were beginning to bloom. As you left, those blooms exploded into life.
The contractions continued - every contraction was a screaming reminder that you were gone. They were agonizing and lasted about 36 hours after your birth. Finally, Monday evening they were done.
We shared the sad new with our family and then with our friends on Facebook. We were overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and prayers that we experienced. So many messaged us to say their hearts were breaking with us, that they were praying for us, and friends shared their favorite scriptures and encouragement they clung to after their miscarriages.
We clung to this one from Isaiah 25: He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces.
Your Daddy had a week of bereavement leave from work - and we spent the week together as a family learning how to do life now. The hardest times were rocking your sister to sleep - the time when I used to cherish the fact that I was rocking both of my babies. And when showering and falling asleep - times when I used to sing & think to you.
However each day that went by also brought with it hope. We missed you, but God was beginning to show us that he has a plan for our family and has promised that someday we will understand why your life was so short. Throughout the pain, this song ran through my head constantly:
"There is strength within the sorrow. There is beauty in our tears. And You meet us in our mourning with a love that casts out fear. You are working in our waiting. You're sanctifying us. When beyond our understanding you're teaching us to trust."
One week after losing you we went to church. Your Daddy was drumming in the band and your sister and I were in the congregation. It was HARD. While we hold no anger at God for losing you, understanding that God works in ways we do not understand is insanely difficult for the human heart to even begin to comprehend. I believed all of the words that I sang. I clung to them. And I sobbed my way through them. And I was so thankful for a sweet friend who had kleenex and an arm to wrap around me.
As the weeks have gone by, I've already found one way your life has completely changed mine. I have never been an "expressive" worshipper. But that first Sunday and those that have followed have found me in the world of raw emotion. And instead of trying to hold that emotion in, I have become very comfortable with tears in worship. And raising my hands in worship - especially when the tears keep the words from coming out. And with being my raw self in the presence of God and the other worshippers in our church family.
Sweet baby, we don't understand why you weren't able to stay with us. We miss you. And still think of you daily. But we know God had a plan for your life and that as we go through the rest of ours we will understand that even more. We know that God has a plan for our family and we will see that unfold as the days and years go by. And we know we will understand it all when we get to heaven - when he reveals the plan he was working in and through our lives all along.
Dear baby, we loved you. We still love you. We will always love you.
love,
Mama
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It bothered me that we had a life in our family and no tangible way to remember it. I thought to ask my doctor for a pic from our ultrasound, but we didn't have any ultrasounds before the baby passed. The day of the miscarriage, our peonies started to bloom - and a few days ago I figured out the perfect thing. My "love necklace" which had our wedding date & Meghan's name now has a peony charm to represent that sweet baby we lost. This feels right. All of my loves hanging close to my heart!
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