A Significant Date

Tags

children, faith, family, miscarriage

December 4^th is one of my dates. We all have significant dates that we mark on our calendars, like birthdays and anniversaries. For some of us, the dates include when we lost someone we loved. I was once told that I was “morbid” because I remember those dates, but I don’t agree. And the few people to whom I have reached out around one of their dates, also disagree. It let them know I cared about them.

We remember those dates because they mark a moment when lives changed forever. It is a way to stay connected to someone we’ve lost. We can give ourselves permission to be sad in the midst of busy days. It is a day for remembering good times. While their absence is felt, their presence still had meaning. It is a way to pay tribute, to say thank-you, to reflect.

December 4^th is one of my dates. It was supposed to be a birthday. That first December, after I lost Hope, I gave myself permission to be sad. I planned to stay in my pjs all day. I told Hubby to bring me pink roses and I promised that I would only ask him that first year. I’ve kept my promise. But I didn’t end up staying in my pjs. Big Guy’s driving test was scheduled for that morning (he couldn’t drive himself)! I went out for lunch with a friend. In the afternoon, the boys & I decorated our Christmas tree, and Little Guy at 3, was delighted with everything.

Some years are harder than others. This year my baby would be turning 6 – such a fun age! I imagine a little girl with her Daddy’s gray eyes and red hair like her brothers. She would have pink fingernails to match her rosy cheeks, just like mine. I imagine Barbie paraphernalia scattered around the living room, amongst the Lego creations. And I image purple balloons and chocolate cake with pink icing (she would have liked chocolate, just like me)! Just because I never held my baby in my arms doesn’t mean I haven’t held her in my heart.

I can’t not remember the day I found out I was pregnant, or the day I found out I was losing her (or him – we never knew). Those dates impacted my life forever. And so I remember the day that was supposed to be a birthday. It’s my small way to stay connected to a little life that had meaning.

Losing Hope

Tags

adventure, babies, Bible, death, faith, family, hope, infertility, loss, miscarriage, poem, shoes

I can’t believe it’s been 4 years…4 years ago today, it was grey and drizzling, but I didn’t mind. My precious boys were eating breakfast together, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I was pregnant again…at last! But my joy was short-lived. 4 years ago today I spent 8 hours alone waiting in the E.R. for confirmation of what I already knew – I was having a miscarriage. There was no drama, like on TV, but a long, slow process, one that meant I continued to hope, even as a longed for an end so I could grieve. I wasn’t just losing a baby, I was also losing a dream.

Romans 5:2-5 says: “…And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us”. During the weeks that I waited, the line “and hope does not disappoint us” kept running through my mind. It was God’s message to me – not the part about character or perseverance (at least not this time), but the part about hope. It’s been so hard to surrender my hope for another baby, and the life that I had long imagined. I have grieved for my baby, Hope, and my lost dreams; I think a little part of me always will. But I believe God does not allow surrendered hearts to continue to long for things He will not ultimately grant in one way or another. I lost Hope, but I haven’t lost hope…I am choosing to believe that God has a different adventure for me, a better one than even the perfect adventure I imagined.

I found this poem, rather accidentally and wanted to share it in case there was someone else who needed it more. My experience, sadly, is not unique. I cannot say I wouldn’t change the outcome if I could (at least not whole-heartedly just yet), but my heart and my feet are beginning to hurt less, and I am ready and excited for my different adventure.

I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.
Author unknown