Today is the second anniversary of our miscarriage. Today was hard. I spent most of the day vacillating between wanting to shout from the roof tops, “Look at what my God has done!” and wanting to crawl under the covers, turn out the lights, and cry all day.
I did neither. From the outside looking in today was much like any other day, but my heart knew how different today is.
My precious child,
Two years ago we said goodbye. We were broken: heart, mind, and body broken.
A dream, the most precious kind of dream, came true. A baby. A delicate beautiful life growing inside me, cozy and safe deep inside, knowing nothing but my heartbeat.
And that life was short. Too short.
And that life was precious. So precious
And that life was a gift. A gracious gift.
My precious baby,
We loved you. We still do. A thousand lifetimes of love couldn’t begin to express how much we love you.
We still talk of you, our glory baby. The life that went before us and worships around the throne of glory. We know your are there but a piece of you is always with us. A memory of what could have beens.
You have a brother, my redemption baby, the one who helped heal my heart. The one who made all those years of hoping worth it. The one I rocked to sleep today, praising God for His precious gift, but missing you.
And the most providential irony: if we had not lost you, we would not have him. How can my heart ever be reconciled to that painful, beautiful truth?
And there is another brother, or a sister on the way. Your daddy and I boast only in God’s redemptive plan and timing, but we also wonder about His plan and timing. We know you were such a special part of His plan, but your life on earth was not.
You slipped away and we said goodbye before we ever said hello. And we will forever hold you in our hearts, but never in our arms. And all the glories of heaven will heal that heartache, but you already know that, don’t you?
Sweet precious child of mine. You are my first, but not my firstborn. Sometimes when people ask me how many kids I have I tell them, “One sweet baby in heaven, and my redemption child, my firstborn son.” And sometimes I just tell them about Ezra, but inside I feel like it’s kind of like a lie. Because you will always be my first. YOU made me a mother long before I would be called mama. Your life had purpose and meaning, and to not mention it feels like somehow it didn’t matter.
Sweet baby, someday we will join you at the feet of Jesus. And the glory of His presence will outshine the darkness of losing you. And His tender mercy will wipe away our tears of regret and our tears joy. And together we will worship the One who gives and takes away.
I’ll love you forever,