If you are new here today, this guest post is a part of a series on infant loss/miscarriage.
Every week women across the blogosphere come to one place and share their stories in the hope that it encourages others who may be struggling.
Who need some extra love getting through it and knowing that you really do make it out to the other side.
That God is still God through it all.
Beth blogs at I Should Be Folding Laundry. Which, I think should win an award for the best blog title ever. Right?!
A little about Beth:
“My name is Beth, I am thirty-three, I have a seven-year old daughter, a six year old son, a husband of ten years and a very messy home. We reside in Northwest Indiana, which may seem very boring to you, but it really is, you would be right.
Unfortunately, our worlds came crashing down on us, on February 25, at nineteen weeks pregnant, we learned of their deaths. On February 26th, we held James and Jake in our arms. Our hearts were broken. And really, they still are.”
* * * *
I feel their loss the most when my family is together. Before, if anyone had asked, I probably would have thought it would be felt most when I was alone, but that’s not the case.
At the dinner table, in the car, on vacation, laying in bed together on early Sunday mornings, there’s five of us, but we are missing two. It’s a very tangible feeling, their loss. They’re just not here. That’s just not right.
I often go back to those moments, the first moments of the nurse unable to find their heartbeats, the ultrasound technician typing out the words “no cardiac movement” on the screen in the dark room. My mind in disbelief, my heart; shattered.
I’m not the only one who feels it. It’s all of us.
I feel sorry for that girl, that Mama, me, lying on the table. I wish I could sit in front of myself, calmly touch me on the shoulders, look into my eyes and tell me that everything is going to be okay and not because that’s what I’d say to make someone feel better but because, it’s true. Everything is okay. I wish I could tell myself that but then again, that journey I took through despair into darkness and back into light again changed me for the better.
When the sun is shining, I notice, I don’t just notice when it’s not. When the baby cries in the middle of the night, rather than shushing so I can get back to sleep, I shush to bring him comfort.
I’m not a perfect Mom, I never will be and I never hope to be but I’m a Mom who accepts all the moments as a Mom, the good, the bad, the painful, the beautiful, the sticky, the dirty, the loud and the tearful moments that motherhood has to offer. And although I wish all my heart and soul that I could look into their eyes right now, I’m just so thankful to have known them at all.
I’ll know them forever and I’m so grateful for that.
** * *
Seriously you guys.
I’m often at such a loss for words at this point in the post.
The words that these women have shared are so beautiful.
And I love how there is always hope. There is always beauty. In the ugly.
Because God designs it that way.
It doesn’t always make sense. It doesn’t always seem fair.
But being changed for the better is so often the result, no?
We see the world through a different, more beautifully breathtaking lens.
In conjunction with this infant loss/miscarriage series, we are running a fundraiser benefitting the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Foundation.
NILMDTS offers free professional photography to families like these who’s babies won’t be coming home with them.
As a gorgeous reminder of their existence and their perfect, tiny beauty.
Running a free directory of photographers isn’t free.
To help NILMDTS in their mission to provide comfort in the hardest times, please consider giving.
Don’t be overwhelmed at giving.
I know how easy it would be to click away and figure that everyone else is doing it.
I challenge you to give $1. Just one.
I promise that YOUR PORTION MATTERS.