I’ve never shared this image before.
I took this photo on May 7th, 2014. While it was taken a year ago today, the emotions behind it are as raw and as real as I felt them 12 months ago.
I wrote these words about the photograph at the time…
As excited as I am about meeting our baby very soon, a piece of my heart continues to grieve for the baby we miscarried over the summer. I hadn’t expected such conflicting feelings to surface right now, but I do know that it’s important for me to name and embrace them. It is hard for my heart to reconcile the simple fact that had we not lost our summer baby, this incredible child we’re about to hold in our arms would exist only in the depth of our hearts, in that place that often remains just a simple whisper to our consciousness.
One baby lost. One baby to be born. A place of sadness. A place of joy. Shadows. Light.
This morning the tears of grief and hope mingled as one…
Again, I find myself grieving the loss of a baby. Another miscarriage. In March…why I’ve been quieter here again. It doesn’t get easier. In fact, in some ways, it gets harder. I have more “why’s” and what feels like less time to process everything. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share our loss publicly, but I feel in some ways compelled to do so because I truly believe that it might bestow a sense of peace on another mama who can’t yet find the words to share how she feels.
I delight as I watch my little man learn and grow and explore while I wish so very deeply to have been able to witness the same for the two babies we’ve lost.
I’ve been blessed with one child, and I find myself feeling selfish praying for another when others I know struggle with infertility.
I feel ashamed at the jealousy that pierces me when I walk past the maternity section at Target, see a friends’ growing belly, or read another pregnancy announcement on Facebook.
I am human.
Grief…and all its messy, tangled, confusing, exhausting feelings…is a part of that humanity.
And yet, I still hope. I hope that we will get pregnant again. I hope that one day our son will have a brother or sister. I hope that with each passing day the hole I feel in my heart is filled up with grace.
I know that I…we…can’t do this alone. It’s Grace alone that gently carries me through each day.
Because of Grace, I breathe a little more deeply. I find joy. I live.
For it is in my living that I honor our babies.
Today, again, my tears of grief and hope mingle as one.
And I live.