Thursday, January 19, 2012

22 months and...

…and it hurts how sometimes I have to think a few moments on how long she’s been gone. It’s not automatic anymore, like it was when she would have been six months. And I feel guilty that I don’t remember right away how old she’d be. But then again, it’s not like I have anyone asking me how old my little girl is, so really I have no reason to think of it.

…the roller-coaster called grief continues. I have more good days than bad, I’d say. But the hard days still come for this mother who desperately misses the little girl she’ll never get to raise. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed with my longing to be with her that I must search for my breath.

…it hurts that I didn’t do more when I was pregnant with her…take more photos, get another 3D ultrasound when she was bigger, get a belly cast, cherish-truly, fully, completely cherish each moment I was given with her and not for a second wish it away. Of course I realize I never could have known what was to come, yet that doesn’t keep the regret and pain from coming and whispering of all I could have done differently, all I can never change, all I will never have with her. Her life has taught me to live as if today was my last, to love those around me as Jesus does, to cherish and thank the Lord for every single moment He blesses me with, to not spend my time on frivolous, temporal matters. But instead to have an eternal perspective.

…it hurts I have to create memories. I become so consumed with finding ways to honor her, remember her. It’s my job to keep the world from forgetting. And it hurts wondering who already has.

…it hurts that I’m forgetting what it was like to be pregnant. These are the most precious memories of my life because it was the only time she was alive, the only time I had her with me. All those memories of carrying her are fading and I feel guilty for not remembering. I mean, I’m her mother, for goodness sake. Yet what was it like to be woken in the night by a babe in the womb, kicking and squirming. It’s there in my mind, in my heart. Yet, I recall it like one might recall a dream when they are slipping from sleep to reality. The memory always feels just out of my grasp, though I search for it with all my might.

…it hurts that this dream of motherhood, too feels out of my grasp. Yes, I am a mother. With pride, this spills off my lips. Yet, I’m haunted in knowing I’m a mother who never once heard her baby cry, never once gazed into her eyes, gazed into her soul as she gazed back into mine. No, she was still. Silent. So even though I’m her mother, I never once held my child with life within her. Which makes this longing, this dream that I’ve carried with me my entire lifetime, to carry a child and then offer her all the love I possibly could, that much more intense. It dangled in front of me, just right above me and when I reached out to take this gift that I thought was already mine, that I thought had already been given to me…suddenly it’s snatched back and I’m told I can’t have her. I must give her back…I must give my dreams back. And it always feels just out of my reach. And I wonder if and when I will ever grab hold of it. When and if I’ll ever get to keep this gift of motherhood.

…it hurts wondering how my babies will fit into my maybe-family one day. Will they be known, loved, missed by their brothers and sisters? Will they be a part of it all? Will we celebrate their lives on special days, every day? Will my husband understand, respect, support…love alongside me?

…it hurts wondering if people know me as “the girl whose baby died.”…because this story, her story, is so much more than that. Lily is so much more than just some baby that died. Lily is speaking a thousand words, yet without a single word, of how precious each life is to our God.

Despite all my hurts, all my questions, God is big enough for it all. He isn’t intimidated or threatened by my brokenness. He isn’t stuttering in His reply. He isn’t afraid of this honest grief of a mother who desperately misses her daughter. He promises to meet me here. He promises to understand. And then He lets me cry on His shoulder as long as I need to. He holds my dreams in His hands. He promises to work all this together for good. And I believe Him. I cling to Him.


This song has been really special to me. It really speaks to my longing to be with Lily in Heaven.

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This post left me:

14 comments:

  1. I haven't forgotten about Lily or you and I am sure you will always think of her and that's ok, and it's ok if you don't have the EXACT months in your mind...that means you're healing and have been focusing on other things and that's POSITIVE! My prayers are sent your way...continued blessings to you and healing thoughts for a wonderful life!

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  2. I know it hurts. It always will. But each day, with new mercies, God will get you through it. Some days will be easier...some twice as tough. That's the nature of our human lives and human hearts when pieces of them are so far, far away.

    But one day!!! ONE DAY!!! One glorious day! I love that song because I just can't wait. I know you can't either...and we'll wait together! <3

    See you SOON!
    xoxo

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  3. That song describes it perfectly. I am so very homesick.

    I also feel like people think of me as "the one with a dead baby." Yes, my son is dead, but he is so much more than that. So is Lily. I think our babies have touched more lives and accomplished more in their short time here on earth than many do in 80 years on earth.

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  4. I know that I have never been as homesick before until Carleigh left us. I miss a place so much that I've never even been. ♥

    Lily will always be remembered by the person who loves her most-YOU. And THAT is most important. Even if the whole world forgets she will always have you.

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  5. Praying for you, dear. Know that you and Lily are loved and will never be forgotten.

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  6. You and I share the same regrets -- of not having taken more photos, cherished pregnancy more when our babies were alive within us. That reality hit me really hard this past Friday, which was my due date. I suppose it's comforting that we are not alone -- and that we have learned to truly live in the now, to appreciate the gifts we are given while they are here. Much love to you.

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  7. I am so sorry for your losses too. Thank you for reaching out to me and finding my blog. It seems that God always puts the right people in my life at the right moments. I have a memorial for my still born son Benjamin. We have pictures up of him and his brother Nickalaus knows about him and swears he plays with him. He is still very much apart of our life. It's harder with the miscarriages, because I don't have pictures to show Nick. I have always loved Mercy Me, but I hadn't heard this song. I know love love love this song. You will never forget your babies. Something so wonderful can never be forgotten.

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  8. Glad you found some good connections though FOL...it's helpful to know where others are at, or where they've been. I wish you some peaceful days to recover from those tough ones. ((hugs))

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  9. I get hyperemesis (extreme morning sickness) when pregnant, as as my pregnancy with Cora was my first, I had never before experienced what what it was like to be so horribly sick for so very very long. I spent most of my pregnancy just wanting it to be over already. So I too have those same regrets. I wish I had spent less time brooding on my sickness and wishing away the cause and just enjoying those moments, since they are all I had of her.

    I find myself envying mothers who lost their babies a few days or moths after birth. For getting to their baby's eyes. But that's not a helpful state of mind at all, so I try not to go there. It is what it is, and I got 38 weeks with her.

    ((hugs)) As far as not remembering how old she'd be...I don't even remember my living children's exact ages....lol So I think that just makes you a normal mother.

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  10. Thanks for stopping by my blog & glad you've experienced what an awesome resource FOLFOH can be!
    So sorry for your loss, sounds like your Lily was also a beautiful girl & is loved deeply. Hope you continue to write and feel supported in this space as you grieve for your daughter and learn to live life after loss. Sending hope that you find strength for the journey ahead and courage to move forward ((hugs))

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  11. I know what you're talking about, about having to remember how old your baby would be right now. (I definitely know how old the babies are who were due at the same time as I was. I know who those parents are; I know who those babies are. That definitely makes it real.)

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  12. Thank you for stopping by my blog. I am so sorry for your loss. This post really explains how I have been feeling lately, feeling like I have to make memories, wondering how we will tell our future children that their oldest sibling was never born... It has been over 10 months since my loss and our angel would be 5 1/2 months old right now based on our EDD.

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  13. Hi Hannah! Thanks for stopping by my blog. I'm so sorry to read about the loss of your sweet Lily. I no longer believe that age old saying of time heals all. Time doesn't make the pain go away, it's always there, we just learn how to deal with it. Xo.

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