Sometimes all it takes

Sometimes it's the silence that hurts the most. When you're all alone with your thoughts. Thoughts that can take you to a deep place of loneliness. Feeling isolated. When the phone calls stop, the letters no longer come, and the "how are yous?" fade away, all that's left are the memories. The sorrow that comes with all those thoughts of "what ifs?"

Everybody forgets. I wonder if she ever crosses their minds. If I ever cross their minds...or maybe they think it doesn't matter anymore. Maybe they think since it's been almost eight months, I must be over it by now. After all, they see me smiling and laughing.

Yes, life goes on for us all. And how easy it is to get so caught up in our own hectic schedules of kids, husbands, boyfriends, classes, work, friends...whatever it is that keeps us from remembering other's sorrows. Others that can't forget the pain they live with each day. Whether they are going through a divorce, grieving the loss of a parent, or saying goodbye to an infant child. So many hurts come with this fallen world.

Real life happens. But we never forget our pain. Sometimes a simple "how are you holding up?" is all it takes to show someone you haven't forgotten their pain either. It just may make the silence in their life less lonely.

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You should be here

My dear Lily,

I wish you were here. The whole family got together the Sunday before last at the B&B where we house and dog-sit. All the aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, and your great-grandmother were there. That weekend was really tough for me. I missed you more than I had for a while. 

I told you all about your cousin, Daniel, my first cousin who was born four months after me. We grew up as best buddies and I couldn't have been more excited that we were going to have a boy and girl, three months apart. You and Owen, two peas in a pod. You two were gonna grow up together and spend the months looking forward to the next time you'd see your buddy. You were gonna watch each other's backs. You were gonna enjoy each other's company as much as Daniel and I did. 

I met 6-month old Owen that weekend for the first time. You would be 3 months old now. You would be smiling now. It was so hard to meet him, little girl. I tried so hard, I promise you I did. But, I was overwhelmed with missing you. Somehow seeing Owen made the loss of you all the more real. Seeing a real, live baby. Not a lifeless baby like you were when I held you. It was especially hard, knowing you are his cousin, knowing you should have been there meeting him. I had looked forward to the time so much. 

I couldn't help feeling jealous, as I watched Owen's mommy hold him, kissing his forehead, feeding him his bottle. I quietly watched her as Owen fell fast asleep in her arms. I studied her as I watched her be his mother. And the ache inside me was there like never before. Never before have I wanted to be a mother so badly. 

Owen was the center of attention and you weren't mentioned once. It's like people have already forgotten about you. Like I'm not gonna remember you if people don't bring you up. I wish people would understand that I think of you and miss you no matter who says what. It just makes me miss you more when people act like you never were.

I didn't hold Owen for two days. I was jealous, I was hurting, I was angry, I was heartbroken. On that Sunday afternoon, he was napping when no one else was around. And I watched him. I watched him sleep, turning his head from side to side, breathing deeply, wiggling his arms around. I rubbed his back and I was so in love with this little boy. I can only imagine how much love I would have felt for you, my own child. I still feel the love. Owen is so precious, red hair, blue eyes. You would have been so cute in pictures together.

Daniel makes Owen laugh. He plays peek-a-boo with him and I look on as Owen waits in anticipation, knowing his daddy's face will be appearing any moment. And it grips my heart. I will never hear your giggle. I will never know how it might have sounded. 

On Monday, I finally held Owen. I knew you'd want me to. All I could think of when I held him was how much I loved him. How much I adored this little boy, who was a miniature Daniel. How could I not adore his son? It made me feel connected to you. It was okay. I was scared, but it was fine. I kissed his cheeks and held him close. 

Daniel was really dear about it too. He could tell it was hard for me and he was really sensitive about it. He understood. We went to the cemetery, just me and him, and visited you. We talked about you. We missed you. He wishes you were here too. I'm glad he has Owen...it's helping him grow up and mature.

Holding Owen was healing. It was beautiful. I just wish I could see him more often. I wish you two could have played together. From now on, as I watch Owen grow up, I will always know I should have a daughter the same age. I will wonder what you might look like, what you might enjoy, how you and Owen would love playing. And I'll miss you forever.

Love, Mommy

Daniel and I when we were kids

Daniel and I when I was pregnant with Lily

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for those of you who don't know what to say or how to act

Most people don't know how to act to those who have lost babies. "What do I say or not say? Maybe if I don't say anything, she won't think of her baby...oh no, this makes me really nervous. I'm just going to quickly change the subject." I think anyone who has lost a baby can agree, that no matter what someone says or does, it is usually awkward for everyone involved. I won't even get into all the strange ways people have acted to me. That's why this online community of BL moms is so great. That's why I'm loving the online Bible study I'm participating in so much. (more about that later.) That's why I go to an infant loss support group twice a month...because these people get it, they've been where you are, they are there now, or they will be there. But, what about those that haven't lost a baby and don't truly understand what it's like...what about those people?


About a month ago, I stumbled across an article on Molly Piper's blog. You can read it by clicking here.


I sent the article to my friend, Kala. She was the one who came to the hospital on March 16th and was there for me and my family on that day, as well as during the days and weeks that followed. After I shared the article with her, she wrote me back. I want to share what she wrote because maybe, just maybe, it could help those people that don't know how to act to babyloss moms and dads. If you're wondering what to say or how to act to me, then this is for you.


"It's strange to cry and feel so much emotion in a place that seems so distant to your reality. And I can imagine that that's what you must feel everywhere you go, all the time. And like this posting, I pray you know that you don't have to feel that way with me. And even though we laugh and joke and speak of joyful things, Rose and her Lily are always there in the back of my mind. And you can say anything you want...you can scream and yell and cry and sob and laugh. You can speak nonsensical words and flow unfiltered thoughts freely. And I will stand beside you with the prayer that in some way doing just that will help to ease the weight you carry with you every day..."


You can check out Kala's blog by clicking here. She's got some encouraging stuff for anyone who is seeking to lead a set-apart life for Christ. Thank you, Kala, for 'getting it,' to the extent that you can. Thank you for being there for me, even when I don't make sense. 


"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." ~Romans 12:15

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