Tuesday, January 15, 2013


Yesterday, I decided it was time. I had thought about doing it several times before, but I knew that I wasn't ready yet. Yesterday, I was ready.

I went around the house and collected the few pieces of tangible evidence of B3's existence.  There wasn't much - a few ultrasound photos, a handful of sympathy cards we received, the last doctor's appointment card, a bracelet that I wore when I had the D&C - and I folded it all up nice and neat and slipped it into a medium sized manilla envelope. Then I closed the flap on the envelope, fastened the clasps, and tucked it away.

I wasn't really emotional about it at that moment. But it did make me think. Because of how this pregnancy started . . . with such an unsure beginning . . . I didn't let myself think about due dates or B3's place in our family or having another tiny baby to hold until I heard that precious sound of a beating heart at seven weeks along. And then? It was instant. The love I felt was instant. B3 instantly had a place in my heart and in our family. We were instantly a family of five.

I was a mother of three. I dreamed of how that would be. I thanked God for my three precious blessings. Chris and I joked about how we were officially outnumbered by our children. I marveled that I had a life growing inside me once again. ME. The girl who was infertile for so many years. The girl who waited and waited and waited for her turn. I was pregnant. For the THIRD time.

So how do you rewind that? How do you suddenly go back to a family of four when a family of five came so naturally? When a family of five felt so right? When a family of five was one step closer to your dream-come-true? How is it that the loss of someone who was never in my arms or physically present in our house can make those arms and that house feel SO empty?

I wish that I could round up all the pain, all the sadness, all the emotions, and all the emptiness and just tuck it neatly away in an envelope. Just like I did with the tangible evidence. Nice and neat . . . not to be seen unless I choose.

But I know I can't.

And I know I can't rewind time and unlove B3. I can't suddenly take B3 out of my heart. Or out of his/her place in our family. I just hope that {someday} I will be able to think of B3 without the awful sting, without the suffocating feeling, and without the tears. But rather, with simple love for the baby that was lost.


Emily said...

beautiful...so glad you are able to use writing as a form of healing in all of this

Mallorie said...

well that gave me chills and brought tears to my eyes. beautifully written.

Anonymous said...

You and your family are in my prayers.

Elana said...

Time is healing, but this time is for grieving. The hurt will lessen and the love will stay. I am thinking about you and praying for you all the time. <3

Ashley T said...

I am so sorry for your loss, but time really will take the sting away. How amazing is your character, that you can feel that attachment so early on. I see so many kids at the school in which I work, who are barely noticed by their parents. Praying for you!

Justin and Marcie said...

I have no words. I read this post when you wrote it and it seems like so many of my blog friends are having miscarriages right now and I always find myself not knowing what to say. I am so sorry for your loss but I'm glad you have such a great outlook and attitude about it. God is taking care of that sweet little one until you get there.

Cheryl said...

I'm still keeping you in my prayers! This post was beautifully written. I hope you continue to heal and it will just take time to go through the grieving process, but it will get better!