A year ago this past Ash Wednesday was the day we found out,
after over a decade of infertility, that we were twelve weeks pregnant, and a
year ago today, Easter Sunday, is the one year anniversary of the day our daughter
was born. She was born sleeping and already in the arms of Jesus. She carried a
rare genetic disease, Trisomy 18, and we knew from the very beginning she would
never get to come home with us.
It was the exact season of Lent, and the reality of that I’m
sure is no coincidence in God’s plan.
I have to admit, I have no idea how to do this mourning and
grieving thing. I’ve lost grandparents, who passed away at their beautiful old
ages filled with stories memories, and amazing legacies. I have not however
lost someone within my own immediate family. I’m left feeling at odds as to how
to do this “correctly,” even though I’m fully aware everyone is different and
there’s no right or wrong way.
For the last year I have felt this odd sense of not being
able to really grieve her, to really honor her memory, because she never had
the opportunity to live and breath here on earth, she didn't even make it to a
full term pregnancy. There was no birth certificate. There was no death certificate. For some reason I have felt like most don’t really
acknowledge her existence because she didn’t get to smile and laugh, run and play, grow and mature, or make a
tangible difference in anyone's life while she was here on earth, so maybe I
shouldn’t either.
I feel like I
probably shouldn’t talk much about her, I shouldn’t still be losing sleep over
her, I shouldn’t have this huge aching hole in my heart over losing her. I certainly
should be farther along in my grieving over her.
I'm not wanting anyone's pity. I’m not angry or upset at anyone, no one has actually said
anything to my face asking me not to share about her life, and yet, it’s this quiet
but very real, tangible feeling I get.
I often feel like a lot of people just don’t know what to do with it
all… how to respond to it all… So they don’t. And maybe that silence is what
causes me to feel like I have to remain silent as well.
I want to be able to let go of the guilt that is laced in my
tears as I walk through my life right now. I want to openly weep without having
to try keep it all together. I want to be openly angry and sad and question God
and my faith. I want to openly share her story ~ our Journey to Faith ~ without
fearing who will “unfriend” me on social media and who will roll their eyes and
walk away, sick of hearing about her.
Of course, this is all merely the story I’ve created in my
head, the tale I have woven within my hurting heart, because I don’t actually
“know” what others truly think, or even know, about our journey.
We lost her before we even got to have her, and while we
don’t grieve the stories, memories, and her physical presence of life on earth,
we grieve what she didn’t get to become. I grieve the hope and dream she represented and was taken from us. She was
robbed a lifetime of getting to grow and interact in the world around her, and
that makes me angry sometimes. The whole world is missing out on being a part
of her life and love. She was robbed of the little things like picking
dandelions in the lawn, to the bigger things like graduations, getting married,
and creating her own family. We were robbed of getting to raise her, love her, and
provide for her here on earth while watching her grow.
Our entire marriage my husband and I have wished, prayed,
hoped, and dreamed for the opportunity to create life and have a baby, and for
whatever reason God chose to not grant us that, until last year. The miracle of her life was far shorter than we wanted, and the magnitude of the
representation of that loss is unimaginable.
Yet how do you fight God’s wish to have her for His own in
Heaven?! And really, how selfish are we to wish her life on earth, filled with
its sickness, sadness, and hurts, when she got chosen right away to get to run
on the streets of gold in Heaven?! We know she is healthy and happy and part of
whatever plan God has in store though her, but it does not make it any easier
for us.
So today we celebrate the tiny life she had, we mourn the abundant life
on earth she didn’t get to experience with us, and blindly continue putting one
foot in front of the other, as life does not stop or even slow down for any of
us as we are left trying to figure it all out.
The clock keeps ticking, the days continue slipping by, and
I’m left with this little moment in time that rocked our world beyond anything
we imagined we’d be able to endure. But we did, and we are… And I'm going to step out
in both fear and trust as I begin to share her story and our journey.
It is my prayer that something good will come out of the something bad that happened in our lives.
It is my prayer that something good will come out of the something bad that happened in our lives.
May the life I live, may the life my entire family lives, be
an honor to both her and the ultimate plan God has through her life and our loss.
Click HERE to start our Journey To Faith story.
Thank you for sharing your heart here. I hear you! I'm feeling with you. I read a few of your back post today as well. Sara, Faith has impacted my life in such a way and I didnt even meet you until after she was born and you had her farewell. Reading through some of the things that were said to you by doctors, I just feel so much! I wish I could go back and give you the "Congratulations!" That you didn't get. So I say it here on her first birthday in Heaven, "Congratulations Sara and Brian on creating a beautiful life. Though her life on earth was short, she impacted many lives here for years to come." May the Lord's peace and comfort be with you as He knows what it's like to lose a child and then live in the truth that He would be with him again for eternity.
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