I’m supposed to be writing another post altogether. The weekly Breastfeeding Blog Hop post. Instead, my heart and mind are fixed on the dark irony of today.
Three years ago today, two days after I had found out that I had miscarried, I started having heavy cramps. And they just got worse. With no clue what was going on, my husband drove me to the emergency room. They put us in a room, explained that I was “birthing” the remnants of the pregnancy, and left us alone until I had finished.
It’s been a long three years, including another miscarriage and, thankfully, two healthy pregnancies. So far. I’ve grown up a lot. I’ve had some very dark days, especially following the second miscarriage. I’ve seen other women go through their own baby loss, from a mother who had a perfect pregnancy only to find that her son had died to a young woman who has hoped and prayed for a baby and then had a miscarriage herself.
Now, three years later, Diana from Hormonal Imbalances, has lost her twin boys much too early.
So much loss. So many hearts that should never have had to bear this burden of having their children taken from them.
But.
Three years later, I can say this. It doesn’t hurt as much. The pain, while it’s still there, doesn’t linger for as long. There is joy after sorrow. I never would have believed it, especially on the darkest days. But because I have known deep sorrow, I can know deep joy.
I’ll never forget the day when healing truly began for me. I was driving to the school where I was doing my teacher internship, and the clouds formed a blanket just above me. The day before had been very rough, and I was sure that it was going to be another hard day. Then I saw it in the clouds, a baby covered with angel wings. And I knew that God had not forgotten me, that He knew my tears and saw my hurts. That He loved me enough to show me, in my mind, my baby. With tears in my eyes, I thanked Him for loving me, and I looked at the baby until the trees covered it.
I kept my eyes glued to the spot in case I could see it again when I had passed the trees. But I didn’t see it again. Instead, I saw a baby covered in hands. Held. The tears flowed again as I drove in awe. In awe of what I had seen. In awe of God’s great love for me at that moment. In awe that He loved me enough to show me my babies. And not just to show them to me but to show me how much He loved them, too.
On days like today, that’s what I come back to. There is a long road ahead of Diana and her family, I know. There will never, ever be a day that the loss of her boys doesn’t affect her in one way or another. Mothers who have lost their babies know this. But my heartfelt prayer is that in the midst of this, they will find peace. That they will know rest. And that while they may doubt God’s love, that they will be covered in it. Most of all, I pray that God will remind them of His love in the ways He sees fit.
