Joy & Grief

I was reading over my last two posts and realizing I don't sound very joyful. Don't get me wrong, I am. I am SO excited for this baby. But I am also apprehensive. There are days that are so hard to not just live in fear. Because once you've lost your babies, it's hard to believe that this one is for real. And now we're depressing again...sorry. I think the best way to describe it is that once the "untouchable" things in your life have been touched, and destroyed for lack of a better word, that suddenly your life seems so fragile. I'm searching for the right description here. Maybe this story can help it make a little more sense.

Sometimes a date can sneak up on you. I was getting ready for church a few weeks ago when the fact that it was November 6th hit me like a ton of bricks. I really didn't think it would bother me. But it did. It has been a year since our second baby was given over. Way too early. We already knew the baby had died, but somehow, this day was what was significant. So I cried. I was shocked that the date hit me so hard. Here I was like 12 weeks pregnant and rejoicing in our latest baby's life, and yet sobbing uncontrollably for a baby lost a year ago. Because this Babe growing strong in my womb DOES NOT replace our other 3 children. Some people who have lost babies and then gotten pregnant again fairly quickly have said that they can't mourn their miscarriage because without it they wouldn't have the child they have. I get that, but can't I wish for both? And since it's been more than a year since our first given over baby, that doesn't apply. I physically ache at times for that baby. I want to know them, to know their personality and to kiss their tiny heads and to snuggle them close. I MISS THEM. I never knew them, but I miss them. No matter the good news, that God is sovereign, that my babies know no more pain, that they are in the presence of the Savior, I MISS THEM. Do I wish for them to be here with me? Yes and no. Yes for my sake, no for theirs. But no matter what, I miss them. And that's okay. I no longer have intense anger, but I'm still sad at times. Like that day. When it just hit me. So I cried, not just for who I had lost, but for the pain that had been experienced, both physically and emotionally. And this song I'll post, suddenly made more sense to me than it ever has, even right after we lost the babies.



The lyrics that get to me are these:
"This hand is bitterness. We want to taste it and let the hatred numb our sorrows. The wise hand opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.
If hope is born of suffering, if this is only the beginning, can we not wait, for what our, watching for our Savior?
This is what it means to be held, how it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life, and you survive. This is what it is to be loved, and to know that the promise was, when everything fell, we'd be held."

I never understood the intense questioning that goes on in this song before. I never understood the intense feelings of anger, bitterness, and acceptance all at once. The "okayness" of questioning God but still asking to be held. And now I do.
You survive, but there are days when you feel and know life will never be the same. Because the sacred HAS been torn from your life. So I don't feel guilty for being apprehensive about this baby. I SO rejoice in it's life and can't wait to meet Baby. But there's always that nagging "what if I don't get to" feeling in the back of my heart. What if I don't get to meet this baby on this earth? So not shouting it from the rooftops helps soften the fear and potential hurt. But I love this Baby. Oh so much. The days between Dr.'s appts can't go fast enough. I can't wait to see Baby's little hands and fingers and wiggles and yawns again. I want to KNOW this Baby.

So the joy is there, and coming more everyday. The intense celebration? I may save that for the delivery date.