As I sat in church today the first reading hit me so hard. It was the same reading from the day I had my second miscarriage. I had not remembered until that moment that this was the third anniversary. I sat there fighting back the tears, feeling my baby girl bounce in my belly.
Three years ago, during this same first reading, I stood up and ran out of the church. I walked to a high school a paced the parking lot until mass was over and my family came out. Cramps and bleeding had started that morning and I knew what was happening. I was on a mini vacation in Dallas with family, and nearing the end of my first trimester. Brad and I hadn't told anyone except my parents at this point. From church we headed to Cowboy stadium to watch the Giants/Cowboy game. At the start of the game I lost the baby in the bathroom. I still remember what it looked like. This tiny little baby, short little arms and legs, large head, no bigger than a raspberry. I didn't know what to do so I texted my husband from the bathroom and we went to the hospital with my dad until the miscarriage completed. One thing that I struggle with to this point is that I left my baby in that bathroom. I wish I hadn't, but I did.
The hospital was a particularly painful portion of the experience. The ultrasound without a heart beat. My exam where the doctor pulled out and showed me the detached placenta. Then the medicine I was given continued to push tissue fragments out for a full week after I returned home.
It took me a month to return back to church. I was to angry. My best friend had come to visit me, and she and I went together. While kneeling and praying I was able to begin surrendering my grief and welcome God into the situation. I felt his voice in that moment. This loss was being transformed into a way for me to abandon control and give myself over; To acknowledge that I do not have all the answers. I began to understand that God had not done this to me. God did not choreograph this. It was nature that had done it. Life happened. God was telling me he was with me and that my Great Grandmother had my baby in heaven. I also felt God tell me that I was pregnant. Two weeks later I learned that I was indeed 4 weeks pregnant with my sweet Max. I could not imagine my days without his T-Rex eating my feet, him rubbing my belly and saying "Baby in Belly," his laugh. But I will admit that carrying a child, conceiving a child, two weeks following a loss was immensely painful. I felt such a struggle of guilt by celebrating my new pregnancy. I felt like I was betraying my miscarried angel. I am still working through this and inviting God to be with me through this struggle.
My husband had bought me an Opal to remember this child's birth/departure. I wear the ring daily and it has provided me with a wonderful reminder, not only of my lost babies, but my surviving blessings as well.
October is a month of remembrance for family's that have lost a child. This photo is nothing fancy, but after picking out our Jack-o-lantern pumpkins I asked my husband to take it with me. We are in workout clothes and standing next to our AC unit, but it will be our way to celebrate our little girl and to remember the two we lost.