2 years ago

I know it’s been awhile since I blogged.  Not much to say.  Everything has been going along fine.  We’re back in school so it’s been crazy busy and to be honest I spent the last month of summer just soaking the time up with my WeeMan.  He’s growing like a weed – we had a frantic end of summer rush to find jeans in the next size because over the summer his 4’s turned into flood pants – and we were having trouble buttoning them.  Unexpected!  He won’t be 5 until December.  

What brought me back tonight?  Just reflecting.  Two years ago today was gut wrenching, heart breaking as we suffered through the end of a dream. On August 11, 2011 we learned our last round of IVF worked and our first round of beta levels were excellent.  On August 18, 2011 I began to bleed and have horrible cramps.  On August 25, 2011 we gave up hope of a miracle and admitted to ourselves what we should have known on the evening of the 18th – we had lost our baby, Zion Amie, before ever getting to say hello.  We fought the good fight.  We endured ultrasounds, blood tests, and all kind of tests to make sure he/she was really gone before I would take the meds to end what had already begun.  My heart shattered into a billion pieces as I knew that I would never hold that sweet miracle in my arms on earth.  For awhile – the darkness was so deep I didn’t know how we would ever find our way out and it’s hard to explain to a world that thinks our baby never really existed how something so tiny and gossamer can matter so much.  During that first year there were dark days every month – times when I cried for no reason and every reason. Times when I shouted and shook my fist and lost hope in a God that could show me a dream only to jerk it out from under us before we ever realized it.   Times when WeeMan was the reason why we got out of bed and kept it together.  People said it would get better with time.  When you’re in that deep dark place it’s hard to believe that they could have any idea what they’re talking about, and I apologize to them all for not believing, for thinking angry mean thoughts when they shared their words.  

After all is said and done, they were right it does get easier with time.  Last year the darkness didn’t come as often – it was still there.  But it was lighter and it was easier to fight through.  We’re marking the second anniversary of our loss of Zion and while my heart still aches for a baby I will never hold here on this earth, my anger has lightened, my bitterness has eased.  I will always miss my second miracle baby that I never got to know, but I know now that we can move forward through the ache and the loss – that someday I will meet my second child in Heaven.  I know that God’s plan isn’t always my plan and even though I can’t see the end result right now, I can move forward and trust that He holds us all in His hands.



A Punch to the Heart


Sometimes life can be going along fine – nice and quiet – enjoyable and content even.  Then the words of a 4 year old can punch you right in the gut – make you stop and catch your breath.  Words that can make you smile and nod and make the appropriate mommy sounds, kiss him and squeeze him good night – tell him you love him to the moon and back and to the sun and forever and ever – then walk out of his room and sigh and whimper just a bit.  

Tonight at bedtime Davy and I were having our usual bedtime discussion as I got him ready.  He was filling me in on all the important things I needed to know today.  Tonight’s conversation began with the certainty that he wanted to be a policeman when he grew up.  As I listened to him jabber about his future job I was struck unprepared when he told me he wanted to have a “bwother to be a policeman with him.  They would police guys together and then maybe there would be another bwother – a baby bwother to be a policeman too.” 

Oh sweet little man – mama would give the world to give you your wish – if only it were that easy.  Just when you think you’re growing content with your circumstances – that you are okay with the place you have landed – the carpet can be yanked tugged out from under your steady feet and you find yourself crying for what might have been, what you wish was.  And in that moment you realize you still want more – you still ache for the dream that was.  I’ll go to sleep tonight with a prayer that I have prayed too often – a wish, a plea, a cry on my lips.  If only – and it’s so hard in this place to pray “Father your will and not my own”  when really I want His will to be the same thing I want.