Our Sweet Baby

Wednesday, September 5, 2018 at 3:04 a.m. I sit - alone.
The earth weeps and so do I.
Oh, how my heart aches!

August 3, 2016 we cradled your sister, Miriam, in dirt.
August 3, 2018 we found out we were having you!

For 734 days we prayed for you. No. Begged God for you!
He gave us what we ask..but we were not ready to give you back so soon.

Your delivery was agonizing and exhausting. Still, I'm grateful to have felt every contraction. Those were the last hours I had with you...the special thing only you and I could share. And in some odd way the physical pain helps my heart make sense of it's pain. When my water broke, I knew losing you was inevitable. I hoped and prayed to deliver you at home but after 8 hours the rapid blood loss sent me into shock. Your dad managed to get me in the car and race to the ER were we spent part of the night.

The one place I didn't want to be.

Yet, every person we encountered was so kind and compassionate. Every. Single. One. Even the young doctor whose math skills were put to the test trying to figure out how many babies and pregnancies we've had. The look on his face when we said we have seven living children. "Seven?!" Yes, seven amazing, beautiful, adored, blessings.

I was where I didn't want to be - but God was with me the whole time. That seems to be a pattern in my life.

After a few hours I was released to go home. The ultrasound showed no baby, just uterine debris. I had delivered enough that it was not a concern for any further hemorrhaging.

Uterine debris?
I never saw my baby...
And my womb didn't howl with the knowing - that horrific knowing that someone precious had been ripped away.

We went home.
For the next 22 hours the contractions continued. Soon they were coming every 3 minutes and were intensifying. You were still there! You hadn't been flushed away by accident or carelessly disposed of. We had a chance to give you the dignity you deserve.

You finally came on Wednesday, September 5, 2018 at 2:27 a.m.
I held you in my hand, trying to engrave every detail of your frame into my memory.
You're smaller than your sister had been... not as fully developed... about the size of a kidney bean. Uterine debris? No! Our son...our baby...a precious eternal soul. We name you Peter Isaiah.

Peter - Rock
Isaiah -YAHWEH is salvation

Now - now my womb screams for what has been stolen and my heart feels crushed but my mind... is still in denial.

When the blood first came I knew the possible road ahead. I stared at my journal... pages staring back at me. It was supposed to be filled with wonderful memories of your life but now I'm pouring out prayers asking God for strength. Begging for help to get out of bed when the dark days come and my heart wants to give up in despair. I can't do this again without Him. I pray scripture and promises back. I know the sorrow and I don't want to walk through it again.

But

I would never wish you had not been. For ten weeks and four days I had the privilege of carrying you. I'm honored to be your mom. From the moment I knew you were there I woke every morning grateful for the gift you are. Every morning praying for your health, that you would have a kind heart, that you would know how completely loved you are. I prayed that you would have a beautiful spirit and that you would be an honest, strong, and courageous man who served Jesus every day of your life. I prayed that I would hear your cry and my arms would be filled with all that you are.

But God's plan for you didn't line up with mine.
I don't get to keep you.
I never heard you.
You...died.
And I don't know why.

You will always be  loved beyond what I can speak. Wanted before you were ever conceived. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, now resting in the arms of Jesus.
Soon, we will cradle you next to Miriam under that changing maple and the battle of remembering that I live in the land of the living instead of clinging to you will begin. One day though, I will see you again.