One year later.

I wrote this a while ago, not really for anyone but myself. It was really difficult to write, and there is no way I could put all of my emotions and thoughts into words. I didn't intend on posting it, but I feel like this is a summary of my testimony and what I have learned in the last year so I am going to post it.  Not so that you will pity me, but so that you can see that Christ can heal any wounds and that even in the midst of our pain He is always loving and always faithful.  It should be our desire to be more conformed to His image, and even in this tragedy He understands.  I'm not perfect, but He is and He is still teaching me through this experience.  I am thankful for His hand in my life.



As I sit here to write this, I am not sure that I want to.  This time last year Kyle and I endured one of the hardest things we have ever had to face.  It was something that I knew happened, but never expected to happen to me, especially not with my first child.  I had no idea that anything was wrong until we went to the doctor and didn't see a heartbeat 2 weeks in a row.  Such a tiny miracle, so often taken for granted, didn't happen for my baby.  It was so surreal and yet the biggest dose of reality I have ever faced.  And all within a week, it was over.  The operation was done and we were no longer going to be parents.  I am still so thankful for my husband and how strong he was for me during that time.  I know he was just as heart broken as I was and yet he was somehow able to give me strength and support me.  I think we were both leaning on each other, but it felt like he was carrying me along.

I felt like I had failed.  My body failed.  It was supposed to be a safe place for my child to grow and it wasn't.  My baby died.  It was, and is, a heart breaking thought.  It is a pain that I wish no one had to endure.  It stung having to go back to the doctor's office for my post-op and seeing all of the happy moms to be, or when people would so casually talk about being pregnant like it was no big deal.  Not that I in any way want to diminish the joy and happiness they very rightfully felt, but my wounds were still very raw and, at times, it just felt like people were pouring salt in them, even with the most innocent of comments.  I did question why.  Why it seemed so easy for some people, why seemingly everyone around me was able to carry their babies and they were perfectly healthy, and so on (I realize this is not the case and everyone shares their own hurts and problems, but that is what it felt like at the time). 

I still don't fully understand why things happened the way they did.  But this is what I do know:  that God had a plan, and still does, that I cannot even fathom.  His plans are perfect because He is perfect.  He knew that child because He was forming it and he loved that baby more than I ever could.  In His providence, He chose to take that child to heaven and spare it from whatever pain and suffering awaited it here on earth.  For that, I am thankful.  In that, in Christ, I trust that my baby is whole and perfectly complete.  He or she is with Him in glory and one day I will meet them both.  That is a comforting thought.  I am not saying that all of my hurt and sadness is gone because it isn't.  Sometimes I still wonder as I pass by the room that will still someday be a nursery what it would've looked like today had things been different.  What my child would've been like.  I don't know that my hurt will ever be entirely gone this side of heaven, but I choose to trust in the Most High God and His plans for me and our family.