I wish I could forget.
I wish the memories were faded and dull.
But just as I remember in detail the birth process of each of my living children; I remember each heartbreaking moment of the process of losing our son.
I remember the t-shirt I wore the day before that read "Let the SON shine in."
I wore it proudly to a meeting at work where my boss & co-workers gawked & teased at my perfectly round belly beginning to poke out.
I remember the sound of the tv in the living room that evening as I put noodles on the stove and begin seasoning meat & sauce for spaghetti.
I remember the odd sensation that ran over my stomach; leaving me breathless for a moment.
Grabbing the counter; a fleeting thought crossed my mind....
"What if something is wrong with the baby?"
I quickly busied myself with dinner again. I was 13.5 weeks & had already began to feel those precious "butterflies" in my tummy that only a growing baby can make you feel.
I remember the sound of the day passing as I laid down early for bed.
I slept with my hands covering my small belly.
"Jesus, please"....I whispered over & over.
I remember the cramping that woke me in the morning.
The red blood that stained a perfect, small circle in my pajamas.
I remember the text I sent to my closest friends....
"Woke up spotting. On our way to the doctor. Please pray for our baby. "
I remember the classical music playing on the radio.
I remember his hand grabbing mine..."The baby is fine sweetie. It's going to be alright.
And I wanted to believe him.
I remember the ultrasound.
The cold gel splattered without pattern on my belly.
I remember the silence.
I remember the waiting room....filled with happy mothers to be.
A little girl played with my son in the corner of the room.
Her mother smiled at me. She rubbed her belly. I rubbed mine.
I remember when my name was called.
I remember the words that came out of my Dr's mouth.
"We couldn't find a heart beat."
I remember almost laughing at the audacity of this statement.
We had just marveled at the strong heartbeat just a week & a 1/2 before.
I remember weeping in a way I'd never wept before.
The sound was haunting; scaring even me.
I remember the disbelief in my husband's eyes & the way he gripped me in his arms as if to keep from falling.
I remember the formality of the remaining moments.
Paperwork. Scheduled surgery. Instructions.
It was all so matter of fact.
I remember trying to grasp the vast thought of carrying a deceased baby in my womb for 3 more days until surgery.
I remember the way I crawled into bed once we got home.
I remember the way the sun was shining through my bedroom blinds....and the sound of chirping spring birds outside my window.
I remember when the spotting turned to bleeding.
I remember when the uneasiness turned to cramping.
I remember when the labor interrupted the grief....
and suddenly I realized that I was about to deliver this baby.
I remember the pain....the same pain that had once brought me a blue eyed, healthy baby boy.
I remember the pain that put me on all fours in my very own bed.
I remember the pain that pushed me to the floor, and jolted me to my feet.
I felt my baby let go....
And as I ran into the bathroom....
I felt my baby leave me...and fall into my hands.
There are no words to suffice the sight of a forming baby...laying lifeless in your hands.
I remember the grief that washed over me.
I remember the tears, the hurt, the disbelief, the anger, the awe, and the inconceivable notion that in the middle of my deepest pain....I was nearest to God.
I felt him in my anxiety.
I felt him in the loss of my peace.
I felt him in the strain to recover.
I felt him in the night.
I felt him in the nightmares.
I felt him in the sadness.
I felt him in the hope.
He was nearest....when my heart was broken.
I felt Him in my dream when I saw our son running in a meadow of green....
His curls bouncing wildly....
Our son turned to look at me.
And I saw Jesus in His deep, almond eyes.
I saw Jesus in His bronze colored skin.
I heard Jesus in his voice...."Bye, Mommy".
I felt Him....
He was all I wanted
He was all I needed.
He was all.
4 years ago I lost my son Christian.
And 4 years ago I was acquainted with grief.
4 years ago I knew Jesus in a way I'd never known before.
Today I grieve because I lost.
Today I hope because He's near.