Today was my due date for our second baby (who we named Sam, because we - I - needed the baby to have a name), who we lost to miscarriage on Valentine's Day. In some ways, I feel like I have already done my grieving for this day.
When we found out I was pregnant in January, we found out that friends of ours were also expecting. Her due date was 3 days after mine. Her oldest is 3 weeks younger than Charlotte. We were kind of excited to have someone to chat with about having 2 under 2, and going through it together [even though we were moving in March]. My miscarriage obviously changed things. Once we moved to Georgia, I had kind of a tough time seeing all her bump pictures and pregnancy-related posts on FB. It was gut-wrenching. Eventually I hid her on FB, but forgot that I still followed her on Instagram. 2 weeks ago, she posted that she was in labor.
That day was a very hard day for me. Very. Maybe it will be worse than today, and maybe not. I don't know yet. I do know that I was in tears for most of the day. It's so heartbreaking to know that I would be going through labor (or maybe even have a newborn) right now if I hadn't miscarried. The nursery would be set up, bags would be packed, visitors/helpers would be planned. It just....hurts.
But at the same time, if I hadn't lost Sam I wouldn't have Millie. And I can't wish her away, no matter how much the pain of losing one baby causes me. I am so, so thankful to have her kicking away in my belly as I type this. I'm thankful that she's healthy, and I'm so looking forward to meeting and holding her. Her presence, however, doesn't diminish the pain of loss. It doesn't replace the baby I loved and lost.
I truly don't have the words to explain how I feel about this - about today. I wish I did. Or I wish someone else did, so that I could say, "Yes! THIS is how I feel!" These feelings are so...complex and intermingled that I'm not sure how anyone could ever explain it perfectly.
Today, I remember. I grieve. I hurt. I cherish the babies I have here with me right now. I remind myself that my baby - the baby I lost - is happy and healthy in heaven with Jesus, and a Father who loves him/her far more than I ever could. Our pastor shared a story this weekend about a 10 year old girl who told her mother what heaven looked like as she was dying [from cancer]. She told her mother that it was beautiful, that she saw Jesus and so many children who were playing on swings. She told her mother that she wanted to go and play... So today, I'm going to picture my baby playing on those swings in the presence of Jesus.
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