A Year Ago Yesterday

It has been one year since my last blog post, which is so strange considering it feels like it was only a few months ago since I stopped. My last post was about my miscarriage, and as it turns out, this first one back is also about that. For awhile, I wasn't sure that I would blog again at all, not that it would be that heartbreaking for you all, but it was a difficult task at the time, considering the reason for my absence. I stopped blogging because of the miscarriage. It was too hard to blog when all I really felt was anger, guilt, and a lot of confusion. And even when those subsided, I found myself thinking that whatever I had to say on any given topic that had been circling my mind for a few weeks was not worth anyone's time or energy to read. And, while that may actually be the case, I do find peace in the fact that this medium not only brings me joy, but it makes me feel stronger, like I have something worth sharing and that others might even be influenced by what I say. In the end, it's not so much that I need to be heard or understood or accepted, but that, if someone else can feel that way by what I write, I know that I have done some good. And I would like to keep doing that. 

A year ago yesterday, we found out that we had lost our baby girl. It hurt then, and it hurts now. Last night, I cried as hard as I did the days following the news and I found myself coming face to face with the same thoughts that I had then. "Why her? Why me?," "I never even got to see her.," and " Why is she not here with us?," were a never-ending chorus in my head as Josh stroked my hair and was strong when I could not be. Sometimes I look at other babies and I see her. I hear her laugh, I see her hair, and I see the sparkle in her eyes and I think, "Is that what she's like?" And while I'm saddened that I won't know that answer now, I can rest in the hope that those little things that I think about her: that she is quiet, that she is gentle, that she is confident; I can trust that those are all true, even though I never got to meet her. 

The thing about miscarriage is, the only thing you have to hold onto is this strange feeling; a feeling that is so unshakeable and unrelenting, that you simply know it must be true. I can't explain how I know that my baby is a girl named Sophia, or that I know that her hair is a sandy brown color, or that her temperament is almost identical to her father's, save for her few individual quirks. I don't know how I know that she would have made us better people, or that she would have been the most patient big sister, or that she would have taught us all lessons that would have changed us completely. And maybe I don't know these things. Maybe they all are just projections from a poor, broken woman who lost her child. But, whatever they are, I know that I lost a dear, dear thing a year ago yesterday. I know that I have hurt in a way that I have never hurt before and I know that I have loved in a way that I have never loved before. And I know that the person I am today is a result of not only the news I got on March 9, 2013, but also because of the news I got 12 weeks before that. I was changed because of a little life that never came to be. I was changed by the power of love. I was changed by the blessing of hope. I was changed by the blessing of hope. I was changed by the blessing of hope. I was changed by the blessing of an awe-inspiring, undeserving, yet overwhelming hope. Not a blind optimism, not a wishful thought, not an action-less prayer, but hope. A hope in the resurrection of a merciful and loving Lord. A hope in the power and grace of a God who cares. A hope that my beautiful girl is a saint. That she is in Heaven, face to face with Our Lord, being held in the mantle of our beautiful Mother Mary, and that she is interceding always for Josh and me. A hope that I will one day be reunited with her, all the saints and angels, and that I too will look upon the glorious face of my Creator and that I will be home. 

So, while right now I am still healing from a wound that is deep, I know that my consolation is not here, but it is in Heaven, with my sweet saint and my merciful Lord.