My midwife, the most wonderful midwife in the whole world, gave us this Precious Moment figurine in Grace's memory. Grace's name and birthdate are written on the bottom. (She gave us a matching one with Hannah's name and birthdate on the bottom, too.)
I miss you everyday, but I'm especially missing you today on your 2nd birthday, dear daughter.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: ... a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Ecclesiates 3:1 & 4
The leaves are turning. The nights are cool, perfect sleeping-weather. But I'm not ready for summer to be over yet.
My feelings aren't really about wanting warmer weather to stay. Both Grace and Hannah were born in the fall. It seems my mind is subconsiously trying to deny fall's imminence because the last two autumns have held such sadness. I know the season had nothing to do with the girls' deaths, but they are linked in my mind. I think my subconscious denial of fall is my brain's way of trying to shield me from pain, even if it doesn't make logical sense.
Grace and Hannah have been in my thoughts even more than usual the past couple of weeks. My emotions in regard to them are nearer to the surface again. I know it's because their birthdays are approaching. In a way, I just want to get past the dates so that I don't have to keep thinking that their birthdays are coming up.
I love my baby girls. I want to remember them, and I know I will never forget them, but I don't want to feel the sorrow and pain so acutely.
There's no special reason that we did it today. Originally we had to wait til the weather warmed up in order to dig up the ground. Then it seemed we'd only remember to do it at times that didn't work. Both of our baby girls' remains are now laid to rest in the same place.
But your dead will live; their bodies will rise. You who dwell in the dust, wake up and shout for joy. Isaiah 26:19
Today is Hannah's due date. It's a day I'd looked forward to with such anticipation. All of our children have been born before their due dates, so, had things turned out differently, Hannah probably wouldn't have been born today either, but a due date is a due date ... a day on the calendar to look forward to with anxiety and excitement.
But today it's raining outside, in my heart, and down my cheeks.
I miss you so much, Hannah.
Isn't it providential when your heart is weighted down and you read something that speaks to it and brings you comfort? The devotion I read yesterday from The One Year Book of Hope did just that.
The devotion talked about how people try to make sense out of their suffering, but that isn't really what matters. The author quotes a friend when she says on p. 126, "I think it just comes down to this ... God is with us, and that is enough." The author also admits that "there have been times the promise of 'God with me' hasn't felt like enough for me. It has seemed like the cop-out answer when he wasn't doing something for me. I have wanted what he has to offer more than I have wanted him." (Second emphasis mine.) Indeed! Yet, his presence is enough, and no matter where we are, he is there! The words of Psalm 139:7-10 reiterate this truth.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
He is here with me. It is enough.
I know a number of people who are due and having babies this month and in the near future. I rejoice with these friends, yet, at the same time, this happy news hits me especially hard. Is it because Hannah's due date is so close? I keep thinking that, had things turned out differently, Hannah could have been born by this Easter.
Will I always cry when I learn of another's pregnancy? Will the tears always fall when a friend or relative is blessed with a new child? Will I always feel this painful searing when I see a friend's child who was born when my girls were due and think of how old Grace or Hannah would have been and what they might have been doing?
Will I always feel sick to my stomach when I hear of aborted babies the same gestational age as my daughters, able to picture the size and physical maturity of these little souls? I've always been horrified by abortion and known it was wrong, but now I see the faces of my baby girls when I hear of it.
Will my heart always be ripped apart when I hear news stories of abandoned, unwanted babies?
How long will it be until I can drive past the hospital where Grace and Hannah were born and not have a physical reaction to being near it? Unbidden tears, fast beating heart, difficulty breathing ...
How long, oh, Lord? Please grant me peace.
