Thoughts at 4 months

Here we are again, acknowledging the passing of another month. It’s been four now. Sometimes I allow myself to think about what it would be like to be celebrating four months of life, as opposed to only remembering that it was four months ago he was here. It’s a big difference. He’d have grown so much by now, I’m sure. Now that autumn is truly here, we’d make sure to bundle him up warm and cozy…probably acting as over-zealous first time parents who are sure the baby will freeze in this mid-fifties weather. Maybe we would’ve moved him from our room into his room. I’d probably be missing him at nights, wishing he were closer. Kind of like how I miss him now, perpetually wishing him to be somewhere nearby. And of course, I’d be worrying and researching about taking him on his first airplane ride as we’re heading to see family over Thanksgiving and then again at Christmas. Instead my life is very different, quite void of all of that.

I’ve found I can’t let my mind stay in that place where “what if’s” contrast so starkly with reality. It’s not good for my mind or my soul. But Tim and I both think about it from time to time and it makes me wonder what it would be like to experience all of that. For now I watch those life-altering transitions occur in other family’s homes and hope for the day when it will happen in mine. This is a House of Hope, after all. Our minds may get stuck in the wondering why this is our reality and not that, but that does not mean we are not without hope. Our tender hearts are learning to trust that our big, good God knows what He is doing. I can rest in that, even when my heart becomes anxious wondering what our future will look like.

There are still some who are brave enough or kind enough to ask us how we’re doing. I know not everyone is sure how to handle that. I think some are afraid they will open up a wound by asking, but the truth is the “wound” is still open and never far from our minds. We’re not being reminded of its existence when someone asks, but more being reminded that others remember Ellis too. Tears may still come when someone asks, “How are you,” but that doesn’t mean we don’t welcome the question.  And still, four months later, we don’t always know what to say. So, we often stumble over our words and come across as confused. I guess that’s because we are. Grief is quite confusing.

Let me explain.

We ache. My heart still physically hurts most of the time. Even in those moments when laughter fills the air and there's fun to be had, it's still there.  

We have hope. We pray for restored joy and believe that God will grant us that. It makes it possible to get up and do it all again each day.

We’re scared. What will the next year of our lives look like? We’re now very aware that you can plan out your life all you want, but no moment in the future is certain. It can be hard to face an unknown future without fear.

And yet, we’re thankful. God has been so incredibly good, even in this. There is honestly so much to be thankful for that I don’t know where to begin. So, you’ll just have to trust me that we are truly blessed people.  

The emotions are conflicting and it’s hard to convey all that we think, feel, and experience. As much as I can write and talk about all of this, I feel as though I can’t adequately describe the journey. We appreciate that we’re still able to tell our family’s story. For now, we continue to heal, grow, and change through all of this.

With love,

Rebecca

October 15th

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  It’s a day set aside to pause and remember each of those little lives that have made such a big impact. It’s not just Ellis. Every day others’ stories are being written. In many ways, October 15^th is just another day for us, but now because of the turning point in our own story, today is an opportunity to stop and reflect…to remember. Perhaps, for someone else, October 15^th means something, just like we have many dates that carry deep meaning for us.

December 16^th: we found out a baby was on the way. Worry, fear, and elation filled our souls.

January 5^th: we caught our first glimpse of that precious baby. Joy and anticipation beat within our hearts.

April 6^th: we saw him again, but also heard those awful words, “incompatible with life.”Again, fear, worry, and now sorrow coursed through our veins.

June 27^th: he came and he went, we held him in our arms. Overflowing love, indescribable ache, forever changed.

August 17^th: his due date. He was already gone, but that date represented something poignant, something that might have been. Empty arms and lingering pain, but paired with hope and, again, anticipation of joy to come.

So, although today, October 15^th, is just another day for us, it now carries meaning because of all those other dates that tell our story. Today is a reminder that all those lost babies were precious lives, particularly for those that carried them, whether in their womb, in their arms, or in their hearts. The parents of these babies remember them every day. Other family members and close friends may as well. Today we ask that others do too. It might not be your story, but it is ours. So, please…remember with us today.

"Thank you" doesn't feel like enough

Today my heart is full. I’m missing my baby, just like every day…the wounds still raw and open. But, my heart has been filled with the kindness of a group who shaped part of who I am today.  I’m floored by it -- the generosity and thoughtfulness of those who have blessed my life in countless ways in recent years, but particularly this year.

The school community in which I spent the past three years wants to create a memorial for Ellis. Parents and teachers have joined together to make this possible and every time I let the thought sink in, tears come again. It’s so simple, really. They want to plant a tree. And yet, the idea of that tree perpetually growing, casting beauty, and reflecting the glory of its Creator, all in memory of Ellis, warms my soul. The idea is to plant it somewhere on the property of our church…a place that with the change of jobs this year, I now go every day. A place that is just down the road from our house. We run, ride bikes, and drive by this place so often.

Thank you, Westgate. You surrounded me during the hard days of waiting, supported me after he was gone, and now remember him in the days that linger. It means more than you know.

With love,
Rebecca