A few blog posts ago I said at some point I would write about my two babies who are in heaven. Well, today (March 31) I walked outside and saw this...
and I knew today was the day to write about my babies.
Both of my babies were lost early on in my pregnancies.
My first baby was flushed down the toilet.
And I hate that
.
I knew I was miscarrying....but I wasn't sure of what to expect. My doctor told me to expect something like a really heavy period. I think that was an accurate statement. It was pretty much a period on steroids. It hurt. I knew what contractions were because I had already had Brooke. So I knew the pain in my back wasn't my typical cycle pain...but it was nowhere near as painful as giving birth to a full term baby. There was a lot of blood clotting....big clots. And when the process was over, I realized that one of those "clots" was my baby..
that I had flushed down the toilet.
And I hate that.
A couple of years later, I got pregnant again. I knew this one was going to be great....because surely God wouldn't allow me to go through that pain and heartache again. First, too many years of infertility...and then a miscarriage. Yes, my time had finally come to give my little girl a sibling, and my husband the larger family he had always wanted.
But, as you know, that was not the case.
I was further along in my pregnancy this time. I had already had one ultrasound....of course I still have the picture. But, my doctor said he wanted me to come back in one week to have another ultrasound, just to make sure everything was fine, considering my history. Well, when I went back, I wasn't fine. In fact I was bleeding like crazy. I laid there, crying, with my sister by my side, as I pleaded with the doctor, "But I've heard sometimes women bleed in their pregnancies." The doctor just looked up at me with the pity face and said, "I'm sorry, but not this much."
And I hated that.
The bleeding had begun a few days earlier. I got out of bed in the morning, went to the bathroom, wiped myself clean and saw it. My heart sank into my stomach. I got off the toilet, washed myself off, and stomped back over to my bed. My precious husband said, "What's wrong?" I said, "I'm bleeding."
I was wearing a maternity nightgown.
It was really cute.
I felt really cute in it.
It had purple flowers on it.
And blood.
I was pissed.
Really pissed.
The word "pissed" doesn't even come close to describing the emotion I felt.
I was defeated and ready to give up.
It was at that moment,
the moment of my great despair,
that my husband sat down next to me on the bed. He took my hand, and looked at me...
with his Jesus face.
I had seen his Jesus face before.
It's the face he has when Jesus is using him to save me.
It's the most beautiful face I've ever seen.
So Matt sat there...with his Jesus face and said...."It's a great day to be alive."
Now at this point, my rational reader may be thinking, "What an odd statement to make." But there was nothing odd about it to me. "It's a great day to be alive," is a huge statement in our household. The significance of that statement being made is never lost on Matt or me. We get what it means...it means much more than what is on face value (thank you Scott Black).
For Matt and me, it's a life giving mantra....and on that day, that great day to be alive, we held each other and cried.
Because our baby was dead.
And because it was a great day to be alive.
It was a few days after that my baby actually came out of my body. I had contractions the whole night before and couldn't sleep at all. When I stood up the next afternoon, I felt something very large, and when I went to the bathroom, I realized I had been in "labor" all night, and this cocoon looking thing was in fact, my baby.
And there was
no way this baby was going down the toilet.
I opened up the little cocoon looking thing to search for anything that would actually resemble a baby...please remember I was early on in my pregnancy, but I just
had to see my baby. I didn't see anything...but I know it would have been too small for me to make out. I put my baby in a sandwich bag, and then I put my baby in a little white box. I put a beautiful blue bow on the box. I kept the box on my night stand for a long time.
My sister came over and asked me what the present was on my night stand.
I told her it was my baby.
She looked at me like I was a freak.
But I know I'm not the only freak who has put her baby on the night stand.
Because it's hard to let go of one's dreams.
I hate that.
But, I knew I had to say goodbye, so Matt and I bought the most beautiful tree I have ever seen. It is called a weeping cherry tree. Matt planted the tree, and we buried the baby, in the sandwich bag, in the little white box with the beautiful blue bow right next to the tree. We tied a bright purple bow around the trunk of the tree, and scattered flower petals from sympathy flowers we'd received, all around the base of the tree.
My baby looked so beautiful.
And I smiled.
I smiled again this morning, when I walked outside and saw their tree. Both of my babies were supposed to be born in March. They didn't make it.
But their tree begins to bloom every March.
And I love that.
