5 Years ago…

5 years ago today, at 19 weeks, I delivered our baby boy who had passed away a couple weeks prior. One week after our experience, I wrote a blog post about what had happened. In my mind, it was easier for people to read it than for me to have to hash my way through the whole thing over and over. 

Today, I re-read the post and shed many tears re-living that day. I remember all of the feelings and ache, not knowing how I was going to make it another day, let alone where I’d be 5 years later. As this date approached, I spent a lot of time reflecting about the life I had hoped for and the reality of what my life looks like. 

My heart still aches for my little boy. Sometimes I day-dream about having a little 4.5 year old buddy to read books to, have playdates, go to the library, and make PB&J’s for. I imagine how much trouble Jonah and Nora would have gotten into ALL. THE. TIME! They would have been the best of friends. I imagine asking Emma to babysit her sister AND brother and all the giggles that would ensue. Images of walking back into the house to see them playing video games or a board game together or Nora and Jonah cuddled up together in her bed with a million stuffed animals and just as many books flood my mind. I’ve thought about how Phil and Jonah would have gone to at least one comic-con together by now, with plans for the future. When we’re with family and all the cousins are running around, sometimes I try to imagine how different it would be to have another little rambunctious boy running about. 

And sometimes, I tell myself to stop imagining because it’s too painful. Sometimes, I do anything I can to numb the ache my heart feels. Sometimes, I ask myself if any of this was real at all? No one else remembers like I do, so maybe it was just a dream. 

I remember wondering if I’d make it through to the next day. I remember the feeling of nothingness, because I had emoted so much in the days prior, I just couldn’t stand to feel anything else at all. I remember the days of wondering if all of this would get easier? In a lot of ways, it did get easier. School started, lunches needed packed, schedules had to be kept, laundry needed done…. Before we knew it, Jonah’s due date came, I made it through. Christmas came, I made it through. 2021 came… relief that we were no longer in 2020, but also great grief came that we were no longer in the year that our son was born. It hit me hard and the grief I had before seemed almost bigger and more real than it had when we lost him. My faith, or at least what I thought was part of my faith, was shaken. I asked SO many questions. My anger towards God grew in such a way… I felt ashamed. Phil and I’s marriage took a hit, and I was barely able to handle day to day tasks for myself and our children. Thankfully, I had the sense to start counseling. We started through a workbook on depression and self-esteem and worked on things unrelated to my loss, which in turn, helped me process through the loss better. I found myself feeling grateful more often, seeing the bright side of life more often.  

However, I was still struggling with my faith. Deconstruction was a buzz word going around and I found myself resonating with a lot of what was being said by all the people online. I don’t think I would have ever classified myself as someone deconstructing… but I definitely took a look at what my “faith” had been built upon and unfortunately, it was not solely God’s word, but a lot of man-made ideology that only brought guilt and shame. I’ve spent the last couple of years working through what is of God and what is not. I’m not where I’d like to be (Let’s be honest, I’ll never be a theologian.), but I know God more, I hear God more, and I long more than ever to know Him more and share about Him more. 

Last year at this time, I was going through yet another miscarriage. We had found out we were expecting in April and the process of miscarrying happened around Mother’s Day Weekend. It was brutal to say the least and was drawn out all summer long. We were whirlwind busy too, and so I didn’t have much time to stop and process or grieve what was happening. But I think I can say, part of that was because of experience, and part of that was because I was stronger than I had been. In experiencing loss, you can be made stronger and wiser in the process. 5 years ago, when we were driving from the hospital to the doctor’s office, I prayed and told Phil that whatever may come, I didn’t want to become bitter or depressed. I didn’t want this to be something that dictated my life forever and kept me from living fully. If I’m totally honest, I have been bitter and depressed A LOT the last 5 years. I’m striving desperately however, to not let that be the narrative I live by.

This brick was gifted to us through the SHARE program at Anderson Hospital. We were able to see it at the memorial of the Angel of Hope today.