As I wake up, I see the colors. The yellow and orange of the sun rising for the day, breaking through effortlessly. The sky that once seemed hopeful now seems to apologize. I’m sorry, but I must keep rising. I haven’t forgotten, but I have a job to do.
Once a sign that brought excitement of a new day, the sunrise quickly brings ache. In a moment I’m in awe of the beauty and the next moment I’m replaying the Story. Her story.
I’ve said that mornings are the hardest, and this is why. The appalling sense of loss is fresh every day, so fresh it trumps even a miracle like a sunrise. The Fall, their Fall, cleared the way for this, forced a way for this, allowed this, though somehow I thought I would be rescued from it.
My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. — Lamentations 3:20
What should bring me hope, instead triggers an almost photographic memory of the events that took place last week…
The waiting room. Babies and bellies all around. Praying for healthy child. Praying.
Lights low, warm jelly, sudden silence.
Is everything ok?
Won’t talk to me.
“I’m sorry, but your baby has passed away.”
“We’ll take you out the back way.”
Clutch womb, cry out. My baby!
Phone calls, waiting, more exams. Yes, it’s really true.
Linger on sweet face on screen…just one more moment. One more. Please. Please.
Medication, forcing, waiting, praying, laboring. Cradling belly, imprinting each pain. Each contraction. I will remember.
Water breaks, birth, our Meeting. Sweet Mabel Love.
Holding, rocking, talking to her.
Crying, loving, waiting, saying goodbye. God, how can I say goodbye? This isn’t happening.
Worrying, blood, relief, it is over. Missing.
Wake up. Repeat.
I have so many more stories to share of Mabel, this story is only one. The worst one, the one that haunts and tears and beats me down with the trauma.
Her birth story, specifically, is beautiful. The details worthy of sharing when I am able.
Her pregnancy stories are still tucked away in my heart. I didn’t announce I was pregnant until almost the second trimester, I was too sick to blog much, thinking I had plenty of time to share how Mabel and I knew each other from conception. How I knew I was pregnant, how I suspected early on that I was farther along than we thought. How I knew she was a “she”. How we found out I was right about dates, I was a month farther along. How exciting it was that we’d get to have her even sooner. How I was too sick to stand or walk or leave the house, but that every night I felt Mabel wiggling around saying hello. Comforting my sick body and reminding me it was all for her. How she was my least active baby, and how I treasured her quiet softness and imagined her soothing presence on this wild house of boys.
Stories that I feel are almost too hard to share, too hard to keep, and too beautiful to forget.
When I feel alone, worrying I’m the only one remembering, I know God holds Mabel, and He hurts too.
He remembers, too.