Writing about the babies we lost helps me to deal with the continued grief that is always there. There are things, like the passing of time, lessons learned, and the births of my daughters, that have helped to ease the burden of those losses, but nothing can ever take the pain or the memories away. And I've come to terms with that. Remembering them is important to me, and the process of giving each of them names has been part of my healing process as well.
Revisiting those experiences, one by one, felt like something I needed to do. Recurrent pregnancy loss has been a huge part of my life. I've been married to my husband for 15 years, more than half of which were nearly consumed by miscarriage and infertility. There was a lot of pain there, but we've come a long way. For that, I am thankful. And I'm constantly amazed and grateful that, by the grace of God, our story didn't end there.
After we lost little Aaron Joseph, our sixth baby, we experienced a new form of anguish: unexplained infertility. The weeks and months and, eventually, three years went by with no changes. After six pregnancies in six years, it seemed there might be no more chances. While we had some renewed hope and a new doctor, we still didn't know exactly why the first six pregnancies had ended too early. I wanted another chance. I hoped and prayed for another chance. But I was also terrified. Those three quiet years gave me some perspective. The fog had cleared a little bit and enough time had passed for me to realize that I never wanted to go back to that horror again. I knew, however, that it was a risk we'd have to take if we were ever going to see that dream realized and that longing fulfilled.
Above all I always trusted that my God was in control, even when my circumstances felt totally out of control. He's in the miracle business. That's what He does! Beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of despair. (Isaiah 61:3)
He had something wonderful in store, and it was just around the corner. I'm just thankful that I held on for it.
Twelve years after we were married, nine years after we started trying to conceive, and eight years after the first positive pregnancy test, we finally looked upon the face of our daughter.
Two years and two months later, we held another daughter in our arms.
I don't know why it all happened the way that it did. I don't know why there was so much pain before the beauty, but I suppose that's what makes it all the more beautiful.