Peace in the Storm…
March 3, 2010
Last night I started bleeding heavily and have had intense cramping for the last 24 hours. Tonight I passed a couple masses, and we said goodbye to our 11 week plus 1 day old baby that had stopped growing in my womb sometime around 5 weeks ago.
There’s no way to prepare yourself for something like this. For the past week I have agonized over every little spot, every little cramp, hoping it would miraculously stop, but knowing in my heart that something was terribly wrong. There have been tears, laughter, friends, prayers, and tonight, deep sadness tinged with guilty relief that the wondering is finally over.
How do you explain to your 6.5 year old child that the sibling they have been praying for is going to heaven before we even get a chance to meet him or her? Before we went for the ultrasound yesterday I pulled my dear sweet boy onto my lap and told him that I was having signs that something wasn’t right with the baby, and there was a good chance they would be going to heaven sooner than we hoped. Wordlessly he wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and sobbed his disappointment into my shoulder. I have no words to express how my heart shattered for him in that moment.
We had names picked out. If “nemo”, as we sweetly dubbed my tummy, was a boy his name would have been Maxwell Brian. We all love the name Max, and Brian is my dad’s name. I adore my dad and would have been honored to have the chance to name my son after him. If the baby was a girl, her name would have been Eliza Mae, named after Brent’s gran, Eliza May, but with a change of spelling to match mine and my gran’s middle name, Mae. Both our grans died before we were ready, so it seemed fitting to have our love for them grow on in our daughter.
I saw our baby on the ultrasound screen. So tiny and perfect in every way. Thank you for waiting till I was able to see you with my own eyes.
Tonight I laid on the couch with my feet on my husband’s lap, sipping red raspberry leaf peppermint tea he brewed for me, and talking to my midwife on the phone about our loss. I felt safe to cry with her because she understands the cycle of life and death like nobody else I know, and she feels like the closest thing to talking to my own mom, who passed away over 10 years ago now. We’re linked together by a unique thread. My mom labor assisted her daughter’s birth more than 30 years ago. We have both lost dear ones to cancer. She was there for me when my son was born. It makes sense that she is the first one I wanted to call to tell about our loss. I love you, sweet friend. Thank you for listening and understanding.
After both Brent and I talked to my midwife, we were commenting on the deep peace that has settled over our home and our hearts tonight. The sweet presence of God, here to witness the soul of our child being released into His care, comforting us, and confirming that all is well. Rest in peace, sweet baby. You will never be forgotten.
Please feel free to leave comments below, but we ask that you refrain from calling our home for the time being. Thank you for understanding our need for privacy…
Oh April, my eyes welled up while reading about how you talked to your son about it. It’s not fair that this has happened to you and your family and I’m so glad that God has given you a deep peace, despite the shattering of your dreams with this loss. May your healing, both physical & emotional, be swift and your pain lessen as each day passes, and may your dream of a baby come soon.
(((hugs)))
I am so very sorry and my prayers remain with you, hubby and your sweet son.
May God’s continued peace, love and comfort surround you all in this frsgile time.
Love and hugs,
xxx
Grieving with you, my (no longer secret) sister. Many hugs and prayers.
I am so sorry for your loss…please know you are all in our prayers-love you!
Oh, April. I am so deeply sorry for your loss. You’ve been on my mind and heart a lot these past couple of days, and I’m praying for you.
Oh, April, I am so very sorry for your loss. Your family is in my prayers. ((((hugs))))
April, I am so sorry. I am so glad God is giving you peace in this storm. Hold on to that peace, because the days ahead are going to be hard. Know you are loved and being prayed for as you walk this walk….and I am so sorry it is a journey you have to make.
I’m so sorry sweet friend. I know how deeply wanted this child was. How heartbreaking. Praying for you as you grieve.
April, I cannot express how sorry I am. I wish I could write something long and meaningful, but would probably only say something wrong. Just know Chris and I are praying for you, Brent, and M. Praise God for His presence.
I’m weeping for you April I’m so sorry
I lost a sweet one at the same stage. My heart is breaking for you.
I’m so sorry, April. That baby was loved and so blessed to have been part of your sweet family, however briefly.
april – my heart goes out to you and your guys. thank you for sharing your joy and loss and grief with us.
with love,
jaymarie
I am so sorry. What a difficult loss.
I am so sorry for your loss may God continue to give you and your family piece. We are here if you need us…hugs
I’m so sorry my dear friend. I’m sorry for this loss. I pray for God to hold you in his arms.
I am so, so sorry. May God give you comfort and peace.
Oh April…I’m so sorry. Praying for you and your family as you grieve. (((hugs)))
I’m sorry. Many loves and prayers your way.
((((April))), I don’t have words other than that I’m praying for you, Brent and Micah, and I cried with you some as well reading this.
I’m so sorry, sweet April. Sending you much love, and lifting you all up.
Thank you all for the love and outpouring of support I came home to this afternoon. You will never know just how much it means to us. <3 Much love from our family to yours.
I got here by accident after seeing you on fb and wondering how things are with you, excuse me for the slightly late comment thus – I am very sorry OG for your loss. But I am at the same time admiring your strength and wisdom. Love to you.
Oh no, I just saw this. I am so sorry. :’(
Lots of love for all of you.