There are so many things that—as a parent—you want to hold
onto and remember forever. The way your baby smelled after a bath, the way she
said ‘elphanant’ for the longest time, the way he will stop what he’s doing
just to give you a kiss.
These are bright moments that we hold onto. Why wouldn’t you
want to remember those moments of happiness and joy? It makes sense.
But there will inevitably be moments that are darker,
scarier, more somber. Those moments are less bright, but to me they’re no less
important. They tell the story, too. The moments of fear after Eden was born
when the nurses were trying to get her to breathe, the minutes after Adaleine fell into the fire when the realization sunk in that we might have a very
different reality now, or when we had to take our little four-month-old boy in
for surgery to repair a hernia.
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| This is Eden right after she was born. So tiny and fragile at less than 5 lbs. |
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| You see that smile?? The ONLY time this girl cried about her burns was when they needed cleaned. She is so amazing. |
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| Judah with Sergio, the bear they gave him at the hospital after his surgery |
We had some of those harder times last year here at the Bug
household. Something I haven’t shared here in this place up until now simply
because I couldn’t think quite how to put it out there. But I decided that I
want to remember, so I’m writing it down here.
Last May, we had a brief love affair with our fourth child
and then had to say goodbye a week later.
On May 2, 2013 I had a positive pregnancy test that left me
numb for about 12 hours. Once the numbness wore off, I realized I was actually
excited! This was a surprise to both Mr. Bug and I considering my reaction to
the news that I was pregnant with Judah.
For one blissful week, we talked and we planned. We texted
and called each other with ideas for names and ways to tell our families. We started
brainstorming new sleeping arrangements, figuring out where the baby should be.
There wasn’t a cloud on the horizon. This was a bright moment!
Then on the 8th, I started to bleed. I knew
immediately something was off because although I knew spotting is common toward
the beginning of pregnancy it had never happened with my other kiddos. I made
an appointment for a blood draw the next day but wasn’t terribly surprised when
the nurse called afterward and said it looked like my levels were dropping. I was
losing the baby.
And I cried. I cried for the little person we wouldn’t get
to hold. I cried for little Judah who wouldn’t get to be a big brother. I cried
for the girls who wouldn’t get to help with their little baby. I cried for me. For
the baby I couldn’t carry.
We had agreed on the name Cora for a girl, and that is the
name that comes to mind still when that little one is in my thoughts.
Cora. It means ‘filled heart.’ Filled with love. Filled with
pain. Filled with loss. But also filled with gratitude. I didn’t get to hold
that baby in my arms, but she filled my heart to the brim.
God let us have her for a week. I don’t blame Him for what
happened. I never felt He ‘took’ anything away from me. He never promised me
that baby but He was there when I couldn’t keep her. And I trust Him and what
He wants to do in our lives, even when it doesn’t seem like it makes sense.
One of the things that people say when they hear someone has
had a miscarriage is “You’ll get over this eventually. After some time, you’ll
forget.” Well, that’s unacceptable to me.
I want to remember. My kids know they have a little brother
or sister that they didn’t get to meet and they know that it’s okay to be sad
about it. They know that sometimes things don’t work the way we want them to,
but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. I feel the ache from time to time for the
baby that we lost, but my arms are never empty with my three beautiful children
here with me.
