Today, January 14th, marks the due date of the second baby my husband and I lost to miscarriage, now four and half years ago. Words fail to describe the existence of pain that still resides in my heart as a result from enduring such losses.
In remembrance of what today should have been, I’m publishing an old excerpt from my journal.
Monday, September 17, 2012
It’s still hard.
It’s still hard to face the truth, to face the hurt, to “accept loss.”
It’s still hard to wake up in the mornings.
It’s still hard to carry on through the days.
It’s still hard to to go to bed at night, knowing I have to do it all over again tomorrow.
It’s still hard to have to put on a face when all I feel like doing is crying out; burying my head in a pillow; pleading for restoration, to get back what’s been taken.
It’s still hard to not be jealous when I see others who “have what I should have.”
It’s still hard.
It’s still hard to know that no one else in the world can fully relate.
It’s still hard to see a lack of care from people who think they are close.
It’s still hard to not “lose heart.” (Jn. 16:33)
Maybe I’m still waiting for my world to be overcome.
If you know someone who has experienced the loss of a child, I ask you to be kind to them. Have patience. Give them space to grieve. Even if you don’t understand it (you won’t unless you’ve walked their shoes), let them process their loss their own way.
If you don’t know what to say to them, don’t say anything at all. Words can heal and words can hurt. It’s better to wait until you find the right words.
It’s been almost six years since losing our first, and I’m being perfectly real and honest when I say: It’s “still” hard. I don’t expect it to never be so.
Hugs and warmth this cold January day,