In June of 2019 we lived through what felt like a real-life nightmare, and in September of 2021 we lived through it again. I remember, after my ectopic pregnancy with Auden, having so many triggers that took me right back to those really hard, dark moments, but I never imagined that I would have to actually relive them all. In so many ways this heartache mimicked the first, but regrettably, it was a long month of questions, emergencies, tears, confusion, desperation, frustration, and eventually closure.
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| Cody Farrall Photography |
So there we were: finishing out a busy summer, several weeks into the school routine, and turning our eyes towards harvest and a house remodel. It was late August and I knew there was a chance I could have been pregnant. We hadn't been trying, but love and whatnot... You know. I decided to take a test about four days before my expected period. It was negative. I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about it, but moved on with life. A few days later I just couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to test again. On August 25th, I found out about our fifth baby, due May 1, 2022.
I was shocked. I actually gasped when I saw the test. Even though I had known it was possible, this baby was a SURPRISE. (Not quite the surprise that Trevin was, mind you.) My head was spinning. All I could think about was that I still had a baby, one that was still taking bottles and was notorious for waking up at 5:00 AM. Also, we were about ready to dive into a main floor remodel. How on earth would we do it all? It didn't actually matter. I didn't actually care. I just grinned and sent James a text to swing home soon.
By this point in the morning, all three kids were up, so I simply set the pregnancy test out the back door for James to stumble upon when he came home. I was able to watch his reaction from the house and his instant smile and laugh was all I needed. We were having a baby. And it was going to be perfect. None of the rest mattered.
This was the only time I didn't cry when I received a positive pregnancy test. Myla, Auden, and Mack were all answers to prayer and came with great excitement - so cue the tears. Trevin was straight fear, but tears were there all the same. This pregnancy came with utter shock, followed by overwhelming anticipation, but no tears.
Three days after finding out I was pregnant, we had a big family gathering. I drank 1/3 of a glass of lemonade and I about died from heartburn. I took Tums and had to go lay down at my parents' house for a half-hour just to feel like I didn't need to hunch over in pain. It was some bad stuff. It lasted all evening. I mentioned it to a couple of the women and someone noted only getting heartburn like that when they were pregnant. I played it off like no big deal and no one was the wiser, but I wondered what on earth I would be in for the remainder of the pregnancy.
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| five weeks |
The morning sickness started popping up early, between week 5-6. Just like Macklin, I would feel more sick in the afternoons. It was never unbearable and I never threw up, but it was quickly something that I was facing most days. Of course, there's no hiding something from Trevin. One day as I was laying in bed, Trevin asked me if I had gone camping recently. Which made James and I bust out laughing. (It's a Hank the Cowdog reference. One of the dog's mom says, "All I did was go camping, and now I'm sharing a bed with nine wet rats." It's hilarious and Trevin was on the scent, but mostly just thought he was being funny and never pushed the subject past that.)
We went to the State Fair around that same time. On the way there, I started to feel a slight pinch on my right lower abdomen. Trigger #1. In an instant, I was swept back to June 2019 and I wondered if this was another ectopic pregnancy. The pain wasn't really even pain, just a noticeable discomfort. I was completely tuned in the rest of the day, watching and waiting for any signs of trauma, but it never came. Everything was fine, but it was the first instance that brought my guard up.
I knew I was high risk since I had a history of ectopic pregnancy. All it really means is that I go in super early for labs and have ultrasounds early, especially if something isn't quite right. I let my doctor know I was pregnant and they lined up blood work for me asap. They tested progesterone and my HCG on September 1, 5.5 weeks along. I got the call the next day with the results. I was pregnant. "But." I was pregnant. But. But. But. My progesterone was low. Most people wouldn't think much of that. They just prescribed me some extra progesterone to make sure it stayed within the proper range. "But." I couldn't get that word out of my head. I remember the nurse asking me several time, "You're not bleeding? Any pain?" Then again, "And you're definitely not bleeding? Are you having any pain?" It felt like she thought I should be miscarrying. The only other time my labs had been anything but perfect was with Auden. It was trigger #2. I cried that day for the first time since finding out I was pregnant.
We didn't tell many people about the pregnancy. James wanted to keep this one really close until we knew everything was alright. I agreed. Mostly. I was excited and wanted to share the news at first! But I very quickly needed a support system around me. I could feel hints of PTSD, and it was consuming. I told a couple people what was going on, but otherwise we quietly walked ahead into the unknown.
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| six weeks |
They asked me to come back on September 7th for another round of labs. I was just over six weeks. They didn't check my progesterone since they knew I was supplementing. My HCG went up, "but" (there it was again) it wasn't doubling every day like it was supposed to. We still weren't in the clear. It didn't give us much hope or confidence. I was told to come back in two days and we would make a plan from there. My doctor thought it was still too early to detect anything on an ultrasound based on my numbers. We just had to wait it out. I remember thinking maybe they just didn't realize how early I was, no one had asked the date of my last period yet, and my cycles are long, so maybe their calculation was just uninformed. Nope, that wasn't it.
September 9th brought another poke of the needle and a hard phone call with the results. My HCG had barely increased, at a time when it should have been doubling every day. That was "very concerning." Another round of "Are you bleeding? Cramping? Experiencing any pain?" No, no, no. This was bad news and there was no amount of positive thinking that could spin it. I remember sending a text to a friend after I received the results and I said, "I think it's over."
At this point, we thought it was important to tell the kids what was going on, because there was no way of hiding our tears any longer. It was a strange thing to have to do. Telling your kids that there's a new life in your family isn't supposed to go this way. I watched Myla's eyes light up before she understood what was going on. I watched the concern on Trevin's face and you could tell his mind went straight to 2019 and the trauma that happened then. Since Auden, he's always been very concerned about me when I'm pregnant. Even when I went into labor with Macklin, he teared up and told me to be safe. He has scars from my ectopic pregnancy and it's never far from his mind. We all shared tears and we answered what questions we could.
We let a few more people in that day, letting them know what was going on. My parents happened to be out of state while this was going on. I called my mom to tell her I was pregnant and immediately followed it with "something's not right." Those conversations were painful. We still didn't fully know what was going on, but knew enough to accept that the pregnancy was likely going to end.
They scheduled me for an ultrasound the next morning, September 10. It felt similar to a c-section date. I just knew this was the end of my pregnancy. We still didn't know if it was ectopic or not. It was a fear that hung strong in my mind, but never felt totally believable. I chose not to eat breakfast that morning, just in case I would have to have surgery. I didn't want to be waiting in the hospital all day. We dropped the kids off with friends (thanks Caden and Ashli!) and made the dreaded trip to the clinic. I remember feeling fairly anxious, but tried to embrace the moments we had. I've had a pregnancy ripped from me in an instant, so I knew to soak in the time I could while I still had a baby in my womb. I looked down at my bloated stomach and I prayed that I would get to see it continue to grow with life. Somehow. Some way. We felt that it was more likely to be a miscarriage than an ectopic pregnancy. Even though I'm "high risk" for another ectopic pregnancy, I don't actually have any risk factors beyond the unexplainable history of having one. I told James, worst case scenario is that it is ectopic, but even then my tube hasn't ruptured, so they should be able to save it.
The nurse took us straight to the ultrasound room and then into the deflating repeat of questioning. No. Still no. No blood, no pain. I prepared for the scan and James and I sat quietly for a few moments. The what ifs were heavy, but we just sat in it. My doctor came in and explained that my numbers were concerning and she just needed to check it out and see what was going on. She emphasized that she really needed to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. That was priority #1. The ultrasound began and I was calm. I almost instantly spotted a sac! I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a sac in my uterus. What does this mean?? The doctor verbalized seeing the sac, there was no sign of an embryo, but it was still early. She spent several minutes going over my remaining fallopian tube on my right side; up, down, around. She snapped pictures and stared intently at the screen. I could sense the mood change. I felt instantly more aware and concerned. And there it was. Fluid. I had fluid in my abdomen. Enough that even I could pick it out. She asked one question and my heart sank. "Megan, have you experienced pain, like a tubal rupture?" I think I stuttered. My mind couldn't compute this. There's no way my tube had already ruptured. It wasn't possible. I've experienced the beginning stages of tubal rupture and it was horrific and I could hardly even walk when it happened. I about passed out on my bathroom floor. It was bad. That hadn't happened to me this time. I had that tiny discomfort for 5 minutes one day, but it was NOTHING compared to what I went through last time. How can this be happening? What is going on?
I brought my mind back into the room as best as I could. She looked at the screen again and again. She calmly pointed out the fluid and said that there was a suspect spot on my tube. She turned the screen off. I couldn't believe the reality we were faced with. She said she suspects that the sac in my uterus was a pseudo sac, meaning my body knew I was pregnant, even if the egg didn't implant in the uterus, and it started to form a sac in the uterus for the embryo anyway. Everything felt bizarre, kind of like a dream where none of the facts make sense, but you go with it because that's reality at the moment. She said she wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but at this point, she saw enough to think that there's a high chance that it was an ectopic pregnancy. (Ectopic pregnancies are confirmed by surgery.) She told me, "I don't know why this keeps happening. It's..." She trailed off. I knew what she was getting at. I responded, "I've been struck by lightning twice." She sighed, "Exactly."
I said as strongly as I could through my constricted throat and watery eyes, "You'll have to take the tube?" Her eyes softened even more and she said she would do her best to try and save it, but if it has started to rupture, the chances of saving it aren't great. James emphasized that she do whatever she can to save it. I felt so torn in that moment. I desperately wanted to tell her to leave it at all cost. But I've done enough research to know that if they only do a partial removal, my chances of another ectopic pregnancy go way up because of the scar tissue that can build up. I told her to use her best judgment. I didn't want to have to experience this for a third time if she left a partial tube, but our desire would be to save the tube if it was possible. I trusted her and was so thankful in that moment that I wasn't the one that had to make the judgement call on what was salvageable and what wasn't. Risk vs reward.
I never thought we would be there again. I really didn't. I thought we lost our baby in this abnormal way in 2019 and that was our loss. Even when we knew that this pregnancy was likely over, I really didn't think it would have ended with that conversation. Our fertility was gone. I was going to lose my final tube. The deepest sadness swept over us. For our baby. For Auden. For our future babies. It was an intense feeling of loss. We felt that we had lost it all on that day.
I do feel like I need to note - losing my remaining tube would mean losing our natural fertility. Could we still go through the doctor to get pregnant by IVF and have a reasonable chance of success? Yes. I still had my ovaries. I still had my uterus. I just didn't have a way to get the egg from one to the other. I don't know what that would have looked like for us in our future. Honestly, I think it would have been a path that we wouldn't have pursued, for many reasons. So, I think that is why we felt such great loss. James and I both felt that we likely would not birth another child. Barring some miracle, this was the end.
We cried in the ultrasound room and it echoed the tears we had shed just two years before. We couldn't believe this was happening again. I don't know how many times I can say that, but we were just confused and heartbroken.
My surgery was set for 12:00 PM at the hospital. We made a couple phone calls updating the people that were patiently waiting in prayer. The words stung as they came out of my mouth. The shock that I had felt when I found out I was pregnant was nothing compared to the shock I was in now. Ashli offered to tell the kids what was going on. It pained me to make them do that, but there was no one I trusted more with that conversation. Ashton was able to get the kids from Ashli's house and keep them overnight for us. I was so thankful we had people that stepped in.
We drove to the hospital and I cried in the parking lot. I remember getting out and the memory of one last picture with Auden in the hospital parking lot came flooding in. I didn't know what else to do, so we took the picture again. Identical pictures, taken two years apart.
We walked into the hospital and my temperature was a little high at the door. It was a warm, sunny day and I had been sitting in the hot car crying for the last half-hour. I knew I didn't have a fever, I was just overheated from the circumstance, so we gave it a couple minutes and I let my body cool down, passed the temperature check, and we started the process back to my hospital room.
We had so much time to sit and think last time since I couldn't have surgery until evening, but this was different. All the questions, doctor stop ins, and surgery prep happened quickly since my surgery was only two hours after my appointment. I had packed a hospital bag that morning, just in case. I had a pair of sweats, contact case and my glasses, a phone charger, and a few other items. I hated that I knew I should bring it, but I was thankful to have a few things along and felt oddly comforted that I knew what to expect this time.
Since I hadn't eaten or drank anything since the night before, I was fairly dehydrated and the nurse had a really hard time getting my IV started. Like a really hard time. She never actually got it in and someone else had to do it. My arm looked pretty sad for the next couple of weeks. The bruising was pretty intense. But finally they successfully placed the IV and I was able to get some fluids. So much of the time at the hospital is a blur, but it didn't take too long before it was time.
Several doctors and nurses asked me what procedure I was having done, just to be sure I understood what was happening. I knew. I knew the terminology. I knew the process. I knew the risk. I knew the reason. I knew the recovery. I've done this before and that thought pained me.
Even though I knew what was happening, my mind couldn't fully grasp it. The finality of what was about to happen seemed incomprehensible. This moment would not just change us forever because of the grieving process, but it would forever change the trajectory of our family. I knew that so much of my processing would have to take place after my surgery. How did we go from surprise pregnancy to loss of fertility in just a matter of 2 weeks. It was so much to take in. I kissed James and hated that he had to be awake and alone while I went under. Then I took off my glasses and the world went blurry. I was wheeled down a hallway and disturbed by the bright lights of the OR. I scooted off of the bed onto the table. It was cold. I took deep breaths as the hospital staff worked around me. My memory of this time is foggy. I remember closing my eyes and trying to tune everything out. The mask went on. I breathed deep and my heart quieted. I rubbed my belly for the last time, a final goodbye to our sweet May Day baby.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • •
I remember hearing voices first. Nurses. I remember listening to the story one was telling, but couldn't recall it later. Then I heard the anesthesiologist talking. I started remembering what had transpired. Reality set in. I felt weak but I opened my eyes. The anesthesiologist noticed my movement and came right over. He asked, "Are you feeling alright?" I had only one thing on my mind. I felt too weak to talk, but I had to know. I just needed to hear him say it. I whispered, "Did they take my tube?" I felt my eyes close, not being able to stomach the inevitable answer. He responded gently, "No, you still have your tube." My eyes shot back open. A pulse of adrenaline surged. My mind raced. I pushed out every word I could, even though they were barely audible. "What do you mean? What happened??" He tried to quiet me and said calmly, "Your doctor will talk to you about that." I wasn't satisfied with that answer, but I felt my eyes close again. Sleep was beckoning. My mind urgently pleaded, "But was it ectopic?" Sleep overtook me before the words could come out. It all went dark again.
I slowly started waking up, noticing I had been moved back to my original room. James was there. The nurse came in several times checking on me. I reached for James's hand the moment I had the strength. I wanted desperately to know what had happened, but the sleep was still heavy. I was finally able to ask him what happened. He told me that it hadn't been ectopic. My tube was fine. The fluid wasn't blood. The reality, of what had been, was undone. This was a new reality. I felt the emotional whiplash. I cried - somehow tears of thankfulness this time. Was this true? Was this a miracle? And then the flood of questions about the baby. So was there a baby in my womb? Am I still pregnant??
We were told it was still very unlikely that it was a healthy pregnancy with how my labs were. HCG doesn't stop rising like that in healthy pregnancies. I would miscarry.
My heart sank for the millionth time. Not only did we just walk through this traumatic day, but there was more trauma to come. New trauma. It wasn't over. I would have to have surgery and miscarry. Both would happen.
The more awake I became, the more I was trying to process the situation. Because of the concerns in the ultrasound that morning, and because of my history, they had to assume ectopic for my own safety. Which resulted in the surgery to verify. Once they started the surgery, they could see more accurately. She spent time really looking my tube over, to be sure it was healthy. The suspected ectopic pregnancy was not there. I hated saying it was "just a miscarriage," but that was the conclusion after the surgery. I was so thankful my tube was preserved. I only suffered one loss that day, instead of two.
The sac was still in my uterus, so that was likely baby, but it didn't develop enough to see it. The prescribed progesterone may have kept my body from naturally miscarrying. so I was expected to miscarry at some point.
An ectopic pregnancy requires three incisions, one inside each hipbone and one in my bellybutton. My doctor had told me before my surgery that they would use my same incisions from last time, so no new scars. Since they determined during the laparoscopy that it was not ectopic, they only had to make two of the incisions.
I was able to recover from the anesthesia much faster this time. I had a little nausea, but was able to keep food down and I was happy to be eating something. My pain was still numbed by the meds, so I wasn't hurting much at all. I felt pretty good when I got up to use the bathroom for the first time, but that quickly changed when I passed out on the way back to my room. Like would have went all the way down had it not been for James and the nurse to catch me and brace me up. They got me into a chair as fast as they could and I couldn't even hold my head up. Magic smelly stuff zapped me back and I recovered within a few minutes. That delayed our check out time, but everything else went smoothly and pretty soon we were walking out of the hospital around 6:00 PM.
I slept hard that night. I woke up around 5:00 AM with a lot more soreness. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as my last surgery because I only had the two incisions and they didn't actually remove anything. I did have a weird shoulder pain from the extra air in my abdomen putting pressure on some nerves, but that resided as my stomach went down. I was moving around pretty good and James picked the kids up and brought them home. We spent the day together and a couple meals showed up and helped get us through the weekend.
My first ectopic pregnancy happened in June. Right in the middle of the wettest spring and the farming season was more intense than it's ever been. James wasn't with me for a lot of that trauma. And honestly, I carried with me for a long time, going it alone on some of the hardest moments. But here we were, facing a very similar situation two years later and he was able to be with me. He was here. It brought a lot of redemption to our first loss. Healing to hurts I didn't think I'd find. Purpose to the pain we were now experiencing. God works in mysterious ways.
The emotional whiplash was heavy and difficult to navigate. I felt a sense of gratitude, which felt gross. I felt heartbroken, but like I shouldn't feel "too" sad. I was offered bad news, the worst news, and then back to the bad news. My perspective was rocked, and it left me in a state of bewilderment. It was a weird, hard week, but we mourned. We grieved our child. We cried. We spent a lot of time in rest and prayer.
My surgery was on Friday, September 10. They wanted me back for labs the next week, so I went in on Thursday, September 16. They called me back that day with the results. My HCG had more than doubled in the past 6 days. It started increasing at a faster pace than it had the week before. Everyone was baffled. They wanted me back in immediately for another ultrasound the next morning. I woke up the next morning and actually experienced morning sickness for the first time in almost two weeks. What on earth was going on??
I didn't get my hopes up. I knew it was very very unlikely that we would see a heartbeat. But we were just so confused. Why was my body responding this way? It felt as if my pregnancy hit pause for two weeks and then suddenly started up again. The progesterone was no longer sustaining my pregnancy, so why was it suddenly amping up? There were so many questions. I wasn't fitting into any mold. I wasn't meeting any scientific explanation.
I remember talking with some friends about my history. It was eye-opening to be able to say I "typically" don't have trouble getting pregnant. I "typically" have babies attach in my uterus. I "typically" don't miscarry babies. All of my circumstances have been one time occurrences. I don't have an actual pattern. Maybe that's why my fertility journey over the past 3 years has felt so bizarre and jarring.
It felt like a cruel joke. I knew that the ultrasound wouldn't show a healthy pregnancy. I knew that, but I desperately longed for closure. The timeline of loss had been stretched and stretched and I needed to know that we wouldn't be living in limbo forever. I hated that it was being dragged out again. I longed to make progress in grieving and processing. I knew that if a miracle occurred, I would rejoice and could change course from there, but I couldn't allow myself to get swept up into the roller coaster of the unknown.
James and I went into the ultrasound on September 17th unsure of what to expect. It felt strange being there just one week after my surgery. The doctor walked in and explained that after seeing my labs, she really felt she needed to take another look to be 1000% sure that it was not ectopic. I was stunned. I didn't realize that's what caused her urgency. Suddenly, my mind started playing out all of the possibilities and I couldn't imagine going into surgery for a second time in one week.
She started the ultrasound and she went searching. She was looking for an implanted egg outside of my uterus. Anywhere outside of my uterus. There was no sign of that. Everything looked just as it should be. No fluid either. My tube looked great. She came back to the sac in my uterus. It was still there. And it was growing. I should have been just shy of 8 weeks at that point, but I was measuring at 5.5-6 weeks. She voiced that it did not appear to be a normal pregnancy. There was still no sign of an embryo in the sac.
The ultrasound ended, maybe with more questions than when it began. This pregnancy was doing the opposite of what was anticipated at every turn. My doctor expected that I would still miscarry naturally, but she had no intention to force abortion with medication or surgery until we knew exactly what was happening. My post op appointment was scheduled for the following week, so we planned to do another ultrasound at that point regardless. And so we wait, again.
A new round of questions flooded in after the ultrasound. Could there still be a lost embryo somewhere in my abdomen leading to a pseudo sac? Is it possible for a pregnancy to just pause and start back up? What other explanations could there be? More and more it pointed towards a blighted ovum. An early miscarriage where the sac continues to grow but the embryo stops. That made the most logical sense to me and I didn't know if I should wish for that or cling to hope.
The next few days felt long. Just waiting for something, anything, to happen. The emotion I had felt the week before, around my surgery, had been used up. I stopped processing. I stopped grieving. I went numb. My heart couldn't handle the constant onslaught of emotion. The confusion. It was turned off. And we waited.
Tuesday, September 21st started like a normal day. I actually had breakfast with my sisters and took the kids back home after lunch to work on some school. I started feeling strange. I was feeling nauseous and weak. I started cramping and my bleeding picked up. My heart felt so heavy. It was time. It was happening. For real this time. 8 weeks of pregnancy would be the end. But, I had simultaneous feelings of thankfulness that I didn't have to go back for medication or have another surgery for the miscarriage.
The kids and I took a quiet afternoon. I steeped some tea and sat down with a puzzle and a blanket. I was uncomfortable, but it was manageable. My mom ended up taking the kids overnight and let me rest on Wednesday. I felt about the same that next morning as I had the day before. Wednesday afternoon it all changed. The bleeding was heavy. The pain was intense. I laid in bed all afternoon and evening. The emotions caught up. Our baby was really gone. This nightmare of unknown and false hope and confusion had come to a horribly sad end. A second baby lost from my womb. Why wasn't I ready to face that? I had so much preparation. I knew it was coming. But that loss broke me all over again.
My post op appointment was scheduled for a couple days later, so I went in as planned. She did an ultrasound to make sure everything was passing as it should. The sac was gone. I would continue to bleed for a couple more days, but the worst was over.
{A huge thank you to everyone who reached out, helped with kids, brought food, sent cards, or prayed for us. It was hard feeling like I had to recover from surgery, just in time to miscarry. It was a lot of recovering - a lot of healing that needed to take place physically and emotionally. I'm so thankful to those that showed up both times, seriously going above and beyond. I really don't know what we would have done without your help and care. It was so needed and so appreciated. We love you all.}
About a week after my bleeding finished, it picked up again with another round of cramping. Enough so, that I called in to my doctor on a Sunday morning to see if I should be concerned. It subsided by the next day and that was the last of it. I've gone back in for more labs in the past several weeks to make sure my HCG returned to zero. I finally hit zero. Instead of finishing out my first trimester this week, I'm finishing out the pregnancy.
I feel like so much of my emotion had been spent on the weeks preceding my actual miscarriage. I didn't have much left. What was left was spent on the day it all came to a close. It was an odd feeling to feel like I had already grieved the baby that had just left me, but in so many ways, I already had. It did create a really unique experience for me though. I was able to spend countless hours in worship, in prayer, in study. My emotion wasn't able to get in the way. I was able to see pain from an entirely new perspective. I leaned heavily on a liturgy book, which brought a comfort that can't be explained by words. After we lost Auden, I remember feeling God's love and presence by the people around us. The words of encouragement, the prayers of our friends and family, the meals and sweet gestures... but this time I felt God's love predominantly from Him. In the intimate moments of praise, I saw my grief as not just my own. It was something to be used. It was something with a purpose. It was not to be wasted. I've never gained perspective in the midst of tragedy to the degree that I did after this loss. A deepened focus on eternity, a greater purpose of bringing glory to the Creator, a truer way to live. I continued to come back to these sections of liturgy. Prayers that gave words to my fragile heart.
Liturgies from Every Moment Holy, Vol II:
You [God] were witness to our rising joy.
You saw our crumbling hope.
Now you behold our sinking sorrow.
We lament so much that now will never be.
This child we lost will be for us in this life like
a song unsung, and a story untold.
And yet, even in our deep loss, O Lord,
you have not abandoned us
or left us without light and hope.
Your grace, your mercy, your redemption,
and your love will extend further and it will be
more wondrous in their perfection
than we have ever imagined.
So let us learn to steward well this holy sorrow,
assured that it is in some way the buried seed
of a flower that will blossom into eternity.
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And let my own experience
with this sorrow make me in time
a better lover of others,
that I might serve your sorrowing people, Jesus,
as together we are built up into your body,
the Church, ever learning
what it means to be
your merciful heart and hands
to one another.
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Let this loss-hollowed day
arrive in years to come
as a kindling of a fire in my bones,
spurring me to seek in this short life
that which is eternal.
Let the past wound, and the memory of it,
push me to be present with you
in ways that I was not before.
Do not waste my greatest sorrows, O God,
but use them to teach me to live
in your presence - fully alive
to pain and joy and sorrow and hope -
in the places where my shattering
and your shaping meet.
Amen.
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So much of this loss is still raw. The sting of our baby gone is sharp.
Oh the life we dreamed for you. We were so elated to find out about our little surprise and it is crushing to know that we've missed out by not knowing you fully. You were the perfect addition, the gift we didn't know we needed, the life we desperately love. We will spend the rest of our days anticipating our reunion with you. You have brought joy, love, and life to our hearts.
We love you.
Our lives are changed, because of you.
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| Cody Farrall Photography |
