This week in 2008 I lost my second pregnancy somewhere between 6 and 8 weeks.

When I miscarried much later in 2006, I rarely used the word “lost” to describe what had happened- opting instead for the harsher, clinical descriptions of what had been the demise of the pregnancy and my daughter.

In 2008 though…”lost” was the only word I could find. Most people didn’t know about that pregnancy so it came through my life in a clean cut. I felt entirely broken, sure that it couldn’t be possible that we were walking that path again. Just as quietly as the pregnancy began, it was over – finally coming to an end at my church, of all places, after the praise music at our worship service. No explanations, no answers.

A close friend of mine with her own tragic history is running a contest with the idea of capturing the experience of baby loss in a photo. I haven’t been able to do that.  I haven’t even tried. Oh, sure, I have pictures and blog entries and keepsakes. More tears than I care to recount. But mainly, I have this face – I have this boy. I can’t separate this baby from those babies because all I can think is how he wouldn’t be here – how maybe I wouldn’t be here – if they were. The line between mourning them and accidentally wishing away the most joyful part of the journey is just too thin – too narrow for images and words. 

Somehow I have learned to walk this line in faith – believing in a God who knows things that I don’t, learning to let the questions go unanswered. Still, the balance is so delicate…I know better than to look down.

So this is my picture. My beautiful boy. Exactly where, exactly when and exactly who he should be.

June, 2011