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