Dear baby,
For some reason I know you were going to be a boy. Call it mother's intuition. Maybe that's why we affectionately called you Roscoe (just a pet name, you understand). I don't know why you had to leave so early. I don't blame you. I would love to see Jesus too. Imagine Him being the first person I ever saw! How merciful and fantastic that would be. But why even come in the first place and make us attached to you? I don't understand that. I feel tired from thinking about it. I lose my appetite when I see the numbers on the calendar, marking each new week of your growth inside me. I should have written them in pencil.
I am still cramping, trying to heal and physically move on. My mind is trying to get over everything that I learned about your development... up til now. I'm glad that I saw you inside of me. I needed that little glimpse, even though you had already left. I have cried a lot. I needed to cry. I talk about you a lot to many people. It's only right to talk about my baby.
Your daddy is a fantastic person. I wish you could have have met him. He would have made you into a mechanic, fruit tree-grafting, builder, and jack of all trades. You would have rolled your eyes at all of his dumb jokes and grinned as he tried to start the campfire with nothing but the sparks flying off the car battery. But I guess your not really missing much, really. We love you but you are perfect and whole as you are now. Jesus is taking you to the park and your riding that one crazy roller coaster that I am just sure is up there somewhere.
I miss you and will continue to miss you. I don't fondly pat my tummy anymore. But don't worry about me little man, you will have siblings some day for mommy to feed organic veggies and flaxseed to. You will roll your eyes at my healthy concoctions and thank God you can eat whatever you want while your brothers and sisters suffer down here with mom, he he. There is hope, I can feel it. There is disappointment too. There is love, from us to you, and there is faith; that somehow this will make us whole, better. Love,
Momma b
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5 comments:
Bethany - I have no idea what this feels like. I'm not going to try. You're going what you're going through, and it's tough, and I'm so sorry. But thank the Lord for providing a place for your little one in heaven with Him. So very sorry, and praying for physical and emotional healing in your body and heart.
Oh sweet friend, thank you for sharing. My heart is with you as you mourn. love, sue
I love you. My heart is with you. Thanks for sharing your beautiful heart. Praying for you and Brent. And I am eager to meet your little man someday.
Bethany, I am so sorry to hear this. I was hoping that instead of real sickness you were feeling morning sickness...but now I just ache with you. It is so hard to care for that little one, to plan all the details, the whens, wheres and hows, to pat your tummy, as you said...and then for them to go away. Those of us who have experienced it will hold you up as well, not because we know "exactly what you are feeling," but because we know exactly how we were feeling, and know just a degree of your ache. I love you, Bethany, and pray you can crawl up into God's lap, put your head on His big, able shoulders, and scream, yell and weep until you are exhausted in His arms.
I will pray for Brent, too. Daddys respond in different ways, but it hurts their hearts, too, I know. I will agree with your prayer, that this brings you together.
In sadness and yet the love of Jesus,
Diane
Hey my friend. It's been a long time since I've checked your blog. I apologize. I started working, Elyse graduated - all poor excuses not to check in with you.
My heart breaks as I read this. I'm so sorry. We lost a little one between Elyse and Jon. It's so hard. I still think about it. There are times that come out of no where - maybe this seems silly - but it seems to happen at the most unexpected times - many times while driving down the road (maybe that's the only time I have to stop and think) - and I think about the child I never physically knew. I cry for him/her, picture them playing with Jesus - look forward to the day we will meet. I wonder what they look like, what color eyes they have, whether their hair is curly or straight, brown or blond or black. I have never forgotten. There are moments my heart aches for the touch I never knew, the feel of that soft skin against my cheek. But yet, although I do not understand - I know that God had a plan in all of it and like you, take comfort in the fact that they are with Jesus. I'm sure Jesus is doing a much better job at raising them than I could have ever done. But, yet, I still ache sometimes. I just wanted you to know your not alone. I know how it feels even 14 years later. It does get easier, but you never forget. I love ya and I'll be praying for you tonight.
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