One night last week I lay in bed. The boys were sleeping soundly. Tim was asleep. We had to get up rather early the next morning. I had been so exhausted during the day…why wasn’t I falling asleep?
As I lay in bed trying to relax, my mind was moving along at a breakneck speed. As usual my mind went back to September 11, 2011. It never occurred to me that 3 months after our miscarriage that I would be thinking of my baby and those sad hours where I knew I was losing my baby…and could do nothing about it.
As I lay in bed, I cried. Three months and the grief is still there. It’s not on the edge, waiting to spill over when someone asks me how I’m doing. But it’s still there. How can it be otherwise? My baby is gone. My arms are empty.
A week ago after church a friend came up to me. She told me she had been wanting to talk to me for the past two weeks. She had just had a miscarriage. My heart broke for my friend, who has just gone through such pain without the support of someone who had also been through the experience. I spoke with her. I gave her a hug.
It doesn’t make the death of my baby any easier, but it reminds me that there is a purpose in everything God does.
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed by Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Matthew 6:9-10