Later this week I will post pictures and video of our trip to New Jersey. It was a wonderful time to travel together as a family and Samuel was quite the trooper. He experienced a lot of 'firsts' and it will be fun to share.
But for now....
Today is a beautiful day here in Minnesota. The high today is 80. The grass is the greenest green. The sun is shining its brightest light.
And my heart is so heavy. On Saturday Ryan and I were sitting in our vehicle outside the wedding reception we were about to attend when we got word that friends had found out on Friday that they had lost their baby at 11 weeks. At 8 weeks they heard a heartbeat and at 11 there was no longer a heartbeat.
I can't even put into words what happened to my heart when I heard that news. But I can say that my mind immediately went back to last September. As you know, we heard our baby's heartbeat at 7 weeks. Then at 9 we went back for another check up and there was no heartbeat.
I remember sitting in the dark room, looking at a computer screen, holding my breath.
We had seen the heartbeat just a few weeks before, so there was no reason for concern. This was just routine. Just a follow-up to make sure the baby was growing.
Yet you find yourself hoping. Praying. Waiting.
Time stands still.
There is just one thing you want to see. Just one little flutter of a heart.
The image on the screen...the baby...is so tiny...the heartbeat will be so small. Barely visible to the eye.
But seeing that flutter indicates life.
And when the ultrasound tech utters the devastating news that there is...no longer...a heartbeat and you are told your baby has died, your world collapses around you.
You can't breathe.
You think you heard it wrong.
You want to rewind time because she must be wrong.
And from that moment on, life as you know it will be different.
You are a mom of a baby who has died.
You are a mom of a little one you will never hold in your arms, but only in your heart.
And there are no words to describe that loss.
And the scene replays in your mind over and over and over.
In the following days, weeks and months you ponder, question, wonder, cry, scream, agonize, and experience so many different emotions.
You have decisions to make when all you want to do is cry. You have to let others know...you have to decide who you will tell and when you will tell them.
You have to make decisions about your body. Your baby. Your future.
And none of them are decisions you ever wanted to make.
Sadly, all too many women have experienced this heartache. But today my heart goes out to you A. I've been there. I understand. I grieve alongside you and I pray God meets you right where you're at today.
And I pray that some how, some way, God will make beauty from these ashes.