Today, I should have been holding two year old you. We would have snuggled and I would have promised you that we were going to have fun together while the big kids were at Granny's. I would have told you that maybe when your baby sister comes, you'd be big enough to go with the big kids. I'd place your hand on my belly and smile at the wonder on your face when Arwen kicked with all her might.
Instead, I place my hands on my belly, and a silent, ever pleading prayer goes up as I feel those kicks. Please, let me see this baby's face. Father, let us keep this baby. I can't walk through losing another person I love right now. Please.
Today was your due date. And as I approach your baby sister's due date in less than three months, there are so many emotions rushing around my heart. Fear is one of the strongest. I try to keep my eyes and faith focused on the One Who blessed us with this baby, but it is hard to ignore the knot in my heart that waits for the bad news. The one that reminds me that there is no "safe" zone in pregnancy, no guarantees before, during, or after having this little one.
Grant told me he doesn't want to be an adult, because adults die. My heart shatters - he has seen a lot of death in his short life. I gently remind him of how we lost you, and that no one is too young or too old to die. His face is troubled. He had worked it out in his mind that death only came to old, worn out bodies. I know it will dwell on his heart for awhile, so we talk about Heaven, and how the uncertainty is what should make us love each other more fiercely every day.
I did not have you with me for many days, my Phoenix. Even now, I struggle with why I am creating a new life and why I did not get to finish creating yours. There is a place in my heart and my womb that will always feel incomplete. All the birthday parties I won't get to plan, the gifts I don't get to watch you open, the milestones I don't get to journal. You are frozen in one spot in time, while I have to keep moving forward.
But on these days, in these moments, I freeze time and re-live the 'might have beens' and the 'I wish I could haves.' I hold space for the life you lived, and the life you left unfinished. Tomorrow, I will pick up the pieces, pray yet again for us to get to meet your baby sister, and move forward holding on to hope. But today, I just sit with the grief and wish you were here.
