This year has been a milestone for me.
Ten years ago, in March, my daughter Naomi died in my womb in my nineteenth week of pregnancy. I had developed a serious, life-threatening abdominal infection that she could not survive. She was born beautiful, small, and oh-so-still, and her brief life catapulted us into the babyloss community.
Four weeks ago, more or less, was the anniversary of her due date, and this November marks the tenth anniversary of losing my next baby, Kyria. My next baby's, Jordan's, tenth loss anniversary is coming up next May. And this fall is the fifth anniversary of saying goodbye to my last two babies, Hope and Christmas.
Ten years ago, in March, my daughter Naomi died in my womb in my nineteenth week of pregnancy. I had developed a serious, life-threatening abdominal infection that she could not survive. She was born beautiful, small, and oh-so-still, and her brief life catapulted us into the babyloss community.
Four weeks ago, more or less, was the anniversary of her due date, and this November marks the tenth anniversary of losing my next baby, Kyria. My next baby's, Jordan's, tenth loss anniversary is coming up next May. And this fall is the fifth anniversary of saying goodbye to my last two babies, Hope and Christmas.
It is hard for me to think of them all together, because it is unlikely that Kyria would have been conceived if Naomi had lived, just as there is no way that my last two babies, conceived and lost just four months apart from each other, could have both lived. But in my moments of private thoughts and dreams, I have a house full of children with curly blond hair and a heart full of would-have-beens.
Naomi, of course, would have been ten. She would have been in fifth grade this year, one year behind her big sister, and they would have been using many of the same books as we homeschool together. They would have been in the same American Heritage Girls Explorers unit this year, and would have shared the stage in Mary Poppins this summer, along with their little brother. They probably would have bickered a lot, and also bonded as only sisters can.
Kyria would have been nine this fall. Her birthday would have fallen right around the time of our June wedding anniversary. She would have been excited to go into the Explorer unit with her big sisters. Maybe she would have been a bit more shy of performing as the little sister, but I like to think she may have enjoyed that, too, in her own way.
Jordan would have been eight this fall, going on nine. He would have been in third grade and would be at the point in homeschooling where his reading would have been taking off, very likely. He would have doted on his little brother, my son on earth, who is in second grade this year.
Hope and Christmas would have been my little ones. They each would have been four years old this year, my last babes to go through our church preschool program.
My seven treasures. Two on earth and five in Heaven.
If you are far enough out from losing a baby that you feel like you "shouldn't" be sad anymore - take it from me.
You never forget.
You never stop missing them.
You never stop loving them.
Whether it's been ten weeks or ten months or ten years or more - that's your child, and having them, for any length of time, has changed you and helped make you who you are.
And that's exactly as it should be.
Naomi, of course, would have been ten. She would have been in fifth grade this year, one year behind her big sister, and they would have been using many of the same books as we homeschool together. They would have been in the same American Heritage Girls Explorers unit this year, and would have shared the stage in Mary Poppins this summer, along with their little brother. They probably would have bickered a lot, and also bonded as only sisters can.
Kyria would have been nine this fall. Her birthday would have fallen right around the time of our June wedding anniversary. She would have been excited to go into the Explorer unit with her big sisters. Maybe she would have been a bit more shy of performing as the little sister, but I like to think she may have enjoyed that, too, in her own way.
Jordan would have been eight this fall, going on nine. He would have been in third grade and would be at the point in homeschooling where his reading would have been taking off, very likely. He would have doted on his little brother, my son on earth, who is in second grade this year.
Hope and Christmas would have been my little ones. They each would have been four years old this year, my last babes to go through our church preschool program.
My seven treasures. Two on earth and five in Heaven.
If you are far enough out from losing a baby that you feel like you "shouldn't" be sad anymore - take it from me.
You never forget.
You never stop missing them.
You never stop loving them.
Whether it's been ten weeks or ten months or ten years or more - that's your child, and having them, for any length of time, has changed you and helped make you who you are.
And that's exactly as it should be.
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