Fourth day straight here, propped up on the pull out bed in our living room, immobile. The windows are open, letting in a soft and gentle breeze. The sunlight brightens this space, as do stunning bouquets of sunflowers, roses, and daisies. Next to me is a pile of favorite books, thoughtful handwritten cards, carefully chosen magazines, and a Starbucks, which is helping my brain think that it’s returning to a sense of normalcy.
There is also a quiet here. Free from the endless beeping of IV’s that need changed, the drone of my roommate’s TV, the scurrying around of hospital carts. Free from hearing the beautiful laughter and energy of our children, although I miss that commotion immeasurably. Free to listen to a God who wants to love on me and create the most beautiful of all mosaics from these broken pieces. His word is sustaining me.
Though the recovery is daunting, what hurts most at this point is the loss itself. We are devastated. I had suspected a pregnancy for about 2 weeks prior to our actual confirmation on Monday. The baby was 6 weeks old, but we had only known about it for a few short days. Still, I had a hard time leaving the hospital, because I didn’t want to leave our baby there. It felt cold and heartless and cruel. A grave shouldn’t be a sterile operating room. If I didn’t believe that Jesus was cradling our little one now, I would be without comfort. He is perfect love.
Despite this knowledge, I can’t stop crying. I assume it’s a result of the medicine, the grief, the hormonal crash, the unmet expectations, everything. Something in me wants to seek a divergence and immerse myself in something that will numb the pain. Another part of me is a good judge and is shamed for feeling grief. I know others have hurt more. We have it so good. I suppose a more balanced view keeps all things in perspective – and – grieves well and joys well, since God’s goodness has never been challenged.
So there ya have it. Since I’m doing a stellar job crying, I think I need to match that with thanks. Here is what I will choose to joy in today:
- My husband – I don’t have to choose to joy in you. You make me smile today and every day.
- Our beautiful sensitive daughter
- Our crazy curious son
- A baby who was spared the heartaches of this world
- Paul’s parents for graciously watching the kiddos
- My brother for being my friend, helping me, and letting me kick his butt in Scrabble
- The youth group students for cleaning our windows, preparing our home for our welcome, and folding toilet paper with love:) You guys are the best!
- Church families for praying and making meals and sending notes
- Friends who have brought the most thoughtful gifts over
- Everyone who has left a message here – I’ve read them over and over
- Friends who called at all hours desperate for ways to help
- My mom for flying in today
- Outstanding medical care
- Medicine that takes the edge off (and causes me to dream about large whales devouring small American gymnasts:)
- This life and breath
- My beautiful Jesus
With Love Because of Jesus,
Kristin, Paul, Selah, and Adden