October 12th

Dates have a way of sticking in my head.

October 12th used to just be my father-in-law's birthday.

Until October 12, 2006. That was the day I found out I lost my baby.

I remember going to the doctor, our first appointment with that pregnancy, happy and excited to see our baby for the first time. I remember chatting about morning sickness and vitamins with the doctor as she started the ultrasound. Her brow furrowed and she asked "How many weeks did you say you were?"

I responded that we were at 12 weeks, almost 13.

She asked if I was sure. I told her I was positive according to the dates. I knew the day we had conceived.

She told me the baby was only measuring six weeks. And there was no heartbeat. Which meant we would eventually miscarry.

I remember holding it together as we discussed how we wanted to handle things. The baby was gone, but my body wasn't miscarrying. We discussed our options. Schedule a D&C or wait. We went back and forth, but eventually decided to wait to see if I would miscarry naturally.

I remember driving home after the appointment, still not allowing myself to fall apart. I was wearing Seth's sweater, because none of mine fit. The sleeves were too long and I fiddled with them in silence. Seth took my hand and told me it was okay to cry.

I didn't cry though, not until I walked into my house and took Thing One into my arms. Holding my tangible child suddenly polarized the grief for the child I would never hold.

I remember Seth sitting at the kitchen table, calling his dad to wish him a happy birthday, and then having to reveal that our little one would never be born.

I remember having to tell family members and friends. We were nearly second trimester, so many people knew about the pregnancy. More than I wished knew. I grew weary of discussing it over and over again.

There was one call in particular that crushed me. Someone who was well meaning, but incredibly insensitive about our loss and our choices in how to handle it. I let Seth field that call. I sat on the floor of the kitchen and wept as I listened to him.

I went to sleep that night unsure if I ever wanted to have another child.

But the next morning, God warmed my heart with peace. Sometimes, all you need is a little rest, and while you sleep, the shock wears off and you're left with what's important. God doesn't fail. God doesn't ignore. God is in control.

And God is good.

It was still another two months of miscarrying. It was traumatic and exhausting. I became anemic. Physically, I was probably the worst I've ever been. And as long as my body wasn't over it, it was hard for my heart to move on. But even during grief, I felt God's peace. I knew and understood His love for us, for our lost little one. He would use it all for good.

I see now the lessons the trial provided. How precious life is. How it drew us closer as a couple. How our two year old son didn't seem so annoying and frustrating anymore. How I could count on God to be faithful in the midst of trauma and trial. And that blessing would follow. Thirteen months later, Thing Two would join our family.

Seth believes the baby was a girl. With all my rationality, it was hard for me to swallow that he was so sure, but I learned that it was more important to let him express his grief for his child than it was to hem and haw about gender development in six week old fetuses. We named her Elena Claire.

We love you, Elena. God used you in a mighty way to teach us about Himself. You were so tiny, yet made such a big impact on us. You will always be a part of our family. We look forward to meeting you one day.