Nothing is Lost

I'm sure by now most of you guys who read this have probably heard about what happened at the end of last week. We went to to doctor for our second ultrasound, the one where we would find out how both babies were doing since there were concerns with the first ultrasound. I spent most of Friday a nervous wreck. I tried not to be...but it seemed like no matter how many times I prayer or what scriptures I tried to hold onto I was just anxious.

When we got to the office and the tech started the scan, I think Billy and I both knew as soon as we saw the babies that we had lost Baby A. Baby B was bigger, and had a serious case of the wiggles (adorable! but I didn't really have the emotional capacity to notice at the time). The tech had a good look at Baby B first, measuring and checking it's heart rate (175...good and strong). Then she moved over to Baby A. It wasn't moving, and in my heart I remember just begging it to please move. Please. Even though I knew, because it had obviously not grown much since the last time we saw it, watched it's little heart flutter on the screen and fell in love, I still just wanted it to move. Wanted it's heart to beat. Would have given who knows what to make it live long enough for me to hold it and smell its new sweet skin. I think in that moment I felt crushed by all the moments I knew we'd never have together.

I somehow held it together for the most part during the rest of the scan. I credit that to simple denial and numbness. The tech was very kind, offering us tissues and reassuring us that there was nothing we could have done, and that Baby B would most likely not be affected in any way by losing it's precious twin. My doctor came in and talked a bit, and scheduled us for our next ultrasound on January 9th. (They have no concerns for Baby B, this is just a routine ultrasound we've always done between 11 and 13 weeks. Baby B will be 12 weeks at that point.)

Even though she reassured us there was nothing we could have done...I just remember thinking how awful it was to see my sweet baby, not moving, wishing I could hold it, help it, fix it somehow. I'm it's mama...isn't that what mamas do? The helpless feeling of carrying it still, even today, with me, even though it's really not there, is just a constant heartbreak. I have heard of people dealing with miscarriages...I've been blessed to never experience it until now. Trust me...to say it absolutely sucks is putting it nicely. You feel so robbed, arms you were expecting to fill will never be full of this child's life.

There have been so many people who have prayed for us, loved Baby A with us, and I can't help but be grateful for the short life it lived. I remember praying that God would use these twins for His glory, and so far He's done just that. I don't like the way He chose to do it. I don't think He expects me to, either, but I know that He has. So many have shared stories with me about their losses, and told me they've been encouraged watching our faith through this, that I know He has been seen in this. Even through my tears.

I don't want this to be about me, though. I sincerely hate too much attention. I remember telling my mom, after we announced we were having twins, that I felt like a circus animal. (No offense, it was wonderful attention and we are so grateful for the loving people in our lives, but the introvert in me just wanted to crawl in a hole.) This continued after we lost one of our twins. I have realized though, that God also used this to kind of force my hand. I don't share with people. I'm intensely private about my hurts for the most part. I like to lick my wounds without anyone watching. God let this be a public hurt for me, so that I could hurt with other people. People who it helped to share their stories, and people who helped me by sharing their stories.

There have been so many bits and pieces of encouragement over the past weekend. I think the one thing that really comforted me the most though, if anything could, was a letter Billy sent me by John Piper. It talked about how this baby I lost, it will know me as it's mother in Heaven. God will see to that. And I will know this baby. And this sweet baby I didn't get to raise here on earth will thank me for suffering the loss so that they could have their reward sooner. They didn't have to experience any hurt. It was loved so thoroughly in the weeks I was able to carry it, and the first thing it saw was Jesus. I mean, isn't that what being a mama is all about? Loving my babies, the ones here and the one in Heaven, so much that I'm willing to sacrifice my wants for their good. I wanted that baby fiercely, as soon as I knew it was there...but I am comforted knowing it will never hurt, never be sick, never be alone, always surrounded by joy and light and our Savior. What more could I ask for?

To give ourselves some closure, and give Baby A a place in our family, we decided to name *her* Charis Eden, meaning "grace" and "paradise". It was because of grace that we were even able to know this baby, and even more grace that her first sight, her first and forever home, was Paradise.

Thank you so much for all the prayers and thoughtful words, and for reading this. Thank you for sharing in this with us, and for loving Baby A with us. It lived a short, but truly loved, life. Kind of like a shooting star, or an amazing sunset...you only get to see it for a moment, but it's burned into your memory, God's hand is obvious in it's creation, and you're glad you got to see it if only for a second.

And He takes the empty hands and draws me close to the thrum of Love. You may suffer loss but in Me is anything ever lost, really? Isn’t everything that belongs to Christ also yours? Loved ones lost still belong to Him—then aren’t they still yours? Do I not own the cattle on a thousand hills; everything? Aren’t then all provisions, in Christ, also yours? If you haven’t lost Christ, child, nothing is ever lost.”  - Ann Voskamp