Remembering Nolan - A Rainy Day in May

A Rainy Day in May (A Tribute to Nolan Edward)

All day long with a steady rhythm,

The clouds released their precipitation.

A doctor’s appointment loomed in the distance

Which left me wondering with great anticipation.

Barely four months had passed since a terrible loss,

Where Baby June Rose went to heaven to be held.

The memories of that day loomed over my head,

Emotions and pain in my heart grew and they swelled.

Was the sky crying because it knew something I did not?

Were my fears unfounded and were they for naught?

I wanted answers, I wanted relief,

“Is my baby ok?” was my only rational thought.

A wait that felt like eternity, A nurse that eased all anxiety,

The doctor walked through the door and offered a scan.

As my baby’s perfect body appeared on the screen,

No life detected, no heartbeat seen, this was not the plan.

Silence echoed through the room,

Emotions running wild and free,

Orders placed for a second opinion,

“This cannot be real” was my plea.

A second scan showed the same results,

Measurements taken, and pictures printed.

Life stood still while

My baby’s image on my heart was imprinted.

Options discussed, and waiting was chosen,

It is Mother’s Day weekend,

There was so much happening,

Too much to comprehend.

Can I please just wake up and forget all this grief,

I am only sleeping, and this must be a dream!

Rise and awake for a new day is shining,

Life is not as I recall it, as it does seem.

My heart is so empty but not my womb,

I have some time left to honor and cherish the life within.

Although scans show that death has occurred,

From day one I loved the precious life that did begin.

Prayers for a miracle that my baby does live,

Hoping each day that no goodbye will be said.

My God is bigger than the results of any scan,

Understanding death does exist, tears are still shed.

I will cling to my God and be firmly upheld.

Regardless of outcome, my faith is still strong,

I do not know what the days ahead hold,

But I know who holds them and to whom I belong.

My baby is likely to be delivered sleeping,

And memories of him are mine worth keeping.

My child has been loved from the very start,

And eventually we will be together even if we must temporarily part.

On Love and on Loss

Loss.  It can mean so many things.  A loss in a game of sports.  Lost in thought.  Losing your keys.

Misplace.  Deprive.  Taken away.

Two weeks into 2018 my husband and I endured one of the hardest weekends.  We never saw it coming.  We hardly even had time to let it sink in that we were expecting our fist child when in a blink of an eye (which was actually 48 hours from hell) our trajectory for the next year of our life changed.

Grief was real, but grief was quick.  We were back to work the next day and resumed life as normal.  There were few triggers for me, and the hardest day occurred three weeks after the loss when I received a call confirming my next OB appointment.  I had cancelled it but it never made it out of the schedule book.

Two months later we found ourselves staring at an ever darkening line on a home pregnancy test.  Overjoyed would be an absolute understatement.  Barely 24 hours had passed before we began sharing with those close to us that another baby was on the way.

We were told by well meaning individuals that back to back miscarriages are unlikely.  We celebrated the life that was growing within.

Nervous.  Anxious.  Hesitation.  I bonded with my baby but I could not escape the ever real possibility that something might go wrong.  Something may have already gone wrong.

I felt so different with pregnancy two versus pregnancy one.  I felt hopeful.  This time was different.  My body was recognizing this pregnancy.  My levels were rising, my hormones were all over the place but just starting to regulate.  Morning sickness came like a freight train and completely knocked me off my feet.

This baby is ours.  This baby is wanted.  This baby is loved.

The appointment day with the OB approached so slowly yet too quickly.  A wait in the waiting room that felt like forever.  I was impatient.  I was nervous.  I wanted everything to be okay but nothing anyone said could calm me.  I needed to heart our baby's heartbeat.  I needed to see my baby on the scan.  I did not know what to expect.

We were surprised with the option for an early ultrasound.  We started the appointment with this.  This was exactly what this momma needed.

As soon as I saw my baby on the screen, I saw the motionless body with no heartbeat.  The room was silent.  The tech tried to get a clearer picture, but I knew.  They knew.  As they began setting up for another scan in a different room I clung to my husband and we sang "How Great Thou Art" and prayed.  We were in a state of shock yet we were incredibly calm.  The peace that came into the room with us was undoubtedly the Holy Spirit.

We went to another room for a different scan.  Same results.  We asked for pictures and they measured our baby.

We talked about what moving forward looks like.  After our 48 hour loss in January, I am hesitant to endure another natural miscarriage.

It was the Friday before Mother's Day.  I went into the weekend knowing that I have two babies dancing with Jesus.  The first 24 hours after learning our precious Nolan Edward went to be with Jesus and his sister June Rose were by far the hardest yet.  I could not eat.  I could not sleep.  I could hardly think.

The outpouring of love and support from our friends, family and church have been unbelievably amazing.

We have received calls, texts, flowers, and meals.

As I write this my darling baby is still safely inside of me.  Walking around knowing I am carrying my lifeless baby is by far one of the most challenging things I have ever had to experience.

I may never have the opportunity to hold my baby in my arms, but I have held every single cell of my baby, encompassed 100% in love for the past 13.5 weeks.  For that I am eternally grateful.

There is a huge part of me that holds onto hope.  There is hope that another scan will be done and life will be seen dancing across the monitor.  Yet another part of me wonders how I could possibly recover from a trauma of believing for how ever many days it takes that my baby is dead and processing that, then to find out that my baby is actually alive and well.  Hopes are high, yet I am at incredible peace that regardless of outcome, rejoicing will be done.

There will be a way to honor our child.  While my child may not physically have life, the birth of my baby will be living bringing.

God is good and He will guide us through this valley.

We will have a child.  Whatever that looks like, God hears our prayers and knows the desires of our hearts to be parents.