Reminders

Another day done
Of a slightly forced smile
As I ponder and shudder
You’ve not been with me for a while.

And right by the chair
As I sweep up the floor,
I see the glitter dot
That had brought joy before –

A day when your siblings discovered,
“It’s a baby girl!”-
Your brother bemoaning
Not having a boy on whom to score.

But no soccer balls are being kicked from him to his little sister
Because you are gone,
And so’s all that glitter.

Except for this one piece that tortures me so.

Do I throw it away, or keep it right there?
If I leave it by the lamp, can I pretend the despair
From that day that we heard
The words we never imagined
Was all just a bad dream
That didn’t actually happen? –

To hear once again after so many tears
And faithful leaps, just to confirm all my fears
That this may be all I will ever know
Of carrying a child and watching them grow

Only to hear, “I’m so sorry” and “I don’t know
why this keeps happening to these precious ones who show
No signs of issues or any true reason
That would take them from you so far along in such a short season.”

The darkness of death
And the loss of my girls
Has tortured my heart, my body my soul

And so does this glitter pierce at my heart
Any more than the daily reminder that we’re so far apart?

Do I hoard it and keep it, torment myself so?
Or toss it away so my grieving heart knows
It won’t have to face it
Each time that I clean,
Dusting off the corners of my home- that which is tangible and that which is unseen?
No matter the choice, I still cannot bear
The thought of another piece of you farther away, not there–
Just like my dreams, my hopes, and my prayers
Of raising you and holding you each and every day.

I miss you, Lucy girl,
And all of the smiles
That I won’t ever see
Until I walk that aisle

From this life to Heaven
Oh, how I can’t wait
To hold all my children
And never again feel the weight

Of death inside of me
That leaves empty, aching arms.
Clinging to Jesus,
I know He’s not far

From me and from you, and your big sister, too
Mommy so deeply loves and misses you.

Unfiltered Thoughts of Mourning

 Monday, August 03, 2026, 5:05PM

A week ago, I was on a trip of a lifetime in a sunny place far away from all the reminders and stress. It was glorious. And then the plane landed and reality came flooding in.

I landed home and once again sat in a waiting room.

…

Waiting for the next ultrasound. Waiting to miscarry. Waiting for the test results. Waiting for the consultation. Waiting to try. Waiting for the pain to lessen like people say it will. Waiting.

That has felt like my life the past six months. 

I am weary. And if I’m honest, I can feel like the waiting is a heavy weight meant to crush me.

Good News? Or Not? I enter the office door, telling my brain to not go there; don’t think about what happened just two months ago in the ultrasound room next door. Today is a new day. And yet it didn’t feel so far away, as we were sitting down to talk through my test results from my end-of-first-trimester miscarriage. Suddenly, I was transported right back to all the anguish of losing Maggie after 16 weeks. To be here again with no answers- nearly perfect labs and teary eyes- is shocking.

And yet, there I was. When just a month ago, my OB sat across from me convinced there was a clotting disorder that caused these losses, now the results prove against that hypothesis. I don’t want something so serious, but I don’t want this either- the unexplained. All the evidence of something being broken, and yet nothing to diagnose or fix.

Make it Make Sense “Make it make sense” has been a sarcastic phrase used online to point out the ridiculousness of someone’s statement.

But it also has been the cry of my heart when I feel lost and hurting, wondering why us, why our babies…why does this happen at all.

I turned to my dear husband the other night and asked him the question I have uttered so many times these past months, “Why? Why did this happen? I just wish there was an explanation”.

And his answer this time was profound. He said, “I’m not sure I want it to make sense. Because the death of a child shouldn’t make sense.”

He went on to insightfully point out that many tragedies in the world can feel “explained away”- Oh, that earthquake that killed hundreds of people happened because the land is on top of so many fault lines. Oh, that tsunami happened because of the storm system at sea.
We seem to dole out scientific, logical, or spiritual explanations for why things happen. Because the truth is, when we truly step back and think of the death and destruction that natural events, shootings, illness, and otherwise cause, it is too much for our human hearts to handle.

But when you lose a loved one, when cancer overtakes your body, when you hear those haunting words, “There’s no heartbeat,” you realize this isn’t right. And it can’t be explained or rationalized. There is no sense to make of it because it wasn’t God’s desire for this world- the suffering, the chaos, the tragedy.

So as I ponder the why and feel like the ache inside of me will weigh me down to the greatest depths of the earth, I can look up and be reminded that these questions and this pain has a resolution. That it’s okay to find no logical answers to the death of a child.

Paradoxes I look outside, and the sun hurts me. Surely it shouldn’t be this nice when I feel so very broken. 

This week came like a bulldozer, shoveling dirt over me until I could barely see which way was up. 

I wish I could celebrate the miracles with no inhibitions. I wish joy didn't bring pain. 

I didn’t know before January that a human being could experience so much pain and still survive. 

I am bewildered. In those moments of grief, I feel lost and desperate, terrified this will last forever. I feel the pain welling up through my chest, threatening me with its tight clutches. And all I can do is let it wash over me and try to walk through it. 

I hate feeling so out of control. I can’t remember things. Who did I say that to last? Why can’t I remember my middle name? What’s wrong with me?

And then I remember. 

What’s wrong with me? Where did things go wrong? Why is this so hard for so many of us?

The Difference Between Two Losses and One
I felt different after losing Lucy. It has felt like an extra rock tied to my sorrowful soul as I try to swim to the surface. So much grief and sadness over my two girls.

And then there is an equally deep pain: This may be it. I may be at the end of the road.

Maybe we are not meant to have more.

After my heart opening up to having more children years ago and waiting for God’s timing, I cannot always fathom this. 

And oh, the mind games. I struggle to not view myself as a medical spectacle instead of a living, breathing mother and host of grief.

I desperately want to find “the problem”. Because surely there is one.

Something else that is so hard? There is no comfort in stats. I defied statistics with both of these losses- less than 1% chance each time. I can’t scour Facebook groups or join support groups to see if other women had a successful pregnancy after 2 miscarriages. Even if I found hopeful successful stories, it doesn’t matter because they are not mine.

Lord, set me straight and hold me close.