Momma in the Valley

Pregnancy after loss is…hard. First, there’s the initial restraint of excitement that you want to share with others but no one truly understands. Then, there’s the blood work every other day to watch your levels, hoping and praying the supplements you’ve been given are sufficient and that your baby is still alive. Then, it’s finally time for an ultrasound, at which point they cannot find a heartbeat. While you and the doctor both know you are early in the pregnancy, there is always that possibility that your womb has once again become a tomb for your unborn child. Two days later, there is a heartbeat! Thank the Lord and sing Him praise! What joy and relief. Now, you get to be on a regular schedule with the doctor. No more multiple needles through the week. No more extra appointments…for now. Fast forward a day or two and now you are in full swing, getting excited and thinking, hoping, and praying you will see this baby alive in your arms in a few months. Then the morning sickness start

  I never thought I would be counting the number of children I have in heaven. I never knew I would be gifted a family, half of which you can’t see. I thought we would have a family, a pretty good sized family, and all figure this life out together. I didn’t know we would only have one earth side. I didn’t know I would be yearning for more but fear my yearning will be met with another babe waiting for me in Heaven. I don’t understand how I can yearn so deeply yet have what I yearn for stripped away. Maybe the yearning is so I pour even more into my Samuel? I don’t know the purpose. I don’t know why. I do know the depths of grief that ebb and flow depending on the day. I know some days I’m “okay” and some days I’m just not. I know I typically feel jumbled in my thoughts and feelings. But I also know my weakness is the perfect place for Him to show His strength. Oh Lord, I know You are greater than anything I could ever imagine. I know Your plans and Your ways are higher than my brain ca

  Grief is a fickle thing. Sometimes, it is just a little prod, reminding you it’s there. Other times, though, it is like a punch in the gut while you have a stomach bug. Either way, it’s always there, lurking around every corner. At times, it is a small sting that feels like a bee. At others, it feels like a ton of bricks has settled on your chest and you have no escape. The grief can look different day to day, week to week, month to month. It can be a simple ping of sadness at a song or a name that reminds you of who or what you have lost. It can also be an overwhelming wave of sorrow as you remember a birthday, a shared joke, or think to call the person you are missing. It hurts. It is an endless ache, a bottomless, empty pit, a sea of despair. Grief is something that is typically experienced silently. It is an experience unique to you, and unique to each loss you have. It can feel lonely. In short, laymen’s terms: grief sucks. The Devil likes to use this pain and despair and loneli

I keep searching. In the cabinets. In the rooms of our home. In books. In my schedule. In my notes. In music. On the internet. I keep searching for something to take away my sadness, to prevent depression, to speed up the healing, to make it all feel less real. But I continue to wake up in this reality that feels like a dream. I wish I was waking up to feeling my baby in my belly. I wish we were preparing my son to be a big brother. Instead, I pray. I pray for guidance. I pray for strength. I pray for God’s will to be done, even when it pains me to experience the process of getting there. I want to cuddle my babies. I want all of my babies. For now, I get to cuddle my little boy here on earth and wait for the Heavenly cuddles that are to come. I look forward to that wonderful fruition when my family will be all together and we will be face to face with our Lord. Now, though, I ache. I ache for the babies that have left my womb. I ache for the games we would play all together. I yearn t

  Jude. Derived from Judah. In Hebrew and Greek, it means “praised,” “praises,” or “praise.” Our Lord will be praised and glorified in all circumstances. We praise Him for making us parents of a third blessing, a third beautiful, wanted, wonderfully knitted child. We praise Him for His grace and His omniscience. We praise Him, knowing that He has our Jude in His hands. Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow. Even the hidden blessings we don’t yet know exist. Hollow. Hollow is the only word I can think of to describe how I feel in the midst of this grief. What other words are there to describe how there was a life in my womb then suddenly there wasn’t? How do you describe the feeling of pure joy taken from you…again? I don’t think I can explain the feeling. It just is. It’s like I’m walking around doing what I have to do to survive and showing up places I’m supposed to go, but it feels like you can literally see through me. It feels like someone has taken an ice cream scoop and taken

I am a proud mommy. I’m not exactly proud of myself or my abilities. Yes, “I am woman, hear me roar.” Yes, I have some qualities that help me be the best mommy I can be. But I am certainly not perfect. I get frustrated. I forget to have Samuel brush his teeth sometimes. I forgot to brush my own some mornings (don’t judge!). But I am not proud of myself. I am proud of my little boy who is both slowly and quickly becoming not so little. This pride is something I feel beam inside of me when he helps me with the dishes or shows me some new skill I didn’t expect. It is also a pride that quickly shrinks to humility when Samuel hits his cousin or says a certain phrase beginning with “oh!” And ending with “it” that we all know he has heard Mommy say a few too many times. Motherhood is an amazing, wild ride. It is terrifying laying in bed some nights wondering if I did the right thing or if I’m spoiling him too much or not giving enough love. It’s also scary when you wonder if for some reason y