Our Wonderfully Made

A year ago on this day, April 8th, Branton and I found ourselves in a dark lit room, with a doctor’s table next to cords with a machine, and one big screen TV. This was the day we were eagerly anticipating – our 12 week ultrasound with our third pregnancy…

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Yesterday, after I completed my daily entry in my Authentic Living journal, I decided to open up my own journal (one that ironically, I purchased in October, just days before leaving on a last minute trip to BC to visit family, as I used every square inch of my Lyric journal – which was when I found out about this pregnancy – and ended up being my first entry!). I was spending a sunny afternoon alone in a cabin Branton and I booked at Falcon Lake, as he was working on a cabin in the area. As he out working, I spent some inward time by the fire. I started my journal entry thanking God for what has been stirring in my heart – feeling called to be more aware, more present, more intentional with my time. As I continued to write however, very quickly my pen just stopped. Something in my mind took a sharp turn and all I could think about was Lael, our third baby. The baby we lost April.

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My mind was zooming, yet my pen just stopped. I started to write, but couldn’t find the words. And then, as it dawned on me that tomorrow (today), was Lael’s Day – the day we found out the truth of our baby girl being taken out of this world, her soul gone from within me. A solid lump formed in my throat, as I once again started writing. I vividly pictured her tiny, innocent body on that one big screen TV, hanging in the dark lit room just one year ago. I could feel the expected shock like it was yesterday – as I felt for a while that this was our truth – that my baby had left me – yet still felt the brick of shock overcoming me, having this intuition confirmed.

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“I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.”

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The days that followed that moment, I am so incredibly thankful for. I am so thankful to have had the support of Branton. After hearing those dreaded words, “I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.”, like a zombie I folded my shirt down, got off the bed, and walked out into the hallway, not even realizing at the time that Branton went to the front desk to pay the fee for our two minute truth. We silently stood in the elevator, waiting for it to go down three floors before shooting us out where we would walk to our parked vehicle.

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We drove around what now is our neighbourhood, and stopped along the river. Neither of us had the words or awareness to know what to say, or where to go. Branton looked at me, and told me he had something to give me. I had no words, as I was still in the initial shock of grief. I had no clue what he could be referring to, and honestly, thought to myself, “Nothing he could give me in this moment can take this pain away. Why now? Does he think some random gift will heal me?” He reached into the middle console of the truck, and pulled out what looked like a small piece of marble. Looking down at this object, he started talking, softly. He shared with me how he spent the prior evening on the job site working with this small piece of white speckled marble. He wanted to make something special for me, as we had been anxiously anticipating this ultrasound for weeks prior. He wanted to create something for me to honour this baby – whether good news or bad – to be a symbol of her life. He knew how meaningful my Lyric bracelet was (and still is) to me, a bracelet a very special friend of mine in Boston gifted to me, one I wear every.single.day. He wanted me to have something for Lael too.

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I looked at this ring he carved and smoothed, created just for me – and our baby – who we now knew was gone. Through blurred eyes, I put the ring on, feeling as if I once again had a piece of her with me. As if all those weeks and months of knowing her were safely encompassed within this marble ring – white and pure just like her.

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Not knowing where to go from that spot on the river, or what to do, we did the only “natural” thing to us – the same action we took after losing Lyric. We called the Fairmont Hotel, cashed in some Aeroplan points, and booked a room – just one night this time, we told ourselves. It may sound frivolous, or highly privileged to so (which we are so grateful to have had this privilege), however, we were staying with my mom at the time as we did not yet have possession of our new home. We were staying my my Grandma’s suite, where she lived for close to 15 years until passing away two years prior. The room gave me uneasy feelings. I remember being a little girl, running down the stairs in the middle of the night after having a nightmare. She always welcomed me with my own pillow to sleep with – a small pink one with a colourful floral print. It was different now though. Her things were gone, and she was gone. The room was just a shell of what it once was – all I saw now was the worn carpet and chipped painted walls. The comforting aura it once contained, no longer lingered.

What we needed was time alone – away from family tip-toeing around us, away from the memories, away from any duties of the day, even if just making a bed. So, we packed up our bags, and went to our hiding place. To read my very first post on this blog, sharing the news of losing Lael, the grief that hit, and our silver linings, click here: Miscarriage… it [still] really sucks.

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Those nights away (yes, turned into two nights after all – thank goodness for Branton suggesting to book another night – even after we packed up and checked out), I am so thankful for. In hindsight, a second night was even more brilliant, as the third night we ended up spending the hospital post surgery with my third D&C).

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This weekend, all these memories came storming back in, and grief hit me like a tonne of bricks. It amazes me how your body and mind seem to sense when an anniversary of death or loss is approaching. I was not consciously preparing myself for this day – Lael’s Day – yet as I was sitting by the fire, at a cabin in the woods, suddenly I got choked up. The intense feeling of loss and heartache for my sweet Lael flooded over me, and tears began to pour down. The awareness that last year had been our second spring season going through the same scenario – eagerly anticipating an ultrasound, realization of losing our baby, retreating to our hiding place, followed by the physical pain of surgery and drugs.

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And now here we are – a third “Spring” (yet with a heck of a lot more snow!). All these thoughts and feelings must have been brewing in my subconscious, as I awoke this morning bursting with tears, barely able to catch my breath. I had a nightmare. A nightmare even running down to Grandma’s room would not be able to console. A nightmare exposing my deepest fear. A nightmare of losing this baby – our rainbow baby – too. A nightmare of a third Spring going through the same loss and hurt. It was too much. I couldn’t comprehend it, and as I woke up, it felt so real.

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Branton (seriously – thank the Lord for His divine knowing in gifting me this man!) came to my bed, calming me down. He spoke TRUTH to me, saying, “Your nightmare is NOT true. Baby is happy. Baby is healthy. Baby is here with us, right now, in this moment. All three of us are okay.” He spoke my dreams aloud, as if proclaiming them over this nightmare, “We WILL meet this baby. We WILL take him home. You’re going to be staying up all throughout the night, watching him sleep, picking him up as he cries – you wont be sleeping to even have time for these nightmares!” He reassured me. He showed me love. He dismissed the lies I was hearing in my head. And then he ran me a morning bath. 🙂

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And here I found myself, rainbow babe kicking away, listening to the new Hillsong Worship album speak more truth to me. As the tears stopped, I somehow caught myself floating and smiling.

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I love you, Lael. Today is your day. Today we honour you, and certainly not by allowing evil lies to bring us down and weaken us to submit to fear. We honour you by thanking God for you; dreaming of bringing your brother home in June. We are spending time as your mom and dad, remembering you. You are so loved, my baby girl. Your brother Lyric is so loved. Arianna is so loved. I am thankful to know each of you are up in heaven, with Grams, already saving a spot for us.

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Until we meet again, my sweet angel. Momma loves you so much.

XOXO,

Mom