On the day I thought I would hold you

Our sweet Maizie girl was not due till April 18th, but I had convinced myself she would come today so that our family could make it to an out of town wedding we are ALL in on April 8th.  Yes, I am crazy.



Today is the day when I thought I would hold you for the first time; but, it’s not going to be.  That reality still hasn’t fully hit yet.  There have been so many times where I’ve looked down at my stomach over the past three months and been surprised by what I see.  You haven’t been with me for some time now.

I wanted to meet you today.  I wanted to take in all your little features.  I wanted to hear your little gurgles and cries.  I wanted to introduce you to your daddy and your sister and your grandparents and maybe even an aunt and uncle or two.

I wanted to snuggle you and nurse you.  I wanted to delight in you and love you.

On December 6 when I found out you had died, it wasn’t just my little daughter in my tummy who had died.  It was my newborn who had died.  My toddler who had died.  My teenager who had died.  My grown-up daughter who had died.  It was not simply the end of a pregnancy.  It was the end of a life I had dreamed about, planned for and clearly envisioned in some ways.

I wish today was the beginning of a new type of journey for us.  The journey where you are out of my tummy and in the world.  The time where I get to love you, parent you, shepherd you, read to you, feed you, play with you, laugh with you, cry with you and sleep with you.  These are all the things I am missing today.

You will forever be dear to us.  We gave you your name because you are our treasure.  Your worth was not determined by the fact that you were wanted by your parents.  Your value is intrinsic because you are a created person with a body and a soul.

I’m sad today that I won’t know you here.  I won’t know what you like and what you love.  I won’t know what bothers you or what excites you.  I won’t know your passions and heart.  I won’t know your dreams.  I won’t know your quirks or your attitude.  I won’t know your giggle or your different types of cries.

Your big sister Emerson loves babies right now.  I think at least half of the words she says in a day are “baby.”  Pointing out babies we see.  Asking to find a baby.  Playing with her baby doll.  She would have loved to have you here.  She probably would have loved you a little too hard.  We all would have loved you hard.  We all still do love you hard.  And it’s been really hard.

I was sad when I heard the words “there is no heartbeat.”  I was sad after your body left my body.  Sad when my breast milk came in and sad when it left.  Sad when my body returned to giving me a physical reminder that I wasn’t pregnant.  Sad when I saw tummies that were the size mine “should have been.”  Sad when my friends had their babies.  Today, I’m sad my arms are empty.  I’m sad that you aren’t here.

empty handsWe would have loved to teach you all the important things.  Bow-wearing.  Playing.  Having joy.  Praying.  Loving God.  Loving others.  Welcoming people into your home.  Rodeo-ing.  Dancing.  Serving.  Forgiving.  Bible reading.  Leading.  Singing.  Exercising.  Cooking.  Sharing around the table.  All the things we love.

You’ve forever changed me sweet girl.  You’ve made me acknowledge life in the womb in a deeper way than I knew before.  You’ve made me experience deep sorrow, but stretched me to empathize with others in their suffering in a new way.  You’ve made me not take life for granted and to appreciate each day I have with any of my children.  You’ve opened my eyes to the delicateness of life in the womb and have forever changed the way I will carry a pregnancy.  You’ve driven me to Jesus in a way I’ve never known before.  You’ve made me look to your daddy for strength and comfort in new ways.  You’ve made me acknowledge my own weaknesses and limitations.  Loving deeply opens the heart to great hurt, but I wouldn’t have wanted to love you any less.

My hope is that you’re in heaven now and that your reality is far greater than mine.  My hope is that you’re near to Jesus and delighting in Him.  In just a little while, we hope to be there with you.

I’ll love you forever and miss you always.


Your mom


For all those who have longed for babies they wished to hold and all who will in the future, my aching heart is with yours today.


wishing for

What I wish my reality was today

One thought on “On the day I thought I would hold you

  1. Please know I feel your sorrow, not exactly as you do, but in the depths of my soul is the understanding of how delicate life is and the precious love you have for Maizie. xoxo

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