A life is a life , no matter how small.

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” A life is a life no matter how small.” – Dr Seuss

Hearing that sentence at an early age shaped something in my soul that never left me. It echoed into how I viewed babies and pregnancy. It shaped how I valued life.

If there is anything I’ve learned in this season of my life it’s this:

It isn’t our job to figure God out. It’s our job to be loved by him. Radically loved, despite our circumstances. Hurts and failures. I’m learning this intensely as I allow him access to my heart. Full access . No more pulling the covers over my head and calling in sick when I can’t go on anymore. I let him love me.

Life doesn’t stop for us to grieve does it? We must carry on . Especially as parents , even in times of deep sorrow we still have wide eyes asking us for supper. We still have teeth to brush and bedtime prayers to pray. Life isn’t kind to the griever. Everyone walks around and smiles when all the while you’re walking around with a wound in your side. A wound invisible to the world, but paralyzing to you.

On June 12th , 2014 heaven gained a sweet blue eyed curly headed boy. That boy was our son Jude. Whom we have never rocked to sleep. Whom we have never pushed on a swing. Whom we have never said bedtime prayers to. But we have seen him in our dreams. We know the intricate details of his face and his smile. I’ve watched him interact with his siblings in my dreams. I was prepared to meet him and let him go. Within the same day. Within hours.

I’d been dreaming about him and seeing him in visions for months. Jude he shall be named The Lord told me. Jude means praise . I knew in my spirit he was mine, that sweet sweet boy was all mine. But I knew I would never hold him. I knew I wouldn’t stand with him on his first day of school. I knew I would love him from afar, but inside my heart.

The miscarriage began right away in the morning. The Lord began to speak to me and tell me exactly what was happening. It was Jude. He was going back to heaven and for a brief moment he was mine. Still inside my body. My curves rocked him and I could feel his soul intwined with mine. I had loved him already, but it became intense. So did the pain.

” Why don’t you take some medicine babe?!”

” No I want to feel him.”

And so it began. I spent countless hours on the toilet, I took a long bath and tried to breathe slow , deep breaths. I was so connected to the holy spirits presence that I wasn’t upset. No tears were shed . I just was still. I felt.

I slept for a few hours while Matt watched the children. The kids knew. Everyone was quiet and calm. Even our youngest who is still breast feeding came into the room and laid her head on my chest. Caressed my cheek. She knew. The look in her eyes told me it was ok to let her brother go now. I had been holding him in , not ready to release his spirit from my body. Laying down prolonged the passing so I chose to do that. For four hours I slept. It was the deepest sleep I’d ever gotten.

I finally got up and tried to eat. I had a glass of wine and took another bath. My body was obedient to the wine and my body relaxed enough to take another bath. The back pain was so painful, but I wanted to feel the pain. I still refused medication.

Jude boy, you passed out of my body around 10 pm on Wednesday. I knew you went back to heaven because I suddenly felt alone. I was alone there in that bathroom. I convulsed in a sob and because I knew I wouldn’t be there with you holding your hand entering heavens gates. I prayed a friend would meet you. A woman would guide you. My heart was ripped from the seems knowing you wouldn’t know my scent. You wouldn’t know what my breast tasted like or how horrible I am at singing bedtime songs. But I prayed in the short time you were inside me you knew my voice.

You knew you were loved.

Looking back you were with us during special events. Your daddy’s birthday, your brothers birthday. Your cousins first birthday party. You went on a family trip to the lake and the beach. You heard many of your siblings giggles and kisses on my cheek. You heard when I told your daddy I loved him before bed and kisses on his cheek before work.

I have no doubt you felt love amongst the chaos of our life. We sure love you.

But hey buddy, make sure Jesus let’s you visit me often. I want to see you in my dreams. I want to watch you grow and laugh . I want to see your eyes mature from being with Jesus. They will dance, just like the smile on my face writing now. They will dance from his glory. Teach me in the next few days and weeks to laugh again. Teach my eyes to dance with his glory. Teach them to stop leaking. Please.

I’m grateful for your life and grateful I got to feel you. My arms long to rock you and nurture you, but I know you’re in a place where there are no tears. There are no boo boos and bike accidents. There’s no tummy aches for me to pray for. Aren’t you lucky? I won’t be rubbing oils all over your body , and you never have to be embarrassed of your hippy mother.

” Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart , then you can start to make it better. “

Today I pretended to hold your hand walking up the stairs to our home. It brought a smile to my face and quickly tears to my eyes.

Please take my sad song and make it better.

 

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3 thoughts on “A life is a life , no matter how small.

  1. Oh sweet Rachel. My heart breaks for you. Miscarriage is one of those heart wrenching experiences that a lot of people just don’t understand… except for the mamas who have been there (usually). You are so strong. Hang in there love. I’m here if you want to chat, vent, praise or just cry. Praying for you. You know how much I love the name Jude. What a lucky boy to be able to call you mama eternally.

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