I know I have posted a lot about Glory Babies the last few weeks, and I will be continuing to blow up your feed for a while.
But I wanted to take a
minute to share my heart behind why I am so passionate about this ministry.
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As most of you know,
my husband and I had a miscarriage in 2015. It was our second pregnancy, and
our child would have been born May 5th of the following Spring.
However, when I think
about why this group, why this topic, why these women walking these roads are
so important to me, the pull in my heart goes much further than the baby we
lost.
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It was my senior year
of high school, first semester. My mom refused to let me take wood shop, so as
I worked on my quilt at my sewing machine, I was waiting for the call.
My cousin was in the
hospital in early labor with her twin girls.
It was a pregnancy
that was long hoped for, long wished for, long prayed for, long longed for. Not
only by her and husband, but by all of us.
After countless visits
to doctors and a journey to pregnancy that wasn't easy, both babies were
growing.
I remember as soon as
I found out that she was having twins going to Old Navy and purchasing little
sock hats for spring. One was a bunny and the other was a duck, I think.
But now, here we were
in September, nearly 20 weeks too early, and our sweet longed for baby girls
were coming.
There was an
announcement over the intercom for me to come to the office. I stopped my foot
pedal and stared at the fabric in my hands. I knew in that moment that the news
on the other end of the phone meant our sweet baby girls wouldn't be held in
the arms of our family members.
My mom gave me the
news over the phone, and as I walked back to my sewing machine hot tears poured
down my cheeks and onto the soft fabric in my hands.
Why?
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A snapped photo of a
positive pregnancy test sent to a best friend with the words "If you are
going to be on this pregnancy train, you better hop on now!"
A text right back with
the same brand of test and the words "Already on it!" meant my dear
friend and I were pregnant at the same time. I could not have been more
excited.
Pregnant bellies, baby
showers, sweet newborns, and someday in the future our babies going to church
camp together much like me and his mama had years before. The future for our
second baby and his or her best friend was glorious.
Then the text message late
on a Sunday evening. My 8th week of pregnancy, her 12th. She was rushing to the
ER.
Her night ended with
news of an ectopic pregnancy.
The next morning I
sobbed at work as I erased the previous week's agenda from the white board. How
was I ever going to walk through this pregnancy, through this baby's life
without my friend and her baby? My heart ached for every way our joys would be
reminders of her loss. My celebrations would resound with her pain.
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That Friday evening, I
quickly ran to the restroom as my husband was getting ready to leave for a work
cookout.
A few spots of blood
and my stomach dropped as I knew in an instant our baby was gone.
A never-ending evening
in a cold and brightly-lit ER sent me home with news on what to expect with my
impending "spontaneous abortion."
I spent the next two
weeks waiting for my body to expel the life I so desperately wanted to cling
to.
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"We lost Amiah.
She had no heartbeat."
The words hit me like
a freight train, knocking the wind out of my chest and causing me to fall onto
my bed in disbelief.
24 weeks. 24 weeks is
viability. Here I was pregnant with our twins at 24 weeks, believing that if
something happened, they would both survive outside the womb.
But the words in the
text message from one of my closest friends, also pregnant with boy-girl twins,
blew out the flame of truth I held in my hands.
She was further along.
29 weeks. Her babies were past the viability mark. This pregnancy, these twins,
this successful IVF, after 3 failed IUIs, and an IVF that ended in another baby
lost by miscarriage, these sweet twins were supposed to be safe.
But again, my sweet
friend would only briefly hold her daughter in her arms before she had to wait
for their reunion in Heaven.
What a gift that she
has her son in her arms, but a tragedy of his missing half- twins separated
between Heaven and Earth...
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Over, and over, and
over, and over, and over women have shared their stories with me about their
painful walks through losing a child or their journey of longing.
Women close to my
grandmother in age retelling the memories of their D&C.
Women saying
"We've been trying, no news yet."
Tears of longing,
sadness, desperation, anger, sadness, mingled in with hope and desire, these
women, my family, my friends, my neighbors, my sisters-in-Christ, my women I
meet at the doctor's office, my women I see at the library, my women avoiding
the baby aisle at Target, my mothers of friends, my women across the aisle at
church, my friend on Facebook, my follower on Instagram, my friend on Snapchat,
....the list goes on and on and on.
THIS, THESE WOMEN,
THEY are the reason I am starting Glory Babies. They are the heartbeats in my
soul and their babies are the ones I carry in my heart and in my prayers. They
are the reason that every month I want to show up for them. To hold their
hands, to give them a tissue, to hear their stories, to walk through them down
this messy road of motherhood as a part of a club that no one wants to be a
part of.
So I implore you, if
you or a loved one could benefit from knowing they aren't alone on this journey,
please consider sharing news about Glory Babies with them. We would love to
have the chance to love them wherever they are on their motherhood journey.
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