Grief, Infant Loss, Stillbirth

These days I see so many babies being born and who were just born. It’s all so bittersweet for me. I’ve always loved babies and I still do. Ever since Finn died, seeing these babies brings a twinge of sadness followed by a wave of happiness. I see everyone enjoying and even sometimes not enjoying all of the little things their babies are doing, and I wish it could be just the same for me. I don’t begrudge them because their outcome was better than mine. We all wanted the same outcome. I know if they could snap their fingers and make my baby alive and healthy, they would.

The road to having children, especially a second child, wasn’t an easy one for me. Knowing the time it took the first time around, we knew we didn’t have the luxury of scheduling a baby, so we decided to let things happen as they would after Jaxton was born. Except nothing happened. We continued to try on our own for a couple of years with no luck, after which we consulted with a reproductive endocrinologist.

A few months of testing later we had no definitite reason of why were struggling with infertility, but with medical help, we finally had a baby baking. The baby seemed to be healthy and we were road tripping with everyone else and noting the mile markers until we reached our destination, bringing him home. Then, when the destination was finally in sight — BAM, engine failure. Our baby’s body that wasn’t quite so healthy after all failed him, and he died.

Now we are stuck on the side of the road, longingly staring at the destination that is just out of reach, listening to cars zooming by us, watching all the bumpers fading away into the distance as they appoach and then take the exit to that promised land. We get pictures and stories from the people there enjoying their babies … and we want to be there with them.

It’s been a long, long road to having another baby, wrought with frustration, disappointment, and grief unimaginable. Now we press forward, struck down but not destroyed. Right now, that destination, a promised land of sorts for me, is so visible, bright and gleaming, beckoning me to bliss within its limits. It’s hard not to fix my eyes on it. Yet while writing this, God put it on my heart to remember to fix my eyes on what is unseen rather than what is seen, an eternal glory that far outweighs these earthly troubles.

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. – 2 Corinthians 4:8-11

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthians 16-18