A Year Later...

I remember it like it was yesterday. The first sight of blood. The fear. Calling the doctor. Calling my OB cousin telling him there was no movement. Drinking OJ like he suggested and still feeling nothing. Finally feeling one last kick. I prayed it was the first of many more, but it was my boy’s goodbye. Before I went to the doctor the blood increased. To this day, I shutter when I use that bathroom because I remember knowing at that point. I walked into the doctor’s office knowing he was gone. The Doppler was silent. My doctor rushed to get the ultrasound machine, but I knew. My Jumping Bean was still. My doctor kept looking, but I told him I knew he was gone. The events that followed were horrific. Henry came so fast that he literally fell onto the bed. My husband came rushing over and kept me looking into his eyes as the nurses came rushing in. I can’t tell you the pain of feeling my lifeless son fall out of me. It’s not supposed to be like that. I’m supposed to hear a loud cry. To study my son’s face. The room was silent, and I was heartbroken. But because He lives, I knew then and I know now that Henry was just a body at that point. He was singing “Glory” with the angels. He was pain free and sitting with the Holy of Holies.

I can say this with full confidence that not once did God leave me. I had a suspicion this might happen most of my pregnancy. In fact, just days before I lost Henry I found myself looking up stillbirth on the internet. I had fake conversations in my head on what I would say to God if He allowed this to happen to me. Every conversation involved my walking away from Him. From telling Him that no God would do this to a praying mama. People ask all the time how we Christians know that God exists. Henry’s death is how I know. Any question mark I had is now a period. You see, no matter how hard it got, I couldn’t shake Him. While I had questions, while I still have questions, I couldn’t imagine not hanging on to Christ through all this. I believe in a Sovereign Lord who didn’t allow this to happen, He willed it to happen. Before I was born, this was a part of His perfect plan. And as painful as it is, there is hope and glory in it. He redeems my son’s death every day. I am better because of Henry every day. A better mom. A better wife. A better child of God.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. You are thought of, loved, missed, and talked about every day. I will speak of you until the day I die. Benjamin knows you. He speaks your name. Your other brother will have your name. He will hear about your short but beautiful life and, too, will speak of you. Thank you for letting me be your mama. I love you and can’t wait to hold you again.