Finding Joy After Loss

I was really suffering.

Despite all the good in my life—my husband, my son, my family, my friends, my health, my home—I was suffering.

We all have our childhood traumas that either bolster us or break us. And I had those, sure, but had made peace with them. But because of them, I felt I’d had my fill. Surely, this stage of my life would be a little easier, perhaps slightly less traumatic, because that would be fair, no?

So when newlywed bliss—and there was always bliss: my husband is a joy, a rock star, and perhaps the funniest guy I know—turned into years of struggling with fertility, my resolve began to weaken.

Until we got pregnant.

I was in love with our children from the first moment. We were having twins. I remember the day we found that out. Then the day that we learned they were girls. The day we decided that yes, we would name them Madelaine Rose and Charlotte Evelyn. The day they told me my cervix was weakening, and I needed to be put on strict bed rest.

And how beautiful the weather was,

how peaceful I felt,

and how great my hair looked {which was something to be said for a gal on bed rest} during the hours leading up to the night I delivered them.

At 20 weeks. Too small. Too soon.

That was 2004.

Through God’s grace and a loving husband, I kept moving forward. And joyfully, we got pregnant again. In 2006, The Boy made his debut.

But still it hurt. And for the most part, I kept that pain inside.

Until four years later when—without provocation—I lashed out at two friends during what was supposed to be a fun girls’ night out. I showered them with every hurt and ounce of anger I’d built up in the years in between. I let it all out in one massive, no-holds-barred, what-the-hell-just-happened, therapeutic tirade. Aren’t we blessed when we have friends that will let you do that, and still love you afterwards?

And so began my healing process.

Joy Comes In The Morning, Psalm

this little light was born in the months that followed my “rock bottom.”

It became so clear to me that while that moment of ugly honesty was absolutely necessary, it was

all the little sweet moments of light that surrounded me

—and all of us—each day that brought me back to joy.

Life wasn’t meant to be fair. It was meant to be love and joy and pain and anguish and ecstasy and heartbreak.

It’s meant to be our own personal road to Calvary.

But joy is always there. Beyond the muck. Whispering sweet nothings to you while you wretch, and cry, and have it out. And when we just keep moving forward—planting one foot in front of the other—we begin to see it.

tll is a place to laugh, to think, to be uplifted {so forgive me when I rant a little}, to give you comfort, and for those who’ve lost a baby, hopefully to help you heal.

And to see that it will be good again. It will. I promise.


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