Day of Remembrance

Today is a day close to my heart ... it is the National Day of Miscarriage and Infant Loss. As some of you may know, Hubby and I had 2 losses prior to our Maggie.

Our first baby was an early loss at 9 weeks, on January 26, 2007.

Our second was a precious little girl, Samantha Michelle, on April 11, 2008. She was born at 19 weeks gestation and was just too tiny to stay with us here on Earth. Samantha lived for about 4 hours, and we spent that time holding her and touching her and just looking at her, trying to imprint our minds with her beautiful image. Our priest came to the hospital to baptize her, and even though I was in recovery and could not be a part of it, I am so grateful for Fr. John's time and support for us that day. His words that day and at her funeral Mass were so comforting to me, and I know she is alive and well and loved and cared for in Heaven.

That doesn't stop me from missing her, though.

Samantha's due date was September 4, 2008, and I remember we were on a mini-retreat with the RCIA group the Saturday of that week. We had a Lord's Day dinner at the end of the day where we each share our burdens and blessings and lay them before Jesus, and I remember just crying and crying because I felt Samantha's loss so much. It was a physical pain in my heart and I had a hard time catching my breath. The thing I didn't know was that at that very moment I was pregnant with Maggie.

Blessings and burdens. And Jesus is present in them all.

Many of you probably already know Angie at Bring the Rain, and the story of her daughter, Audrey Caroline. She is opening her blog comments today for everyone who has suffered an infant loss, and has committed to spending the day in prayer for all of us who have grieving hearts. Visit her if you can, and glance through the stories of lost babies, and lift those parents up in prayer. There is a lot of hurt, but a lot more God, and we know he hears us.

PS: I'm also using this as a time to 'retire' the poem on my sidebar, Remembering. No reason beyond I just feel it is time. It's personal, and taking it down is symbolic for me of where I am in my journey now.

Go ahead and mention my child,
The one that died, you know.
Don't worry about hurting me further.
The depth of my pain doesn't show.

Don't worry about making me cry.
I'm already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing
the tears that I try to hide.

I'm hurt when you just keep silent,
Pretending she didn't exist.
I'd rather you mention my child,
Knowing that she has been missed.

You asked me how I was doing.
I say "pretty good" or "fine".
But healing is something ongoing
I feel it will take a lifetime.
~ Elizabeth Dent

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