Dearest Micah,
Has it really been 2 years?
Your Daddy wrote me a letter yesterday, reminding me of all the joy and all the sorrow and all the life we'd shared over the last twelve years.. reminding me that we have to keep fighting, we have to keep going for our marriage, our family, our ministry, the purpose that Christ has bestowed on us for His glory.
Grief does that, you know... It strips you of purpose.. It lies to you and tells you that you're better off lying down and praying for release into the arms of the one you lost. It tells you that you have to escape, you have to get out, you're toxic... Especially when you have anxiety already.. especially when you carried your dead child for 11 weeks, especially when it's not your first baby to go straight into the arms of Jesus, especially when you live in denial for so long during and after the trauma.. to protect your living children, yourself?.. Who knows why.
Grief doesn't make sense. Some days it's selfish and you can't think past your own nose. Some days you get so involved in the loss and pain of others that somehow, their struggle becomes more unbearable to you than your own. Some days, there's this strange joy that is overwhelming to the senses. Some days, you feel clear headed and other days you feel like you're going to lose your mind. Some days, you do.
Dear Micah, when I remember you, intentionally focus on who you were and what you did - what your short life taught me, there is this beautiful, unflinching hope that rises up from the ashes, and that's it.. no extreme emotion. Of course, sometimes there's tears or that gutteral inexplicable pain, but that goes away quickly and always...
gives rise to hope.
That hope only comes from the Man you know well, your caretaker, your big brother, Jesus Christ.
But I want you to know that just as your Daddy remembers beautiful details from our marriage journey, I remember ours.
I do.
I buried it somewhat to keep from falling off a cliff. Maybe even to save face if I'm honest.
I'm no good at being looked at. I'm no good at thinking that everyone is feeling sorry for me.
Actually, up until your death, it was one of my greatest fears.
Ultimately, it was a matter of sinful pride.
But you - your short, vapor of a life, shattered that. You freed me.
Thank you.
What I remember is this -
I remember the day I found out I was pregnant.
I remember the anxiety setting in the first day I wasn't as sick as a dog - flashbacks to our first pregnancy- and begging the OB to do an early ultrasound. I remember, at 8 weeks, seeing that one beautiful beating heart.
I remember coming back at 12 weeks with your Daddy, big brother, and big sister and finding out that there were actually two babies!! It was pretty obvious to her then that you were both boys. :)
I remember not knowing even then whether to be super excited or scared to death.
Two Babies.. what in the world. :)
The tech was excited for us, but very cautious. I remember her telling us that you were sharing a placenta, your amnionic sacs were so tightly compressed that it was hard to tell there were two. You two were identical but your weight was a little different. She suggested we see a specialist.. but the doctor wasn't worried, so we just fell into the grace of excitement...
I remember beginning to feel both of your movements.. distinct; so free from each other.
Then, I remember how quickly everything changed from the joy of the holidays to the blackness of January.. a call saying, "The high risk specialist has reviewed your ultrasounds and would like to see you right away."
I remember the horrid pit in my stomach when we were told without surgery, we would lose you both.
I remember the first trip to Cincy.. the hope.
I remember the hope shattered - no surgery for us - the one percent.
I remember bed rest.. I remember the horrid medicine I took to keep both your little hearts beating as long as they could hold out. I remember drowning myself in Netflix to survive the horror that we were going through.. watching you both fade.
It was such a rollercoaster.
I remember the morning of the day we found out you had gone... 2 years ago tomorrow.
We had been having the discussion on the way to the hospital that no Christian couple ever thinks they will have...
We knew you were going to die. We knew we were losing you.
Do we ask for assistance in letting you go now?.. You were only suffering and your brother was getting sicker...
"Are we really considering this? No. Please Lord, no. We can't choose. We just can't."
I remember hours later, during the echocardiogram... your lifeless body on the screen. "I'm sorry.. Baby A has expired."
The tears, the sweet nurse assigned to our case who brought us kleenexes.
The weird feelings of grief, relief, and gratitude.. that was the strangest.
I was so grateful to you. So grateful that you had let go so that your brother could live. So grateful that in your death, you had not harmed him. So grateful that our Father had given you the grace already to know that you belonged with him and that your brother - who shared your smile, your voice.... every bit of DNA the same, belonged with us.
I remember so many things after that. Some beautiful, many nightmarish. While to the outside observer looking in, it may have looked as though things only got worse for me from there-
And there were many days, weeks, months, I truly did feel like an Israelite.
"Lord, did you really lead me here to die?"
But now, two years later, I realize, that you, my dear sweet boy, have done much more for my sanity, than any of my other children, as much as I love them and feel blessed by them every day, ever could.
Our dear Savior used your sweet life to purge me. To renew me. To crush me and rebuild me. You, sweet boy, awakened me from death.. not illness, not disease, but straight up death.
Your death brought me life. Your life is helping me to die to myself.. once and for all.
Micah, how I wish I had spoken to you more when you were with me.. How I wish there had been more "I love you"s and less fear.. But you are in the presence of the One who knows me better than I ever could and I know He's told you in better words than I how much you were and are adored.
Your brothers and sister and Daddy and I miss you and love you.
Sweet Dreams, Stinker # 2.
