I didn't know there was worse to come this day a year ago.
Our pastor, H., told me during the month we waited to receive news of my condition that if I was his daughter, he would not allow such heartache on top of heartache. I understood exactly what he meant. It was a question I had been asking myself from the beginning.
How could my loving, great Heavenly Father allow this after losing Owen if He indeed was so loving and great?
April, May, June, July, August passed...when September came my hubs was asked to lead worship for the second service our church was instituting. H. asked him if I was at least going to come and hear him play.
I laughed...cynically, of course. What did I want with a God who would allow such tragedy when I was doing my best to serve Him?
During this time, we moved from our first real home to a house on the other side of town. Our beloved apartment had become a toxic wasteland of bitter memories. We both knew we couldn't stay there and survive.
It was September and my first Sunday back at church, I ran into a friend who was pregnant for the first time. I looked in the opposite direction and walked past her. It was too much. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I tried to run away.
I hurled myself into a good friend, who was fast becoming my best friend, and cried. She sat next to me and held my hand the entire service.
I felt abandoned by God, rejected and left on the side of the road...wasn't it enough that my babies were dead...but now I had to be constantly reminded that life was moving forward for everyone but me.
What a cruel joke my life was.
Life was happening all around us...but we were stuck. Exhausted by grief, torn with anguish and feeling incredibly hopeless, I stumbled through the days before me.
And then I got pregnant again.
This time, I had no optimistic hope holding me up. No naive expectations that once you lose one baby, you won't lose another. I knew what could happen. I had been down that road, in fact I was still wandering along its winding, bumpy terrain.
The week after we found out about sweet little sunshine was the one year anniversary of the week of Owen's death and his birth. My good friend, L., exclaimed how sweet it was for the Lord to give us such a blessing to help us through Owen's first birthday in Heaven.
Yes, how sweet indeed.
Owen's birthday was a precious time of remembering our little boy. With love in our hearts and hope beginning to take shape in the form of a baby growing in my womb, we rejoiced in Owen's time here with us. We rejoiced in his life...and we rejoiced that he was home now.
The days passed slowly, and very carefully I started feeling hopeful.
I turned my face to the Lord and I prayed. I began slowly, dipping my toes into the water, wondering if the temperature was just right. I was cautious at first, afraid of rejection and abandonment.
It was better than I could have ever imagined, but it was not what I expected.
My hard heart was beginning to soften...
And then our sunshine was gone. It was a year and one week exactly from the day Owen died.
I sobbed through the night, crying out to the Lord, 'Please, please don't forsake, please don't abandon me!' Over and over again, I cried out. The flood gates were open, and I couldn't go back. I couldn't turn my face away from Him. I needed Him.
Everything I had been feeling and believing came crashing down and all I had was Him.
And He was enough.