A wild wind whistled at the windows blowing in the rain on the night I lost my baby.
I didn’t feel any different. I was tired and happy and thinking about Charlotte for a girl and Jonathan for a boy.
Then I used the bathroom before bed.
Red. Stop sign red, danger zone red, end of dreams red.
Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
We’d only known for 48 hours, but it was enough time for the female mind to choose a name, a preferred gender, and mentally rearrange the kids’ bedrooms to free up the crib.
The next day, it rained. All day. We had a plumbing problem and my brother-in-law came to fix it. I made calls, cleaned house, mailed a letter, prepared food, while the rueful rain fell and my baby left my body.
During the boys’ nap times, I lit a candle, thought of the little one that might have been, but wasn’t. The weather empathized with me; we grieved together.
And through it all, peace.
Peace in knowing He is good, His plans for me are right, and His grace is abundant.
In every trial, every valley deeper and darker than before, He gives greater grace, always.
Always.