I suppose the first post about our new baby should be full of happiness. It will be. This is not about him. Something else happened to come first.
Just shy of a year ago, in the grey days when all we could do was sit or walk slowly around the block, your daddy and I were walking on the big field by the house when he said,
“What’s weird is that right now, we can’t imagine our lives with them gone. But someday we might have other children, and we’ll think, ‘We could never imagine our lives without them.’ But we never would have had those children if we hadn’t lost the girls.”
At the time, it boggled our minds, the idea of any children other than the two we’d just lost. But time, prayer, our community, God’s love converged and our hearts opened up– just a crack –to the idea of another child.
You are that child. You never would have existed if your sisters had lived. But here you are, and I cannot imagine life without you.
Sometimes, when I was pregnant with you, I’d talk to you in the car, telling you things about our life or family. We’d talk about your sisters sometimes, already with Jesus, whatever that means. I think it means that he holds their lives, albeit short, and will by grace resurrect them someday.
Yesterday was their birthday. It’s been one year, and when I think of them, there is a physical ache in my gut over how much I miss them. But in spite of that, you, dear child, have blown my heart wide open. There is room for all of you.