On days like today I usually decide not to post anything on the blog because it’s depressing, but today I am because it is real. On days like today everything reminds me of her. I still cannot believe she is gone. I’m shocked when I find myself buying tampons. I shouldn’t be buying tampons. The back bedroom that was supposed to be hers is still and bare and stifling. It’s not full of pink baby things and tiny newborn size diapers. Every beautiful flower that I see blooming reminds me that she’s not blooming inside me like she should be. I was so excited to have a summer baby. I thought that as the world grew and bloomed she would be doing the same inside me. Now the beauty of spring cuts me so deeply. The flowers remind me that she’s dead. I wonder if spring will always be a bitter time for me. I hear of yet another friend with two boys who will be having a baby girl in a few months. As I dig through a drawer in the bathroom I see it there, the two pink lines on the pregnancy test that told me I would have a third precious baby. I remember the pure joy and excitement that came with those two pink lines. I had no idea what was coming. The boys are watching something on TV that’s teaching them about heartbeats. The kids on TV listen to their own heartbeats and the sound nearly brings me to my knees. I can hear her heartbeat on all those ultrasounds and then there was the last ultrasound that was so silent. I can hear the doctor telling all the other doctors in the room, “We have a fetal death.”

Grief to me feels like panic. You know the feeling right before you have to make a public speech? Or (if you’re scared of flying) the feeling when you’re in an airplane right as it’s taking off. Sweaty palms, racing heart, sinking stomach. It’s the feeling of panic and intense sadness. My chest is heavy and it’s hard to breathe. The nausea in my stomach stays with me throughout the day. No food is appetizing. How can I eat with this lump in my throat? The tears are ready to fall at all times, and they do. I can barely meet the needs of my children. The persistence of grief is amazing. If it lets up for a few days it is sure to remember to descend soon after. It has been two and a half months since I lost her and it is still so painful, every day. At least once a day I think, “I can’t do this.” I tell God everything. I tell him that today I don’t feel him near, that all I feel is grief and emptiness and loss. I tell him that I need him to help me get through every minute.

On days like today I am so distracted by the things around me and the things in my mind. I think of the pain in my past and I relive all the horrible moments. I think of my future and the very real chance of going through this all over again with another precious baby. I try to focus on God, but it is hard. I’m still learning. I feel the aching space where she should be and it feels like it is killing me. I don’t understand God today. I don’t understand why so many get to have their two boys and their girl and my girl is dead. I tell God that I don’t understand, but I decide to trust him. On days like today my hand always looks like this:

On days like today I think about Job and this verse always comes to mind:

Job 13:15  Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him…

I think it’s one of the most beautiful verses in the Bible. Even if he decides to kill me, I will trust him. I know that God doesn’t hurt us himself, but on days like today it feels that way. I decide to trust him and not my feelings. I trust him and wait, and he always comes through.