with and without her

It has been 15 weeks and 5 days.    I realize no one would know this but me,  but today it feels right to do some remembering.     

I remember when the my doctor told me  "the baby measured at 15 weeks 5 days."    At the time I was 17 weeks and 4 days into my what had turned into a pregnancy loss.    Today I have been without her as long as she was with me.

How in the world did I carry this baby for 2 weeks and not know she had passed away?   What kind of mother was I?     The early days following April's delivery I writhed in pain at the thought.      Looking back,  there were perhaps mild indications that the baby was not developing.

I remember how I was waiting  and waiting to feel the first obvious sign of movement.  

I remember thinking how I would enjoy traveling to and from Florida on Spring Break 

feeling the baby flutter as all I had to do was sit on my butt in the van. 

I remember laying in bed every night of Spring Break,  

convincing myself that I had felt some type of movement.    I did not.

I remember noticing that my maternity swimsuit had fit exactly as it had 

when I tried it on 2 weeks prior.  

I remember wondering about all these things 

but not being overly worried or despaired.

I remember driving the 5-8am stretch of our road trip home.   I was feeling extremely grateful for the week we had just had.   I glanced over at Dan asleep holding a restless Juliet.  I peered in the rearview mirror and saw the big 3 sprawled across the van trying to find comfortable sleep.      I was hearing songs one after the other on an Indiana Christian radio station.   The songs were not praise songs.  They were songs of honest pain and surrendering our will.    "hmm...sad songs"  I thought to myself.    One song in particular brought back a slew of thoughts.  Specifically about a little baby named Hannah.   What I heard on the radio that early morning  was the song played at Hannah's funeral.    I thought and remembered what her parents were claiming when they played the song with these lyrics:

It's all about you, Jesus.

And all this is for you,

for Your glory and Your fame.

It's not about me,

as if You should do things my way.

You alone are God and I surrender

to Your ways.

Not for the first time I thought to myself,  would I be able to honestly speak those words if I had lost a baby?

All of these moments, and thoughts I've just shared  when compiled together are, to me an obvious display of God protecting and yet preparing me.   

Perhaps it seems like naivety or denial.   Perhaps it seems like I am grasping at some kind of neat explanation for the reality of what has happened.   Perhaps I am over thinking.    Yes,  it is a bit of all those things.     

But remembering such as this keeps her alive .    Identifying  and testifying to God's provision through  it all is part of April's legacy.

Okay,   this post is getting disorganized.   I also realize this blog has taken quite a serious and perhaps less entertaining turn in the past 3 months.  Nevertheless,  putting my thoughts down on virtual paper has been a major part of my moving forward.     To you reading this-- thank you so much for stopping by.   It is a desire of my heart that through telling my story ,  April's short life will have meaning far beyond what I can express.