The Rainbow after the Storm

“How many pregnancies is this for you?” the nurse asked at our doctor appointment. I’ve always dreaded this question. I replied, “This is my third”.

 But nothing could prepare for the ton of bricks that hit me when she asked “How many living children?”. I KNOW, I have TWO children, I brought them into this world, through my body. But to have to say outloud, I only have one on Earthside, it gets me every time.

It still hurts, ya know? It's been 8 months and I still shed tears every.single.day. Sometimes I can simply blink away the tears. And sometimes, they're silent tears. You know, the ones when you feel your throat start to tighten, and feel the lump growing with in. But you don't dare to blink, or speak, because if you do, you may fall to your knees, and won't be able to stop the flood gates from opening.

Every day is not a bad day. I have lots of good days. I really do!But there is something within every day that whispers his name. 

Rainbow Baby: a baby born subsequent to a miscarriage, stillbirth, or the death of an infant from natural causes.
The rainbow after the storm.

I’m currently 17 weeks pregnant with our third child, our rainbow baby. We are feeling so grateful and blessed to have this chance again. But I am still healing as well.  It’s obvious that I have become good at hiding the pain, because even the people closest to me don’t think I am suffering anymore. I remember driving to our very first appointment to look for a heart beat, it should have been an exciting time. But instead, I had a vivid flash back as we drove past the funeral home. I spoke up to tell my husband what I had just saw . His reply was " We're in a different place now".  But really, losing a child has no resolution. There’s no special event.Not even the expectancy of another baby, can solve the lingering effects of surrendering your baby to death. 

At 12 weeks pregnant, we received the news that this baby was HEALTHY. Our genetic testing showed no signs of Trisomy. We were so ecstatic, and relieved to hear this. However, on the other-hand, I felt great sadness for Samuel. I felt like he was cheated of an amazing life. But then I really have to stop and remind myself; Yes, we loved him so so much, and we would have given him a life full of love, but even I , his own Mother, could never love him as much as God does. I could never have given him the kind of world Heaven has to offer

I don’t think you ever really get over losing a child. Samuel was here, and in three hours he was gone.It is an undescribable loss. And it’s okay for me to be real and authentic and tell the world it hurts like hell to lose a baby.

After Samuel, I now know there is no "safe-zone" in pregnancy. It's not 6 weeks, it's not 12 weeks, it's not 40weeks. 

I worry everyday about this pregnancy, I even have nightmares that we’ll have to say good-bye to this unborn gift.  I find myself a little more protective of our living daughter. I have already buried one child, and I cannot fathom doing it again.

I’ve come to this conclusion:  "Rainbow baby" is a lovely thought/idea  but it misses the mark for me. This pregnancy is the rainbow after a storm. But the storm of loss?  It never leaves. And for me to expect it to, is setting myself up for failure and heartache. The only answer I’ve found is to live in a cycle of healing.  I’m rehabbing my heart. This will never end. There will never be a rainbow until I’m swept into sweet eternity, Heaven. It’s hard to believe that everything will work out, or that everything will be okay, epescially after an expierence that ended in sorrow. But I find hope in other’s experiences. Their stories are not mine, But if they had a happy ending, I can too.

I think if we look down at our feet, we’ll see that we’re walking on a rainbow of God’s grace and love. That’s the real rainbow, baby.