Reading back over my posts, I wondered if I had done as well as I wanted to do in being transparent, or if I had put on a good face. What I wrote was honest. It’s where I was. I was hurting, but I had also come to a place where I was able to have faith in the Lord. Since I wasn’t blogging about it until just a few days ago, I thought I would publish some entries from my journal that I wrote last week. These entries were from a very raw place. It’s all a part of the journey.

March 28, 5:38 pm:

Little One, I love you. I know you’re new to this world and I’ve not known about you for very long, but I’ve loved you from the moment I started thinking of you. I want you so badly. I pray and plead with God to let me hold you in this world. I love you so much already.

I’m afraid, Little One. Afraid that I’ll have to wait till Heaven to know you.

I’m waiting now. Waiting to know if you are going or staying. My heart aches. I want you, Little One. I love you.

I bought you a teddy bear. I hold it and pray for you. I bought you a book today…Horton Hears a Who. That will always be our story, because it says “a person is a person, no matter how small”. People may not understand how I can be so attached to you already, Little One, but you are my baby. You are a whole person, no matter how small. I will always be your mama. If you rest in Jesus’ arms before mine, I will read this book to your brothers and sister and tell them of you…about  our Little One in Heaven. If God answers my cries and lets me keep you, I will read this story to you and tell you how much I wanted you and how much I loved you.

I love you, Little One. I always will. No matter what happens, I’ll always be your mama.

March 28, 10:52 pm:

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I feel too much and too little. Alternating excruciating and numb. I prayed for tears, but I didn’t want them if this is what it costs. Sobbing at the kitchen table…alone…because my baby is most likely dead. That’s just cruel.

Cruel to know what it’s like to be held. To know there’s a measure of comfort to be had…somewhere beyond my reach. Emails saying my friends would come and sit with me…pray with me…if they could. They can’t. They live on the other side of the country. My husband’s not home.  This hurts. I’m alone. So alone. The times that I’m not make being alone now even worse.

It hurts.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m being ridiculous for clinging to a shred of hope. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to have to be “dealt with”. I’m not freaking out on anyone. I just want to know for sure.

March 29, 7:32 pm:

It hurts so bad.

I’ve been able to pray today. Been able to touch God. I’m okay. I am okay. Regardless of what happens, I am okay.

It still hurts, though. I feel bone-crushingly sad right now. I finished some housework. Sat down to rest. Caught up on reading blogs. Joy had blogged. I looked at pictures of her three month old. Clicked through to the pictures of her newborn niece. I probably shouldn’t have done that. There was a video clip of the new mama and baby. Those newborn eyes. I want to look into my Little One’s eyes.  I want to hold her in the hospital, and call her by her name. I want to smell her newborn smell. I want my baby.

Will it always hurt.? I’m beginning to feel like my stubborn hope is a little silly. It’s hard to give up. I want my Little One. I’m trying so hard to be okay. I am okay, but I certainly don’t feel okay. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken.

I feel like I’m gasping for breath. It’s crushing. It’s suffocating. Oh, Jesus, hold me up.

March 29, 8:34 pm:

Dear God, I’m feeling frantic. I’m sitting here, heart racing, feeling desperate. I can’t feel you anymore. I can’t feel your presence. I’m not angry at you. I’m not hurt at you. I just need you. Right now. I need to feel the peace you gave me earlier. Oh, God! It hurts so bad. I can’t breathe. Give me peace to guard my heart and mind. I need your grace. I got irritated at Chris for suggesting I should do his laundry. The same feelings that I had when he left me to go have fun with the kids on Monday. God, help me to remember the way he prayed for me and Little One. Help me to remember the psalm he shared with me. Help me, God. Help me not to be hurt when people talk about other things. Help me to remember that the world still turns and there is more in our lives than what is happening to me. God, help me. Help me to react right. Help me not to be selfish. Help me, God. Help me to breathe. It’s hard. I can’t pray right now, so I’m writing this prayer instead. Sometimes it’s easier. Help me, God. Help me. I heard you today. I felt your peace. Why is it so fleeting? Seeing that new baby, I was suddenly flooded with the reality of what I’m losing. Oh, God. It hurts. It hurts. I just wish I knew. I want to know what’s going on. Holding that baby in my dream, I could actually feel her weight. I am afraid I’ll never hold my Little One. It hit me so hard, God, when I saw that new baby. Realizing what I probably won’t get to do. To hold her and breathe her in. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. I want to numb my heart. It hurts too bad. I feel alone. I feel incapable of dealing with the kids tonight. Make them go to sleep quickly. Lord, help me to remember I have three other kids. Help me to take better care of them than I’ve done. Give me patience with them. Help me to know the words to say when it comes time to tell them about our baby. God, I don’t want them to hurt, but I want them to know. Little One is part of me…part of our family…part of our story. Amy says it won’t always hurt this bad. God, can’t you make it hurt a little less until Chris is home to hold me. Please. I’m begging you. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it through this night. I know I have three healthy babies. I know. I know. I know, but it still hurts. I wanted this baby so bad. I loved her already. Please help me, God. Please help me.