I’m not superstitious, or at least I’m not fully.
But for good measure I don’t break mirrors, walk under ladders, or step on cracks.
Okay fine, I step on cracks but only because it takes way too much effort not to and so far my mom’s back has been just fine so I figure it’s alright.
Yesterday I wore the shirt I was wearing when the doctors broke the news to us that Kinlie had Turner’s and wouldn’t be making it into this world.
[This photo was actually taken on that very day. I was so excited to finally be into my 2nd trimester and to possibly find out our baby’s gender that day so I took a picture and posted it on Instagram. Go figure.]
It was my first time wearing it since it happened, almost like I was afraid of it or something.
I pulled it from the closet and said out loud to myself:
It’s just a shirt. It holds no secret powers, it has no evil agenda. Wear it. It matches your shoes.
And so I did.
I wore it and I was in a great mood.
I had every intention of blogging yesterday about how irrational it was for me to not wear it for so long and facing my fears.
And then out of nowhere I become very ill.
So much so, that Derek had to pick me up from work and take me to urgent care.
Don’t worry, I’m fine. It was just a stomach infection of sorts.
But the instant we rolled up to the same hospital I was at the last time I wore it I told Derek:
I’m burning this f-in shirt.
I’ve been avoiding blogging for a few weeks about anything too personal because frankly, I don’t want people to feel like I am complaining all the time.
I told my husband this and in true Derek nature he said, “Who cares? It’s your blog, you talk about what you want.”
Indeed sir, you are right.
And so I shall.
My sadness comes and goes in waves.
I noticed that I was spending quite a bit of time in the boo-hoo wave when something happened one day.
Derek and I were driving in the car, talking about this and that, and out of nowhere he said:
“You want to know what I wish and pray for every night?”
Duh I want to know.
“More than anything I pray that you and I will have long, happy, healthy lives together.”
He didn’t know it at the time, but this woke me up.
Suddenly I felt that I realized just a little bit more what God has been trying to teach me through all of this.
Through the pain and suffering, there is Derek saying all he wants and needs is the two of us, together.
Me and him.
Husband and wife.
I started digging deeper and found that interestingly enough, some of the worst days of my life have also been the best.
Take losing Kinlie for example.
Worst. Days. Ever.
And yet, each day spent broken, confused, and mourning Derek and I grew closer and closer.
We went through something that can crumble a marriage and we thrived.
Now we laugh harder, we love more tenderly, we appreciate life more.
Our admiration of one another has grown as well as our respect.
Derek and I recently read a book called “Heaven is For Real” that my dear friend sent to us after our loss.
The book is a true story about a little boy who visits heaven during an emergency surgery when he is 4 years old.
For years after, he tells his parents more and more about heaven and things that no child could possibly know, including things about their own family.
One thing in particular, and no doubt the reason my friend gave me this book, was when he met his older sister in heaven.
His older sister he never knew anything about.
His sister who died in a miscarriage his mother had when she was two months pregnant.
His description of her is not that of a 2 month old embryo, but of a girl who speaks to him.
When I feel broken, I think of our little girl in heaven smiling down on us.
Laughing when her dad does his Forest Gump impression.
Smiling when she catches mommy and daddy looking into each others eyes.
Cheering us on when we accomplish a goal.
Praying for us when we cry.
And waiting patiently for us, eager to be held in our arms one day.
“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord”– Isaiah 66:9