A hospital room with a child born to earth

Next door another is born to Heaven

A family breaks out in cheers and yells

The other pushes as silence fell

A little one born, lets out a cry

The other spreads their wings to fly

A baby met with mom’s arms clinging

A baby greeted by angels singing

Checking fingers and warm toes

Always remembering their button nose

Having forever to kiss and hold

Feeling their delicate skin grow cold

A mother excited for memories to come

Another grieves till her heart grows numb

Her babe will grow with dreams and fears

Her angel will know love but never tears

Anyone with living children or anyone who has seen a funny video about parenting knows the joke: you finally get your kid to bed and suddenly, you ache to be with them. You want to snuggle them, hold their hand, touch them, just be in their presence. Even if they stay asleep and have no idea you are there, you still feel a pull to simply be with them. It doesn’t matter if every ounce of your body is exhausted, you can’t turn off being a parent. You can’t stop loving them just because they’re not with you. When they don’t need taken care of, you don’t suddenly stop being a parent. It doesn’t matter age, distance, or if they’re off in dreamworld. You are always their parent, you’re always madly in love with your child, and you miss them the moment they’re not in your arms. That feeling, that pull, that sense of something missing when they’re not with you. That! That is what it feels like to have a baby who died. Every moment of every day a part of me is drawn to Calvin. Some days that part of me is bigger and the grief is stronger; other days I am happy and living my life with an invisible string tying my heart to Heaven. No matter what there is always this sense that a piece of me is missing.

It is no secret that grief is hard on a marriage. No two people grieve the same way, so how can a couple be expected to deal with grief individually while taking care of the other simultaneously? Sometimes all you need is a good day. You can not handle thinking about your loss and all you need is to distract yourself. What happens when your partner needs the same day to wallow in their grief and let out their pain? In marriage you compromise, so one or both sacrifice the day they need to help the other. Each person’s grief is just as important, so how do you decide whose needs get met? It’s just as difficult when both need to wallow and have time to themselves. The house needs taken care of, meals prepared, living children taken care of. One of you needs to be the strong one at any given point. Marriages crumble when one person is being the strong one too often. Their needs are not being met and resentment can build.

So often it felt like I was getting an unbalanced amount of pain. In a world where people only post the joys in their life, where burdens are only shared once they’ve reached their happy conclusion, and where people praise Him in triumph but don’t acknowledge the battle, I felt isolated and struggled to connect with people. It suddenly felt like grief and tragedy ostracized me. As disconnected as I felt, I watched others struggle to connect with me. People are uncomfortable when they can’t relate. It creates awkward silence and even when there are no words, people feel compelled to speak. Truthfully, miscarriage and stillbirth impact everyone. Those on the outside are forced to face a harsh reality of what can happen to anyone. It terrifies them and they have to find a logic in it. Perhaps it distances them from the pain. If this was all God’s plan, it makes it feel less out of control. It feels less like it could happen to them. Sometimes, it is easier to believe God had no knowledge or control in these moments. Everyone takes comfort in easy answers and so they feel a desire to give you simple answers, to bring understanding in a senseless tragedy.

Your baby brother, Nolan, was born at 36 weeks. I lost you at 39 weeks, and when I held him in my arms at what would have been his 39th week, my grief grew. What I lost was no longer this abstract idea of a baby. It had been so long since I held a baby in my arms that I don’t think I fully grasped what I was missing. Nolan had emotions, wants and needs. He could yawn and sneeze and hiccup and make facial expressions. He found ways to communicate with his cries and constantly sought the warmth and love of his mommy holding him. I didn’t just lose a pregnancy, I lost a child. A real living child who never got to take a breath. My child who felt emotions, had dreams, and did life’s monotonous things like yawning had died without me looking into his eyes.

When we lost Calvin, the grief was hard on Charleigh. Her doctors warned us that her symptoms would likely be exacerbated and its all to be expected. What we didn’t expect was to lose the independent kid we had before. As much as we had our own naivety ripped away, its worse to have it taken at such a young age. Death to a child should be explained away by old age and sickness. No child should have to face the reality that death can come at any point by a freak accident. Wanting answers is something that is expected from adults grieving, but for some reason I wasn’t prepared for a child to want them just as bad. With both the miscarriage and losing Calvin, she wanted exact explanations and details about what caused them to go to Heaven. Her little mind was trying so hard to make sense of it all.

When you find yourself in a moment of laughter
You are playing your baby’s favorite sound
When you lose yourself in music and dance around the kitchen
It was your baby’s favorite way to be rocked to sleep
When you find yourself smiling
It’s your baby’s favorite view
When life brings you blessings
Your baby celebrates with you
When you can’t hold back the tears
Your baby is holding your heart tight
When you continue to live your life for them
Your baby is proud of you