It’s hard to believe that two years have passed since our world was turned upside down. It was two years ago today that my husband and I sat in my doctor’s office and were told that our baby girl whom we had named Angelina Grace was no longer living inside me. We were just there for a routine 24-week pregnancy checkup. This was not the news we had anticipated receiving on that chilly November morning. We sat in shock and disbelief and deep, soul-shaking grief, especially after I was informed that I would be required to deliver my baby girl, but that I couldn’t do so until almost 4 days later.
It’s possible that two years ago today was my darkest day. I’ve walked some hard roads, but there is something about this one that is just that bit more harrowing. And yet, I sit even now and write this blog with the literal proof of God’s redemption sitting in my lap. Ella Elisabeth doesn’t know that she had a sister. She doesn’t know that when I found out I was pregnant with her, I was more scared than I’d ever been: What if we lost this baby, too? Ella doesn’t know those things, but she represents all of that and so much more.
It’s funny, because I think I originally assumed that having Ella would bring an extra layer of healing to my heart’s loss of Angelina, and in ways it has. But it has also somehow made the loss of Angelina that much more palpable. When I look at Ella, I think that we lost someone like her. Not just a sort of little life that we speak of as more of an idea than a reality, but a real, living, beautiful, sweet baby girl. And that hurts.
I still get tongue-tied when I’m asked how many kids I have. I still feel an inward twinge of guilt and sadness when people ask if Ella is our only girl and I stumble upon my answer. I still struggle because as much as I don’t want to feel pain, I even more so don’t want my Angelina to be forgotten.
God’s grace has been so strong. As much as I can’t believe that there’s been two years since that day, I also think of all He’s done in the past two years and am filled with awe. More than that, I am filled with a sense of challenge and responsibility that urges me to make my life and her life count for something.
Today I remember you, my sweet first baby girl. You are not forgotten. Your gentle little life had purpose far beyond its earthly time. You are remembered. You are loved.