The dates we don’t mark on the calendar

Today is July 14. If you look at my personal calendar, it looks like any other day. There are no special events written in, no reminders beyond work tasks and a few personal notes.

I don’t need a reminder for July 14. It isn’t a date I mark on the calendar.

Three years ago today, we were informed by our (very kind, very human) doctor at an ultrasound that I had miscarried (again). It broke me in a very powerful way. I spent some time this morning thinking about it, weeping over it. My heart still aches for the babies I’ve never held, never named. It still affects me in a very real, very tangible way; perhaps moreso because I now have the distinct pleasure of being called “Mama” by this guy:

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This is Paul, my son. And, really, there are no words for my heart toward this little guy. I don’t need to put November 2 on the calendar, but I do. It’s a date to mark, to celebrate God’s kindness to us. I do not deserve the gift of being his mama, but here we are 20+ months into this insane journey. So much in life has come easily to me, but this role has been the most natural of them all.

Which brings me back to today, to July 14. As I have watched P grow, my heart has grieved not knowing the others – it has wondered what they would have been like. For all the things I do not know and will never understand, I do know two things for certain:

  1. There would be no little boy sleeping in the next room now if I had not lost the baby before him. It still hurts and I still mourn that loss, but it is undoubtedly true. They were the only set of dates that ever overlapped in our journey to have children. I was due February 12; I found out I was pregnant with P on February 14. God knew Paul was ours, regardless of everything that came before.
  2. God completes that which He begins (Philippians 1:6). Perhaps the greatest comfort in our journey was Christopher’s reminder of this simple truth. God began the process of knitting together all of our babies in my womb, and He will be faithful to complete that process. I don’t know what that will look like, necessarily, but I can trust that He has done it and that it is good.

So, today – a date I don’t mark on the calendar – I will take the needed moments to cry and to remember, and I will hug my little boy close to me and reflect on God’s kindness and my smallness.

And, other than that, it is just like every other day.

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