This feels raw to write about…


This is a very raw post to share but I’m sharing it anyways. I’m writing this partially for my own healing and process, but I’m also sharing it in hopes of it being for your healing and your process too. 

When I first realized we might have lost our baby years ago, I began searching the internet for stories like mine. I wanted to hear other women’s stories to feel like I wasn’t alone, like maybe I could get through this somehow because she did. Some stories rocked me and ignited fear and anxiety. But then there were stories that felt healing and hopeful to my very broken and wounded heart. So that’s my hope in sharing here — that maybe there’s another mama out there looking for a story too, to not feel alone and to have hope in a storm that she didn’t see coming. 


In thinking about all the birthdays this month and getting ready to celebrate Lion‘s 2nd birthday tomorrow— my precious rainbow baby— I was suddenly flooded with all of the emotions of the storm that we walked through to get to him.

I felt angry. 

I felt so sad. 

I felt like something was stolen from me.

For years now I’ve felt and believed that I was supposed to have another daughter. I spent years praying desperately about it and in those prayers I’ve even seen her face.

So when I started thinking about the one we lost, my heart dropped and the sadness knocked the wind out of me today while I was working out.

This grief is unpredictable. Just when I feel like I’ve been healed, I’m hit again so hard I can’t take in a full breath. Just tears. 

I was talking to someone the other day and they said, “healing doesn’t start when we feel better. healing starts when we finally face what we need healing from.” 

I’ve found myself asking over and over, “was this the one I prayed for all those years only to lose her before I could ever hold her in my arms or look into her beautiful eyes or kiss her tiny perfect cheeks and tell her how deeply I loved her?”

My heart aches. 

And then it doesn’t. 

And then it feels crushed again.

She would be three years and three months old right now.

Christmas and Mother’s Day are the days that seem to hit me the hardest. Those are the days that the only thing I want is to have all my babies together. Just once.

This last Mother’s Day I was again hit unexpectedly and spent time talking and crying through that ache I felt… “just to have them altogether”. 

We went to take some pictures that day and when I looked through them afterwards I saw this little green light reflection in so many of the pictures that sat exactly where a little three-year-old would’ve stood in the mix of our family.

It was like this beautiful moment where I felt so seen and loved and cared for by God. My deep desire was to have us all together in one photo and it was like this tender kindness of the Lord to align the light so perfectly in that moment to capture what my heart needed. 

He’s seen you, mama. He knows the pain you carry. 

A moment of transparency here…

I remember, before going through my own miscarriage, thinking that if someone miscarried early it wasn’t as bad or painful as someone who lost their baby further along.

That was my own ignorance and lack of experience talking. Now I know that it doesn’t matter the length of time you carry a child to a mother’s heart. Losing a child at any stage seems to remove parts of our own heart forever. 

Having a “rainbow baby” (a child after miscarriage) has certainly been a gift and a grace in our family, helping to soothe and heal wounds while bringing so much light and love into our lives — but even a rainbow baby doesn’t replace the one that was lost. That ache still remains. 

So if you’re a mama that has walked through loss — be gentle with your heart. Be patient with yourself as you seek healing. There’s no timeline or formula when it comes to matters of your heart. 

God sees you. He hears you. He’s with you in your grieving.

And if you know a mama that has experienced a miscarriage or loss— be gentle. Don’t minimize her pain or journey. Sometimes she’ll need to talk and other times she’ll need space. Don’t personalize her process. It’s not about you. It’s about her broken heart. Her body carried, changed and then lost someone she desperately loved and dreamed about. She needs to heal, process, cry, get angry, scream, rest, write, breathe and walk through healing her own way. Be gentle. Be patient. Be kind.


And to my little June —

You changed my life in ways I never knew I needed. Because of your life, I’ve met Jesus in deeper valleys and felt a closeness to our Creator because of my heart’s song and ache for you. 

I held you in my body for 12 weeks but my heart will hold you forever.

I miss you. 

Your papa misses you. 

Your sisters and brothers miss you. 

So until the day I finally get to see you, I’ll ache for you. I’ll remember you. And I’ll thank God that I was the one that got to be your mama, even for just a moment. 

Mama loves you ❤️

“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

Here’s a few more blog posts I wrote on this topic:


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