Because sometimes, I just want to forget, because it is still painful. Even though we lost the baby so early. Even though my belly is now swelled with new life, eagerly awaiting his birth day in December. Even though...
But there is no forgetting the memory of a child-that-would-have-been. And when I connect my miscarriage to the memory of the baby I lost (why do I try to mentally separate it? Does it make it easier somehow?), I don't ever want to forget, despite the pain.
So, August 24 came...and went. By now, even if I was over a week "late," like I was with Silas, I would have given birth to the baby by now, the baby Micah named "Izzy."
In the first few weeks after my miscarriage ended, I read Heaven is for Real. A chapter that really stuck out to me was when the little boy (who, for those of you who don't know the premise of the book, went to heaven when he was in surgery and nearly died) met his little sister who was lost to miscarriage. The parents hadn't even told the little boy that they were expecting a baby. Imagine their surprise when he told his mom and dad that he "met his sister!"
In wonder they asked him, "What was her name?"
"She didn't have one," he told them. "No one has named her yet."
For some reason, after reading this section, a sudden urgency came over me. I threw aside the book and rushed to my computer, hastily googling "meaning of names + Izzy."
I am a big believer in the meanings of names. For our children, we carefully chose one or both of their names with the meaning in mind.
I didn't chose the name "Izzy" for the baby we lost; my 6 year old son did, named after one of his favorite characters from the show "Jake and the Neverland Pirates." But the name stuck.
And unlike the baby in Heaven is For Real, our baby did have a name, a name that made her (girl or boy, who knows?) even more real to us.
A host of baby naming websites popped up on my screen. I click on one and typed in "Izzy," my heart nervously pounding as the information loaded.
"Izzy, diminutive of Isabella: Pledged to God"
I stared at the screen, slowly breathing in and out, feeling the wonder of the moment.
I felt peaceful, like I had known this all along.
I felt humble, grateful...like I had just been given a rare gift.
I would have never chosen this name for my baby, but somehow, by God's grace (and by Micah's love for a pink-clad pirate-girl), my son did.
Pledged to God.
I believe that my little one, the baby due just over a week ago, is in heaven with God, her Father.
And it hurts because right now, this very minute, I want to be holding this baby in my arms, kissing soft downy hair, tracing perfect, tiny features, and breathing in that wonderful newborn scent. I want to be thanking God that my baby is here, with me, safe, healthy, and whole.
But instead, I must thank Him for other things:
For the gift of new life in my still-growing baby, Eli, 23 weeks strong
For the gift of each of my children, present with me or with Him
For the gift of a name that I would not have chosen, but somehow comforts me on this side of heaven.