Yesterday was Thanksgiving. It looked so much different than the dreams that rolled out in my mind for those 9 months Sage grew inside me. I had envisioned what this holiday season would be. What it would mean. How it was going to be the first year of starting family traditions the 3 of us. But what I dreamed of isn't here. And those dreams will never be my reality. It takes a long time for that to sink in... maybe it never will.
Sage, oh how I miss you.
Last year on Thanksgiving I had found out I was pregnant for the first time, that day felt so magical and sentimental. But I ended up miscarrying once December rolled around. It was devastating. I remember feeling so desperate to fall pregnant again as soon as I could after that. My desire for a baby in my arms was so overwhelming and it couldn’t come soon enough. Then on January 29th, I fell pregnant with Sage.
Time is such a strange concept. It's either too fast, or too slow. It either stands still, or flashes before us. In those days after I miscarried it was as if time was against me. But now that Sage is gone things feel so different. Time is no longer against me but for me. Each day that passes I am closer to her. In every moment I am stepping deeper into my healing.
Time has become a friend now.
I'm reading a book called The Cure for Sorrow and in the beginning of the book the author talks about how lonely grief is. But then she flips it around and says this:
“No one will entirely understand what it is like to live with our specific shattering......Our particular grief reflects the particular wonder of what we had — a grace that visited our life in a way designed especially for us.”
When I read that my mind instantly shifted to the gift of what I had with my daughter while her heart was still beating. I started feeling grateful that it was me, chosen as her mother, that got to experience her so closely. Along with Ryan, I got the wonder of her little life — no one else got that but us.
It’s so hard to flip your perspective when things are so ridiculously painful and nothing makes sense. But you have to open yourself up to it from time to time and allow yourself to see things in a new way, if only for a minute. What I’ve discovered is that nothing and no one will ever take away the pain I feel in my heart from losing Sage. My heart will ALWAYS be broken for her. There is no way to mend that until the day I die. But there are ways that hope can weave itself into my pain
One thing that I've had a hard time swallowing since Sage passed is when people say something along the lines of "you will have a healthy baby one day", or "I can't wait for the day you have a baby in your arms". Although it's all in good intentions, those kind of comments hurt right now. Im not ready for that portion of healing. She is the baby I long for. And for me having a healthy child doesn't equal redemption for our family.
When I think of what our redemption will look like I think of moments, of new life, of children, of strangers, and of heart connections that will all weave together at the end of my life. I will look back on them proudly with strength by my side and tears in my eyes and I will say “this was it — this was my story — this was Sage’s story. God has redeemed us”. But until that day I will be patient. I will welcome time as my friend. I will embrace the ticking of the clock as a blessing. I will breathe in each day and remember the gift of my pumping lungs.
Time will redeem us.
Time will weave hope into our pain.
Time will steady our hearts.
But grief will not pass in time. Grief just like time will become my friend. One I despise on most days but one that has opened the very depths of my heart. It will fall over me like a hurricane, then from time to time it will fall like a warm gentle breeze.
Grief will never leave me.
Time will never leave me.
They will strengthen me.
& They will be a part of my redemption.
How can life feel so long and so short at the same time?? I've been going over this thought continuously. Long because heaven has never felt so far away, but short because every moment with Sage is now in our past.
Life is fleeting.