Lately, I have a love-hate relationship with the baby loss community. On the one hand, I think it is important to have connections to people who know how you are feeling, but on the other, it seems that most of those communities have only half the story in common with me now. As much as I celebrate each new "rainbow" pregnancy or healthy newborn "rainbow," I am not anywhere near knowing what it feels like to find comfort in the warmth of a new life. I used to feel so encouraged and hopeful when I read those stories, but now I feel bitterness and loneliness as I think again and again, "why not us?" I try not to be resentful when the well-meaning rainbow mommies reassure me that my time will come. Though no one likes to talk about it, for many parents the rainbow baby never does come. I have met some absolutely wonderful friends and acquaintances online over the past 18 months, but I find myself withdrawing from that world to try and protect my heart.
I accidentally came across a wonderful blog today called Losing Lucy and Finding Hope (click the text to visit). The author, Bethany, and her husband have been through stillbirth, two miscarriages, and adoption loss and just welcomed their "rainbow baby" in July at long last. I wept as I read post after post; her story and all of the scripture verses she shared along the way touched something in me that I have been trying to squelch. Hope. Though I am a long way from being able to believe in a happy ending for us, it helped to read her stories because I realized that she must have felt how I am feeling at so many points along their journey.
What is hope, anyway? These days, I'm trying not to be so specific with my hope. My heart believes that, one day, we will have a chance to parent children, however it is God chooses to bring them to us. When Haven died, I thought that my redemption as a mother, a wife, and a woman would only come through successfully bringing home another baby, but I don't know now if that is where our lives are headed. I surely do hope so, but I am trying to keep my heart open for the other possibilities that God may have in mind for us.
Soon after Haven died last February, we treated ourselves to iPhones. I immediately downloaded the Beatles song "Here Comes the Sun" as my ringtone, because it spoke to me of hope after such a heartbreaking winter. I feel now that we are coming out of a figurative winter and into the sun. I'm looking forward to what this "summer" will bring.
"Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say 'it's all right.'"You know, I really think it will be all right.