Leona Mae Crowder is the name of my five month old daughter. She is happy, healthy, and has brought more joy to my life than I could have ever imagined. She is such a joyful baby, and her smile always brighten my day. Her squeals and giggles are the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. I cherish every moment that I get to spend with her.
I refer to Leona as my firstborn child, even though she was not my first child. The first two children we brought into this world departed in death before we were able to hold them. They had heartbeats and developing minds, but they were never born. We named these babies April and August for the months when they were due, and I wear a ring with myosotis (forget-me-not) flowers engraved into the outside of the ring so that I never forget the two children I never got to hold. Inside my ring is engraved the words “some day” which is a reference to 2 Samuel 12:23:
“But now the baby is dead, so why should I refuse to eat? Can I bring the baby back to life? No. Some day I will go to him, but he cannot come back to me.”
2 Samuel 12:23
It is a morbid verse at first glance. In the passage King David has been informed by God through the prophet Nathan that his infant child will die as a consequence of David’s egregious sins. The idea that an infant would die for the sins of the father is a deeply troubling concept for readers in any era. What makes it worse is that for seven days after the announcement we see David begging God to spare the child’s life. He went without food for seven days. He refused to go to bed, and instead spent his nights laying on the bare ground. Like David, we hope that God will be gracious and merciful, but the Lord does not change His judgment. It is only when the child died that David rose up from the ground and ate food again.
The loss of a child in the womb is a different kind of grief. Some parents choose to hold a funeral, but others choose not to. It is also difficult for those who have not experienced a similar loss. They do not know how to comfort you in your grief. They seem unsure of how to feel themselves for the child who is suddenly gone before they took their first breath. There is a type of anger that rises up in you over how quickly the unborn child is forgotten, as if they never existed. This pain is multiplied when you think of the months you spent praying for your child every night. When you consider the plans you made and the hopes and dreams that will not find their fulfillment in this lifetime. I still feel the loss after all this time.
Had April been born, we would now be planning her first birthday party. Her due date was Easter of last year, and as Easter approaches yet again I am forced to contemplate death, burial, and resurrection all over again. There is immense comfort in knowing that she and her brother are with the Lord, but that comfort doesn’t take away the loss as much as it makes the loss more bearable. We assume that grief and loss will fade with time, but that has not been my experience. The feeling of loss remains, we just learn to let new love and new happiness into our lives so that grief takes up less space in our hearts.
I still shed tears when I think about what could have been, and I still have questions that I don’t think have answers on this side of eternity. At the same time I can hope in the promises of Easter Sunday; the promises of resurrection, renewal, and new life. And while my unborn children cannot come to me, someday I will go to them. I have hope that I will hold them some day. Some day I will know their faces and will walk with them on an earth unmarred by sin and death. As the would-be birthday approaches, I can thank the Lord for this amazing gift of hope. I can rest knowing that even in mourning, there is hope of the celebration that will come, even if for the moment it is a celebration deferred.
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