By Kayla Runkel 
Soft October light floods the room as I softly glide in the rocking chair, nursing my baby boy to sleep. I’m comforted by the sounds of his little sleepy wheezes as he nods in and out of milk-drunken consciousness. Maybe it’s the extra shot of oxytocin flooding my brain from all the baby snuggles, but I swear the room feels so . . . bright.
I pause in silence, knowing this is one of those moments. You know, the ones you wish you could freeze in time, like a snapshot in your heart, there to return to whenever you want to relive the beauty of that moment one more time.
“This nursery is absolutely stunning,” I think. It’s every bit as beguiling as I had imagined it would be when my husband and I were building it just last year.
I can still smell the scent of fresh, exposed lumber as I think back to the beginning of our home-building journey. From surveying the land and finalizing the blueprints to pouring the foundation and framing the rooms—this space was always meant to be a nursery. But it wasn’t supposed to be his nursery . . . because we built this room for a different baby.
The day I found out we were expecting our third child, I snuck away inside our unfinished house for a moment. With my mind swirling with possibilities, I walked into what would eventually be our unborn baby’s nursery and imagined how it would look in just nine short months.
In my mind’s eye, I saw lace accents and gold sparkles, perfectly fitting for a little girl. And I saw wild animals with rugged finishes if we were going to be adding another little boy to our brood.
I didn’t know it then, but I would never get to see which room our baby would get. Because one week later—on Father’s Day of all days—I lost the baby who was meant to fill that space. The room that reflects such bright beauty today felt darker than I could ever imagine.
Thankfully, my story didn’t end there. God proved faithful in answering my prayers for another child with the rainbow baby I now sit cuddling in the rocking chair. I stroke my thumb across his pudgy baby cheek, thinking about the war that now exists inside my heart each time I look at him. It’s a battle I’m sure every mama faces when she’s lost a child, feeling the tug between hope and heartache, joy and pain.
How odd it is to stand staring into the sunshine of life with a new baby while the chilly shadows of loss continue to fall on your back. To bask in profound joy over new life in your womb while still nursing the wounds of the empty space that was once there. To long for both the baby you have and the baby you lost, knowing the two could never exist together on this side of Heaven.
It’s funny how grief changes you not only from the outside but also from the inside. I live my days feeling it all. Joy, peace, and gratitude share the same mental space as heartache, longing, and hurt.
I can smile and laugh as my son hits new milestones and also cry, thinking about the ones I’ll never get to see. It feels wrong, yet somehow, I know that it isn’t. That’s just life.
Because I can rock in this chair, admiring the beautiful nursery my baby boy gets to occupy . . . and still long for the room we built for another baby.
by Elly Durham 
by Jenny Albers 
