Pregnancy loss is a terrible thing. It’s something we bury deep down and only our spouse and sometimes those closest to us know about. It’s a grief we are silently burdened with. 

There is no real sense of closer. Rarely do we have anything to burry. Our church does not surround us, to mourn and comfort us. No one brings meals. We just sit in the pew and silently cry when little ones go forth for baptism. When birth announcements are made, we compare the dates to when our child would have made their first cries known to the world. That day comes and goes and there are no cards signifying your loss, no words offered in support. 

The lack of physical remains of my children bothered me the most with my losses. I wanted something to bury. I wanted something to point to to say, “See! They were here and their lives mattered.”

But in all likelihood, my babies were flushed down the toilet. And that crushes my heart. 

The only tomb my children had was my body. Their little lives were carried and ended deep within me. 

My body failed to give them life, but their lives were not in vain. They were loved. They were cherished. And with the rest of the Church, their physical bodies will be raised and renewed on the final day. 

I don’t know what that looks like. It is a mystery of the faith that is beyond my understanding. But I believe it is true. 

One memory I will always cherish is taking the Lord’s Supper knowing their little bodies were deep within me. I was overcome with emotion as I realized that His sustaining grace was being passed to them through me. The same Body and Blood that covered my life, it covered them. 

I know my children mattered to God. While I never had the privilege of holding them, I have the reassurance that Jesus is now holding us both. We are sustained only by the grace of His sacrifice and love. 

I was only given that one memory. The next morning, I knew deep within my heart what the doctor confirmed a week later, that their little lives had left this earth. While I will never know for certain, I believe with all of my heart that their last day was spent with me, in that church, worshiping their Maker. 

While their spirits were gone, here on earth their bodies remained, unseen. 

I am the only monument to my children. There is no stone we can point to, no urn we can cry over. My heart is the only thing you can look to as evidence that they were here. It is forever changed by their presence and will be forever marked by their loss. 

So here is my heart, poured out and vulnerable, crying that they were here and that they mattered. And on the final day, I can’t wait to join you all in the beauty of seeing their faces for the first time and seeing that beauty that was created and buried deep within me burst forth into beautiful life.