
Dear Baby in Heaven,
I wish you could see me now.
Things have changed. Life has changed. I have changed.
And I couldn’t have imagined that I really would be okay.
Losing you broke me.
For so long, I was a crumpled heap of flesh, gasping for air, too suffocated by grief to pull myself up.
Losing you shattered me.
And it was immediately obvious that the shards of my former self were beyond repair.
Losing you changed the way I saw everything.
Your absence colored my whole world black.
The person I was before you existed vanished when you did.
No longer could I control my emotions. No longer could I dam up the tears. No longer could I pretend to be stronger than the heartache of this life. No longer was I the person who floated through life—instead I had to trudge.
I didn’t think I could live without you. I didn’t think I’d survive. And some days I didn’t want to.
The day I lost you was the worst day of my life. And the days after, with an aching womb and empty arms, were equally as bad.
I didn’t think I’d make it.
But here I am. Still.
Still breathing. Still standing. Still alive.
Still missing you, yes.
Still wondering about you, yes.
Still reflecting on what it all means—losing you and living without you.
But somehow I’m still here in a place I thought I’d never see again.
A place with more laughter than tears.
A place with full arms and busy hands.
A place of hope and gratitude and healing.
A place that’s not quite complete, but that’s still good.
Losing you changed everything, especially me.
But so has living without you.
Because in your absence I’ve discovered that God works in the darkness. That he works in the strangest, most mysterious, and best ways. That even the worst experiences of this life aren’t enough to destroy me. Not forever, anyway.
In your absence I’ve grown. I’ve learned that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. That darkness doesn’t last forever. That life is a combination of grief and joy and that regardless of which cycle I’m in, goodness can be found.
And I have you to thank for that.
I wish you could see how far I’ve come, Baby.
Losing you broke me, but in some strange way, your short existence still managed to gift me with new life.
You were my little miracle who God is still using to work wonders in my life.
And with every step, I’m moving farther away from loss and closer to finding you again.
Looking for encouragement for pregnancy after loss? Find it here: Courageously Expecting: 30 Days of Encouragement for Pregnancy After Loss.
Made me cry. I have 3 babies on Heaven waiting for me.
Two here. Sending you love.
Beautifully written and exactly how I feel.
👼🏼Adley Grace 4/7/16
Much love to you <3
We have 3 in heaven…. It is something that you never quite get over, I live for my 4 daughters and now for my grandloves, but I never forget the tiny ones in heaven. Timothy, Steven, Ryan. 😇 😇 😇
We never forget. Sending you so much love <3
I have four waiting for me
I’m so sorry for your losses. I have two <3
Took the words right from my soul. Beautifully written…every word. May the Lord be with you always🤍.
Sending you love.
Beautiful ❤️❤️❤️
Hugs <3
We have a son and grandson waiting for us In heaven… losing our son was heartbreaking but watching our daughter go through losing her son was truly devastating…. Until we meet again boys 💙💙
I’m so very sorry for your losses, Cindy.
I think I’m almost at this point, 4 years after losing my one. Unexplained infertility after miscarriage is something I never imagined to be possible. God has been very kind in giving me the sweet fellowship of women who care, and some who can relate to this or that grief. I long for: “ A place with more laughter than tears.
A place with full arms and busy hands,” but maybe not as much as I long to finally meet my sweet child when Jesus calls me home. It’s hard. Thank you so much for your posts!!! <3
I’m so sorry for the hurt you have experienced and for the hurt you continue to carry. I wish you didn’t know the pain of loss. We do have the hope of heaven, but it’s still really hard on earth <3