A hiding place

Today is 6 months to the day that we were in that hospital triage room... people have told me that you never really get over losing a baby, especially going as late into the pregnancy as I did... 6 months ago my heart broke... the irreparable damage still hurts. Sometimes I swear I still feel her in me... moving in her playful manner. My heart is scarred for life and just when I think I'm ok, I'm doing better, that sorrow lashes out of a hiding place burrowed deep within  my heart, scolding me, as if to say I'm not allowed to move on. I'm moved beyond missing her as the baby, other than in my womb, I never had her, I have no memories of her smiling face... I realize as time moves on that it's not her I miss as much as the idea of her. So every month on the 19th and 20th I mourn... on the 27th, the day we buried her little body, I mourn... and then the time of the month when I fail each pregnancy I mourn wondering if I will ever be blessed with my baby... or if my arms will have to be satisfied with my only living child.
I make her seem like she's not enough, but I often wonder is it selfish of me to ask God for another when He blessed us so richly with our firstborn. She is beautiful and wonderful and I worry that my sorrow will dim the light I have always seen her in just because I worry...
I know God is good. I know He loves me. I know that His plans for me are much better than any other I can plan myself. But I am so afraid... my flesh is so weak, it does not listen as I tell it God will grant the desires of my heart.
God has been so faithful to me in this time... even when I don't deserve His love and faithfulness... I have known since those first moments in that bleak moment of grief, in my hospital room, curled up, waiting for my calming meds to take over, that I would not make it through this without Him.
These last 6 months have been so hard...

When we first found out we were pregnant we found out SEVERAL of our friends were too, including my husband's best friend's wife, who even shared my due date. Including my best friend who was due 6 months after me and two other close friends due also in April and June...
Please do not mistake me... my friends deserved their babies and I am truly happy for them. My husband's best friend had tried for years to start a family and never could with his first wife, but God granted him a second chance. My best friend,  Christina, delivered her firstborn at 32 weeks early and dealt with a baby in the NICU for what seemed like forever only to then turn around and find out her son has a incurable disease and has been in and out of the hospital more times than I would like to count. I wanted nothing more for them to be blessed... But watching them and my other friends have babies... knowing my sweet Savannah was supposed to be the playmate to them... every picture posted of their babies wrenches my heart... the silence and awkwardness between us... I know they want to bubble forth with their excitement and happiness or even whine about their sleepless nights... But they dont... not to me...
God has been my guide and my strength. On the day Christina have birth to her sweet baby girl at the same hospital I had been in just months before... it was expected that I wouldn't be able to go up there... But I felt I should...
1 hour later, I am walking through the parking garage to the same elevator the same entrance... the same everything... I am starting to have a full blown panic attack and just as I am about to turn and run this random older gentleman in front of me turns around and starts up the most random of conversations telling me about the time he was on an elevator and it broke down and he pried the doors open himself... it was nuts and pretty sure I thought he was supposed to be in a psych ward, but he completely distracted me from my own thoughts, the elevator arrives and he continues to babble on and on telling me a crazy story. Elevator stops and I hop off thinking he was crazy he gets off as well and goes right and I go left and continue on my path... with every step though I start to panic and worry. I get on the next elevator and go to the postpartum section. I exit the elevator and there is the nursery and the same double doors I was wheeled through after I delivered Savannah. Again I start to cry and go to turn back around, the same crazy guy comes walking toward me. Remarking on how fast I made it up and he should have followed me. He just kept babbling and babbling... in a panic of "he's crazy" I push the button for the doors to let me in...
I made it to the room and was able to hold my best friend's baby and love on her...
Upon leaving I realized that was God and his unique way of being there and not letting me get too far into my head...
Like all moments in my life, God has been there, guiding, helping, comforting. These last several months are no different.