I was grateful to awaken to the rain this morning. Its gentle pattering whispered the day in. I needed that. I sighed and buried my head back into my pillow, my room darker than usual. I wanted to stay there. I could hear Chris moving about in the other room. I breathed in the comfort of knowing I wasn’t alone.
Today marks the day we discovered our last child was no longer alive in my womb. I don’t want to give an acknowledgement to this anniversary. I want it to go away. I don’t intentionally remember this pain or even the date, but it comes and finds me anyway. My heart constricts. I pull the covers back and look into the face of this day. I light a candle in the kitchen and am consoled in its aroma and warmth. These candles, they bring comfort. They soothe the wound. Bring me a truckload today. I press down the peppermint coffee in the the french press, and find my favorite cup. The little things. The rituals. I pick up my journal and Bible, but just stare out the window at the rain. If this day were a garment, it would fit me perfectly.
Chris and I walked last night, and remembered together. He let me talk as I carefully trekked tenuous paths of pain. “Remember when we moved here,” I asked him, “and I said, it wouldn’t be a home until we brought a baby home to it?” “Yes,” he answers patiently. ” My heart was so full when I thought we would bring our fourth Morgan child home here…” I trail off. There is silence. The moon shines on us as we hold hands and walk down to the barn. I turn on the water for the horses. “And then I lost him”, I finish my broken sentence. “We”, he begins,”we lost him. It wasn’t your fault.” I am doubtful of his words. All this time, and I still feel responsible. It is just the mothering way. We always feel responsible.
I am grateful for the rain. Yes. A heavenly acknowledgement that I am not alone. That this day does not go unnoticed. This pain, this heart, this girl does not go unnoticed. The cold, the glossy leaves, just the wetness somehow affirms me. I feel alive. Hurting, but alive and not alone. For these things, I am grateful. And, I have friends. Faces who love me through their eyes, who sympathize, and and bring encouragement. They say, I don’t understand, but I love you and I am here.
I feel loved.
There is color in the seasons as they catapult us forward, even though we protest. This cannot be disputed. Pain makes the colors of life more vivid. I don’t know why.
Still. It hurts. 
Grateful for the rain…
I like Chris stepping up to say “we”. Thanks for sharing and may God continue to bless and heal and give you both strength.
Ken
I love the sound of your written voice.
Prayers are prayed through shuffling steps . . . Christ communes with my weariness and I remember that God routes his victory through pain.
Our cries pool together from our losses and somehow find a voice in gratitude. That is what i hear.
You know how I love beautiful sounds.
I’m so warmed by your humble strength – it is a display of grace.
I love you.
I hear your words and I sense your loss and your pain. I have thought the last few days of our baby and that soon I will meet him in heaven. That is a special thought for me. I love you and I remember.
hi mary anne–
you don’t know me directly, but i know the Pitts family & go to their church (CHBC). i, too, have gone through exactly what you’ve been through. it happened a year & a half ago, and it was just awfully painful. you’re NOT alone ! and it’s NOT your fault ! It will be sweet to see our wee ones when we get Home.
love you & love your beautiful pictures, too.
a.
“still it hurts”…there is a pain so deep that only GOD can touch it…wise you are to let Him, friend.
You are so Precious to God Mary Anne !! I have suffered pain in this world, but nothing compared to the “Glory” that awaits! My heart goes out too you and I hear your cry! The Lord loves you and he will be your comforter. Prayers lifted up for you Mary Anne , I pray for God’s healing and strength when your heart is touched by the memory of your loss.
Revelation 21:4
He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
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