We lost one of our babies.
We listened to his heartbeat so many times. We saw his face. We watched him wiggle around the womb. We dreamt of all the memories we would make together, as a family of four. We felt less nervous about this pregnancy as the weeks went on because the chances of losing a baby at 22 weeks is only 5%. We loved him with our whole heart. We prayed every night for him. And when the doctors told us things started to look worrisome, I prayed even harder. I prayed so hard, I even found myself begging and pleading to God that he would help my baby grow to be a healthy child that I could one day hold in my arms. And then his little heart stopped. That little heartbeat I can still hear was just gone. A part of me died with him, a part of me was left empty.
Our journey to become parents has been so heartbreaking for my husband and I. It has left me questioning my faith. It has left me wondering why life can seem so unfair. It has left me mentally and physically exhausted. And now, I’ll carry both life and death until our surviving twin’s birth, and that is very hard.
I still believe everything in life happens for a reason… even if that reason is unknown to me or seems wildly unfair. And that is how I’ve kept from completely crumbling. I like to think that our baby boy was just too beautiful for this earth and that he’s now flying high amongst the other angels in a better place.