I miss my baby. I miss baby Snert, I miss my baby in Heaven, and I miss the babies I’ve only ever dreamed of. Will only ever dream of.
I am most decidedly infertile. A test a couple of weeks back showed that my lone fallopian tube, the one that we tried to repair a few months ago, is all but totally closed again. There is no more we can do. It is finished.
We will keep praying for a miracle, for it would most surely be a miracle. But until then, it is finished. Holding ma baby. And I miss that, oh, do I.
I’m ok, too. That’s just grace, I know – lots of people praying for us.
But I had a happy thought and I want to tell it to you, for happy thoughts right now are more precious to me than a thousand cheesecakes: Those baby days, that skin, that bottom-heavy, floppy weight in my arms; those smiles and sneezes and hands on my neck, all of those are. They must be. They are in the mind and heart of my God, who always is, and so they always are. And maybe Heaven is not so much the leaving of these varied happinesses for another, but the Always Is of our happiest times. (And more, yes, of course, much more.)
If I draw closer to Him Who Is, will those long-ago moments, those sweetest memories, grow not farther away from me but closer?
I’m thinking yes.
Happy thought, indeed.