Learning

If there's one thing I've learned from losing Oliver, it's how to pray/grieve for someone going through a similar situation. Even if I don't know you, or you don't know me, my heart is breaking for you right now. I so closely feel your pain. We're in community and you might not even know it, but I hope that I can someday show you that you are not alone.

I'm so thankful for those who reached out to me in the weeks that followed and shared their stories of loss with me, just to say just that...you're not alone. Your tragedy is not new, but it is yours, and we grieve with you.

I believe that you have to search for these beautiful tidbits among the ashes, because otherwise, all you'll see is the ashes. All you'll see when you look back on your tragedy, is the ashes of your broken life, your future altered and uncertain. But if you press into God, through your pain, and really feel it (despite how much it hurts) you'll come up with a few precious nuggets that you can cling to in the days to come.

This whole thought process started as a response to hearing that yet another lady that I know lost her 17 week old little girl, and every time I hear of such a loss, especially one so spot on with how/when I lost Oliver, it cuts a fresh scar on my heart. I'm sorry doesn't seem good enough, but it's really all there is to say sometimes.

I hear you.
I see you.
I am so sorry.

Maybe some time soon I'll be able to write out the full story of what happened with me and my born-to-heaven Oliver Byron, but not today. Today, I'll cry a little, I'll embrace every moment of my grief, because as a dear friend reminded me, God promises that "He will turn my mourning into dancing, my wailing into joy." (Psalm 30:11) Oh it hurts, but it's good, because "all things God works for the good of those who love him." (Romans 8:28)

Some of the beautiful flowers we received when we got home from the hospital.

My beautiful Mother's Day flowers from my family.