I've decided to write this post for myself. For my friends and family. But most of all, for the reasons that will become evident in a second.
We lost our littlest Monkey two weeks ago. Three weeks ago, I saw her tiny heart beating on the sonogram. Two weeks ago, the heartbeat was no longer there. My own heart broke.
We had also lost a baby last July, whom we named Justus. At the time, I was so stricken with pain, I told almost no one. In hindsight, that was the exact wrong thing for me to do, especially for my own healing. This is one reason I've decided to write this post.
The second reason is because I want to scream from the rooftops that my babies were here. They did exist. I don't want them to be forgotten, or a rumor, or a ghost of what might have been. These children left a deep and permanent mark upon my heart, and on my life and the lives of my husband and living children. They matter.
In their too-short life times, these tiny children taught me painful, yet valuable, lessons. I was reminded that all of my children are priceless gifts from God, to be valued and nurtured -- and never, ever taken for granted. They are precious.
Time does not belong to me. I cannot take a single second of life for granted. I may never have another chance, another moment, another breath. I must use my gift of time on this earth wisely, and for the glory of God.
That brings me to this. . . . My blog will be neglected. It must be. I have children to love and hug and kiss and nurture. I'm sure you understand.