loss and longing

the 25th of this month is forever going to be a hard day for me. this year, the 25th would have marked the first birthday of the baby we lost in 2013. it was very early in the pregnancy--just 8 weeks--but the loss was palpable and still is very, very real. just as my pregnancies for both of my boys and their birth stories are etched down to the tiniest detail on my heart and in my mind, i still remember vividly every part of the process of knowing and losing corban. we hadn't really been trying to get pregnant (not at all like the process of conceiving for either of our sons). i had just weaned the oldest about a month prior and had just visited my doctor a few weeks prior to discuss what steps would be necessary if we struggled against the symptoms of pcos again when trying to conceive (<--ill save my story about living with pcos for another day). one morning, i was racing to get ready to meet a friend for a playdate, and just felt a wave of nausea. i didn't feel nauseous with my first baby, so i wasn't sure what i was feeling, but i took a test just to rule out the possibility of pregnancy. and sure enough, we were pregnant. what emotions swirled through my body that day! i was elated. i was in disbelief. i was so incredibly thankful to have easily conceived, especially after the 18 month struggle we endured the last time. i even planned a cute little surprise announcement for my husband. we were thrilled! fast forward about 3 weeks. i went in for my initial ultrasound. my doctor was so excited for us. he's also a believer and had walked through our difficult journey to conceive the first time. and then the world came to a halt. our sweet, sweet baby didn't have a heartbeat. everything measured exactly as it should for our baby for the number of weeks since conception. we had lost him or her within days--maybe hours--of that visit.
the next two weeks were agonizing as we waited for the process of miscarriage to be completed. we opted to let things happen naturally and i had the great privilege of being able to hold my sweet baby just once as my body released everything one evening two weeks later. we wanted to honor the dignity and personhood of this sweet, tiny life we were entrusted with for such a short time. we opted to have the baby cremated and a few months later scattered the ashes along the shores of lake michigan, a place that is near and dear to both of us. we also hiked up into the mountains here in north carolina and planted a tree to honor the short life of our child. we gave the baby the name "corban", which means, "a gift from god, returned back to god."
when the anniversary of our loss passed last summer, we were one month into life with our newest son. we were so graciously given another sweet baby just a few months after we said goodbye to corban. the sting of the loss was so real, even when i held my sweet new babe. his life would not have been, had we not lost corban. and i can't imagine my life without him now. but the agony of loss is still there. and as we approach the day that would have been the birthday of that child, i still wonder what things might have been different. i long to have known that child. it hurts to know that i will never know corban this side of heaven.
as i walk alongside other friends who struggle with infertility or who have known the agony of losing a child, i am still at a loss for how to find meaning in it. i know that god is good. i know that god is sovereign. but i struggle to see the good in friends losing their child at 26 weeks. they are still in agony a year later and have not found comfort or answers for their loss. i struggle to understand why friends have waited years--years--and still have yet to realize the joy of a baby of their own. when so many see unborn babies as disposable and inconvenient, why are there any mothers with empty, longing arms? what i know to be true in my heart regarding the goodness of the lord, i struggle to make sense of in my head. and simply accepting that i may not ever make peace with that is hard. as this birthday passes, i long that i would come to know and trust god's goodness in the hard edges of loss and longing.