April 21st, 2024. A date I've tried valiantly to forget, that my heart won't allow me to.

  In a perfect world, I'd be 39 weeks pregnant right now: preparing for birth, eager to meet my baby. But it's a broken world; and instead, I find myself with an empty womb and a hurting heart. What should've been a week of joyful anticipation, is instead a week of mourning my child, and reflecting on the, "should've haves."  I want to honor my baby, but I don't know how. I have nothing to commemorate them, except the hurt inside and an ornament in a storage bin. The day that should've been their due date, will go unnoticed and forgotten by everyone...  but me. I will remember. I have to remember. The memory of what should've been their day is all I have left.

  Baby August was almost the best surprise of our lives. An unexpected- but most welcome, gift. Now, he/she will live on in my memory, the hurt keeping them close. While I grieve the could haves and the missed memories, I'll forever be thankful to have the knowledge that they existed. I'll cherish their memory, and cling to the hope that one day, I'll hold them in my arms before the Savior.

The walls that sing

  If these walls could talk, this house would tell you the story of how God intervened to get us into this home. It would whisper the intimate details of our first night as a married couple; how an awkward pair of newlyweds dined on cheese and crackers, while watching Ironman. It would reflect on the moment a scared couple rejoiced in the news of their first pregnancy, and of all the newfound joys and firsts that followed. These walls have seen the tears and prayers of a scared father, as he paced the halls two days into his wife's labor; fearing for her life and the life of his unborn son. They'd tell of that baby's first breath, of his hesitant first steps down this hall; of his excitement over being a big brother and his growth from infant to big kid.

  These walls have seen that toddler become a big brother as the new baby took his first breath amidst fears and breathing troubles. They have been terrorized by the rowdy antics of these two brothers. The floors bear the evidence of bike races and car race tracks; each dent and ding telling a story, holding a memory. The gawdy pink bathroom bore witness to our heartache, as the floor held my weeping body after our first loss. The bedroom walls listened to my sobs in the middle of the night, while the rest of the house slept. The living room that held the family tree each Christmas, now observes my healing. 

  And now as we enter this new season, this sweet home bears witness to the hopes and dreams that are coming true; the excitement of two boys as they watch their new family home coming together. The exhaustion and stress of their father as he fights to give his family the home he's always wanted for them. And the long days of the mother as she tackles family life and moving prep. Yes, if these walls could talk, they would sing of all the memories they hold within themselves. This house became a home the day we became a family, and as that family grew, so did the love within these walls. If these walls could talk, they'd tell the story of that love: the story of our family, of our beginning.