“Sweet Iz”: Our miscarriage

Your older brother, Micah, named you when you were just a glow in my belly.

“Hi Iz!” he said softly, his hand on my hips, his mouth pressed to my stomach. He planted a kiss near my belly button and then scampered away.

“I’m going to name the baby Iz.” He announced, 5 minutes after we told our boys they were going to be big brothers again on December 20th. “I want a baby sister. If it’s a boy, I’m going to fuss.”

I laughed, reminding him that the baby might not be a girl, and inwardly thinking that I didn’t really like the name “Izzy.”

But that was the only name you got. It was a sweet name, and full of love and expectation from the big brother you will never know on this side of heaven.

Sweet baby. You left us only a few weeks after we knew you were there. On January 4th, we found out that your soul had slipped away.

We miss you, your mommy especially. Christmas was such a time of hope. I felt like Mary, expecting a child, however small, at such a magical time of year.

Your daddy and I kept looking at each other with wide eyes, saying in hollowed, hallowed tones, “We’re going to have FOUR kids. Holy crap.”

And we still have four. But not here on earth.

We wonder why this happened, why you won’t be joining our family here on earth. I told your big brother Benji that Mommy was very sad that the baby died.

“But Mommy, we still have Silas!” he said.

And that made me smile.

I have three little boys to hold in my arms and one little one to hold in my heart.

We didn’t get to know you but your big brother named you.

We miss you, sweet Iz.

You can read more about our miscarriage journey here: 

 

17 Comments

  1. Olivia, thank you. I actually re-read your blog posts about your miscarriage when we thought it might be happening. Thank you for sharing your story. It was a comfort to me. And thank you for your prayers. I really need them.

  2. It is a wonderful thing for you share such an intimate experience. I know your sorrow and it is real. Praying that God comforts you and fills you with peace as you mourn the loss of this tiny special life.

  3. I am so glad it helped you! That was part of the reason I wrote it to help other mamas cope. I know it helped me when I was going through it to write about it and read about others. I am just so sorry it happened to you.

  4. Anonymous

    I'm so sorry for your loss. I will lift your family up in prayer as you mourn the loss of a precious life. How blessed your kids are to have such loving parents.

  5. […] When I had my miscarriage, I was baptized in grief for the first time. I learned what hopelessness feels like. My motherhood journey has looked wildly different than I thought it would be. On many occasions, especially in the last year, I have literally thrown up my hands, saying “I’ve got nothing. I have no idea what to do.” […]

  6. […] When I had my miscarriage, I was baptized in grief for the first time. I learned what hopelessness feels like. My motherhood journey has looked wildly different than I thought it would be. On many occasions, especially in the last year, I have literally thrown up my hands, saying “I’ve got nothing. I have no idea what to do.” […]

  7. […] I had a miscarriage. Benji started struggling in school. I had another baby and it was not easy like it was with Silas. I fought with the school about doing a child study to discover if Benji had learning disabilities (He did). We found out that Benji is autistic (and ADHD). We found out that Micah has ADHD. After two years of massive stress (see above), I quit my job, which created its own brand of melancholy. […]

Comments are closed.