Entry 034

My sixth baby went to Heaven.

After learning about my autoimmune disease and seeing specialists who helped me heal by body on the inside, we were so sure our next pregnancy would be the one ending in a live birth. But it didn’t. It ended the same way our last three pregnancies did: with the words, “I’m so sorry.”

We had so many reasons to believe everything would be okay this time. We had a plan for what the future would look like. We thought we finally knew when we could expect a baby in our arms. And then in an instant, while staring at the TV in an ultrasound room knowing what we were about to hear because we’d been there before, life was back to the way it was. We are back to wondering what we could have possibly done differently and where we go from here. For what feels like the millionth time, our hearts are shattered, our dreams are unfulfilled, and lives won’t change on our baby’s due date.

We’ll never understand why God gets our children instead of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Now I live every day knowing it’ll be a lifetime before I get to see the beautiful faces of the babies who made us a family of eight.



Emily Lindquist