My Firstborn

I read the prompt. It’s the word ‘story’ and wonder what needs to be written. What story can I write. And then it comes to me. Their story has never been told. So, I think it’s time to write out Jedidiah’s  and Joselyn’s story.

My hands flutter to my abdomen for the hundredth time, fingers splayed trying to imagine the feeling of the little life in me moving. The pregnancy test was read just a few weeks ago and with excitement I told my husband and sent pictures of the test to family. My first appointment with the midwife was scheduled for 14 weeks to ensure a good heartbeat.

All the usual pregnancy stuff was happening – the fatigue, the nausea, the umpteen trips to the bathroom. And then the day of my appointment came and with it waves of excitement because today was the day  I was going to hear my baby’s heartbeat!

The appointment came and went ending with apprehension. The midwife wasn’t able to find a heartbeat. She assured me though that there was nothing to be too concerned about and rescheduled me for a week later at 15 weeks. Surely we’d hear something then. But no, there was still just the deafening sound of my own heartbeat – no matching beat that kept time with my own.

She sent us to the hospital the next day and we had our first and last ultrasound. I could see the screen and it showed twins!  I had always wanted twins and was excited for a moment until I realized the truth. The heartbeat couldn’t be heard because they weren’t there. My little ones had stopped growing at approximately 12 weeks.

We left stunned. Life had changed when I saw the two pink lines on the stick and now life was changing again. We wandered, seemingly lost,  the rest of the day finally returning home that evening.

For the next six weeks, I waited for my body to give up the twins. I wanted it to happen naturally without medication or a procedure, but that wasn’t to be. My body wouldn’t give them up.

I vacillated between hope that God would quicken them and despair that they were gone and I was a walking tomb. My body had betrayed me and I hated it.

That was the darkest time of my life. I could see myself sitting on the ground with miniature stained glass windows swirling about my head. And then one by one, they started to shatter and fall, turning to ash at my feet. My stained glass dreams.

There were so many times that, as I drove the thought crossed my mind that if I just turned the steering wheel a little to right, the tree or barricade would take care of everything.

Finally we decided to take meds to speed up the process and in the late afternoon, 8 years ago, on January 26th, my babies were born.

They fit in the palms of my hands. Two little miracles that God had gifted to me for a time.

The two made me a Mother.

Though that time was extremely difficult, God comforted me with these thoughts. First, my babies would never feel pain. They would never have to deal with sin! They would never have to experience violence or hear horrible things. And the most wonderful thought I could think of, was that the first person they saw would be their Creator.

My babies would be 8 years old this month. I miss them and what might have been terribly. But I know that without their passing, I wouldn’t be enjoying the 6 year old playing out in the back yard. I can’t reconcile these two – the loss and the joy. But it is what it is, and it is with hope that I share with you the story of my Firstborn.