It is hard for me to write this.
Maybe because I’m not ready to admit that you are gone, so quickly after you let us know you were a part of our family. Your life with me was too short, baby. Just way too short.
Not long ago, when I was pregnant with you, I was driving down the road and all of the sudden, this image of you came to my mind.
You weren’t a baby. You were in your twenties. I imagined telling you your story. How you were a miracle. How you were loved.
You stood arms’ length from me, beautiful, with short brown hair. Not a baby. But mature and wise beyond your years.
Your name came so quickly to me. Sophie Grace. You just looked like a Sophie to me.
When I got home, I looked it up.
Wisdom and Grace.
And then, you were gone. Just like that. The bleeding started, the cramping, and you were gone. Before I ever got a chance to see you on ultrasound, feel you move, or talk to you when you were in your twenties. Before I even had a chance to celebrate you — you were gone.
In this time of grieving you, I just pray that God would give me wisdom.
Wisdom to let him strip me of everything I put in front of him . . . everything I want more than him. That I wouldn’t fight him as he empties me of everything lesser I fill my life with. The stripping hurts me, sweet girl. It hurts, and I want to fight it.
But in the end, I know. Nothing, not you or any of my dreams, is God’s best. Only him.
It is worth it to be emptied — as long as God himself fills me.
May I have the grace to accept God’s best. To let go of the need of answers. To let go of the need of a “rainbow baby.” Or a “happily ever after.” To let go of you.
My grace and wisdom mark my days and shape every part of my character.
May your brief, but so important presence, mark my heart forever.
I will miss doing this life with you. I wish we could have had that conversation I saw in my mind. I would have told you how amazing you were, how proud of you daddy and I are. How you were one of God’s greatest gifts to us.
And how much I loved you . . . and always will.