It has been one week. One week since our lives were forever changed, shattered. One week since we headed to the hospital, praying I was overreacting to the lack of movement I felt the night before. One week since I thought surely everything would be fine, that God wouldn't have us endure this again. One week since our triage nurse told us, with tears streaming down her face, that she couldn't find a heartbeat. And one week since I saw my baby Lucas, appearing to just be sleeping, but ultrasound missing that little heart flutter. I remember this sound coming out of my mouth, hardly recognizable. I remember crying out "no" and repeating all sorts of words of anguish in this weird babbling. And then I remember going numb, feeling too much pain to even let myself feel anymore. And less than 24 hours later, Lucas was born.
Grieving this time is so very different. We had few responsibilities with Reagan and every second of every day in the weeks after she was born were spent thinking about her, doing things for her, crying over her. But now? Well, there's so much more going on. Just like in pregnancy, poor Lucas doesn't get as much attention as I'd like to give him. But I will say, I didn't smile for a long time after Reagan died. And now? Well, my kids are crazy, and they're funny, and sometimes they'll say ridiculous things to make me laugh. Or at least smile.
I find myself frustrated that they don't have a clue, that their lives are unphased by our family's tragedy. I would never wish them to be so sad, never want them crying and broken, but sometimes I just wish they'd recognize that Mommy and Daddy are sad and just need a few minutes every now and then to think about Lucas. Probably too much to ask of our almost 4-year-olds. Instead, they are fighting over toys and throwing temper tantrums, far more than usual, over the most ridiculous things. I don't know what I would do without a community willing to step in and take them for a few hours in the afternoon.
So, as a week has past, so many things have happened. I was induced and Lucas was born. We were able to spend some time with him, and then we said goodbye. Since coming home, we've expanded our Reagan's Garden space to create a Lucas Garden. For Andrew, this involved moving sod and digging up plants. But we now have a space outside where we can sit and look at flowers planted for each of our heavenly children, carefully picked and planted through tears. We've created a photo book for our boy, with our favorite pictures of the day and our pregnancy, special moments that celebrate his brief life here with us. And we've begun the work of planning his memorial service. I remember planning Reagan's, knowing I would be speaking, and breaking. I remember telling my mom how no parent should ever have to do this, that it just felt so very wrong. And here we are, doing it again. Trying to create a service that will honor Lucas' life, that is unique to him and how we think of him, but that will still point to the hope we have in our Savior. Because ultimately, without Jesus, this would be the end. Lucas' life would be over, and we would never see him again. And, though I am still incredibly hurt and angry, though I am confused and broken, I HAVE to trust and rest in that truth. I have to remember that God is good and His plan is perfect, even when writing those words makes me want to scream. I get eternity with my boy. With my sweet Lucas. With Reagan. Our story does not end here.
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