Today Ava Learned The News

I find myself caught in an internal debate as I stare long and hard at the screen in front of me. By the time you're old enough to read and comprehend this message, you'll already know that I'm not one to verbalize my feelings or wear my emotions on my sleeve. Much to your mom's chagrin I have a knack for bottling things up.

Let the written words that follow act as the therapy I cannot speak.

Your Great Grandpa Kessler once stated "Everyone has the right to die with dignity." He wasn't referring to what you're about to read, but I found it oddly fitting.

Your mom and I were dealt a crushing blow this morning. After two-rounds of blood work the doctor confirmed what mom already knew, she experienced a miscarriage. We lost your sibling. Given the complications your mother was experiencing we anticipated the news, but it still doesn't soften the pain.

Even though your sibling didn't have the opportunity to experience a long life outside the womb (or inside for that matter), my grandpa's words are why I decided to continue with this entry. At the very least, your brother or sister deserves the dignity of having their short story told. To know that they are loved.

For reasons only God can answer he or she was called to His Kingdom before life was ever breathed into their lungs. 

Our lives will move on, we'll laugh, we'll cry, we'll grow and learn but this is a wound that time cannot heal. 

For the nearly-six weeks that we were expecting, we experienced the same joy and nervousness that we did when we learned of your imminent arrival. It was wonderful. We discussed how we would reconfigure the office into a nursery. We talked to you about being a big sister and how you'll be a role model to your younger sibling. To relish the fact that they look up to you and to not get annoyed when they follow you around like a puppy dog. 

We even bought a shirt boasting that you're a proud big sister. 

When mom first talked of her concerns I was numb to it all. Honestly, I didn't want to believe the reality of the matter and did my best to remain positive on the outside while secretly losing my mind on the inside. Our worst fears came true this morning and unfortunately it wasn't meant to be this time. Rest assured we will relive the good feelings again.

We will live and we will cope. We're a strong family and we'll rely on each other along with your smiles and laughter to get us all through this.

I know a miscarriage is the body's way of telling you something isn't right and the chances of having one are alarmingly high. There's comfort in knowing this but it doesn't make the reality of the matter any easier. 

What it does, though, is assure us of how lucky we are to have the healthy, happy, beautiful girl that you've become. So when I hug you for a second longer or give you a an extra kiss good morning, good night, or goodbye, know that I do it not only for you, but for the brother or sister that wasn't given the opportunity to feel that love.

It's funny how the meaning behind something can change in an instant. Today's appointment was made weeks ago to confirm the beginning of a new life, but ultimately marked the end of it. 

With a smile on face I captured the above image on Dec. 10, 2013 and thought "I'm going to be a dad again!" Now, I find myself staring at it and realizing it's the only physical token of your sibling's existence.

I struggle with knowing that image is all there is. There's no plot in the ground, no marker for us to visit. There's not even an ultrasound. We weren't that far along yet. 

There's a reason this happened, and hopefully that reason is revealed to me someday. Until then, I'm leaning on a phrase your Grandpa Waechter told me a few years back "God doesn't put anything on our shoulders that we can't handle."

I hope with this post in some small way I have given dignity to the life we'll never know. 

Hug your mom a little tighter when you read this.