Grief catches me by surprise. I'm sure it's everyone, but I can only speak for myself.
I am always startled by how quickly the pain of losing that heartbeat that was in my care for nine and a half precious weeks can resurface. Weeks, sometimes even months can pass that I can talk about him with clarity and composure. Then an innocent picture, quote, song, or sunset can open the wound in an instant.
I have so many questions that I may never have answered. I read that if there is a heartbeat at nine weeks there is only a 2% chance of miscarriage. According to that statistic, it shouldn't have happened. If life were fair, it wouldn't have happened.
In my case, there was an abnormally small gestational sac. There are only two reasons I have been able to find of this happening: you have your dates incorrect, or "something" is wrong. No one can say what that something is, because I know the fact is it could be one of a million things. The best available answer is that sometimes it just happens. That doesn't give me something or someone to blame. I can't say definitively, "I shouldn't have done _____," or "I should've done ____."
Baby James was less than two inches long. He had fingers, toes, and a strong heart that beat until the end. That heartbeat left a sadness in me that will never completely go away. I felt Jesus by my side during those long nights, even though I didn't think I wanted him there. When I cried out in anger, I felt him weeping with me. I felt the breath of heaven when I finally said I was ready to let go.
Subsequently, because of my time with James, I experience joy more fully. I appreciate the fragility and mystery of this world, and I have less fear of the unknown. I have more compassion, and more grace. I love without apology.
James Michel Grant
March 17, 2011-May 22, 2011
From the day we knew of you to the day you left.