January 15 was the one-year anniversary of my miscarriage. I hadn't really had time to think about it until Sunday, which happened to be Sanctity of Life Day and the first baby dedication service of the year at our church. (They do one in January and one in August.) I remember last year this day occurred the week after my miscarriage, and it was an incredibly hard service to go through. This year I was also caught unprepared for the tide of emotion that flowed over me. I knew three of the moms who were dedicating their children, and that made me joyful to see the parents and children on stage...but at the same time, it brought back all the pain and sorrow that I felt so deeply for so long, and even now struggle with at times.
It's a strange thing to have so many conflicting emotions. No wonder my husband doesn't understand me sometimes. It feels odd to grieve the loss of a little one who had developed a scant 8 1/2 weeks when the baby girl inside of me now is so real, so here and now...so eagerly expected. So insistent on making her presence known by a jab under my rib cage or a ripple across the front of my belly. If Aliana hadn't been taken to heaven last January, this little girl wouldn't exist. How can I possibly reconcile the emotions that thought conjures up?
I can't. So I don't even try.
I shed some tears Sunday morning, mostly because I remember the grace and peace, which passed all my human understanding, that flooded over me during the whole ordeal. God is so good. It's not just a trite expression or a familiar tune. He is God, so He is good. All the time.
But I don't live in January 2006. I have a future and a hope, just as this little one inside of me does. I don't dwell on the past...but I won't forget it, either.