Ezra Faith

   I know on Mondays I would usually post a recipe, but I couldn't today. What I need to do is talk a little, get some things out of my head, and honour a little girl who I will never really know, not until I meet her in heaven some day. My 5th baby, Ezra Faith.

   I had written out the whole story, the pregnancy, the news of miscarrying, the labour and delivery, but as I finished writing it, I felt I wasn't ready to share it. I want to share a lot of it, for the sake of other women going through the same thing, but it's hard for me to just "put it out there"....I will share my thoughts and feelings though. 

I did this on a chalk board in our house in memory.

  A year ago today, when I delivered my Ezra  I thought I was 20 weeks pregnant, but she had passed away at roughly 18 weeks. And let me tell you something about her. She was the most perfect, tiny human being you've ever seen. Little hands and feet, a beautiful face, and very long legs (she would have been a tall, Dutch beauty). 
 
   They wrapped her in the same blanket all my other full term, living and healthy babies had been wrapped in at the hospital, and handed her to me to hold. My husband and I cried, and cried. A Psalm that I read, and wrote out, and thought about constantly during this whole ordeal was Psalm 6:1(b)-3, 6

   "Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; oh Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, oh lord, how long?" v6. "I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears. My eyes grow weak with sorrow...."   
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Some art a friend found online, and gave me (she added Ezra's name and birthdate).

   On March 15th, we held a service for her. A family owned funeral home in Belleville gave us a free coffin for her (a wonderful friend called and found out, and picked it up for us), and we decided where on our property we wanted to put her. I felt the need to have her closer than farther, as I wanted to feel as though I could "watch over" her. I also wanted her next to a tree we plated for another baby we lost. Some friends and family came for the service, and it did offer some closure.     
 
     I'm not sure where the idea came from, but we decided to make a garden for her, in her honour, as a memory. The most amazing thing about this garden though, is that we didn't pay for anything. The amazing people in our lives from our church, and from friends and our parents, we made the most beautiful garden (I never really thanked anyone from my church, but I would like to do so now).  Also, a thanks to my church 'family' who made meals, gave us money for groceries (which my friend would buy, and bring out to us), sent cards and flowers, and especially kept praying. I wanted to fall apart, but no-one would let me....  
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Ezra's Garden

   A year has passed, and still I feel a pain deep inside me when I think of her, and who she might have been. There were many other women pregnant and due at the same time I should have had Ezra who now have healthy, beautiful babies, and when I see them, I imagine Ezra. I want to be happy for people who I learn are pregnant, but I also never want to hear about, or see another pregnant person again, let alone a new born baby. Feeling gladness for them, but also envy at the same time leaves me feeling like I have a split personality, and it hurts, like I am being fake, but not. A quote (not sure who's originally) says something like it's war between remembering and forgetting. Being happy for someone else feels like I am forgetting my baby, but remembering leaves me broken, and unable to function (especially around pregnant people and newborns).    
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   I have a fear, and I think a lot of women who have miscarried might feel this too, but it is a fear that the baby that died will be forgotten. It is not as real to others as it is to me, so, forgetting is understandable. I honestly don't judge. But I have a desire to remember my babies I lost, and other women's babies too. If you know someone who lost a baby, don't be afraid to let them know that you remember! People think, "oh, I don't want to remind them of it...."--don't worry, we're thinking about it! At church yesterday a friend gave me a gift as a remembrance, and another friend just wanted to say "I remember", and another gave me a beautiful drawing of a gerbera daisy (the flower we choose as a symbol of Ezra) and  a poem. Small gestures, but all really big to me.    

This is an image I found online last year (I do not own this piece, or the rights to it)

   I feel like a have a sense now, a sense of children missing, of being gone. I see them at church, I see them playing at the park, I see them at family functions. Not ghosts, but memories. People who loose babies carry them around with them, that's what I see.

   Right now, as the ground is covered in a few feet of snow, and this winter seems to never want to end, and I mourn the loss of my daughter, I also (really, truly) ache and look forward to the spring. To seeing the garden come back to life, to knowing that I may not get to sing Ezra to sleep, or kiss her boo boos, or throw her birthday parties....but, I can tend to her in my garden.    
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The bird cage and hummingbird in the garden

  I decided to put into her garden an empty bird cage, and a humming bird on a flower. To me, being here, trapped in this world where there is death & sadness is not a lot to miss. Ezra got lucky. She skipped it all, and went right to her forever home, where I hope to meet her someday. She is free, not trapped here.   

Ezra's "headstone"

    If anyone reading this wants my whole story, just e-mail me and let me know, I will share it. If anyone has gone through this, know you aren't alone in your feelings, and share your feelings with me. For art and inspirational quotes, you can view my board on Pinterest about miscarriage. 

    I love Ezra, I know that may sound strange because I never knew her, but I love her. My throat feels a knot, my heart throbs, and I wish I could hold her. But, until I can, I will remember that the whole time she was alive, I was holding her.     

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