October, Lily, and the Babies We Never Got to Hold
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, but for me, October has carried a much deeper meaning since 2010. It is the month that reminds me of the baby we lost, our precious Lily Anastasia. It is also the month she would have been born into our family. So every October, there is a tenderness that is difficult to put into words. There is the awareness of so many families who have walked this road, but there is also the very personal reminder that our Lily was our plan to have been here.
In 2010, we painfully walked through the loss of our baby girl. There are experiences in life that change you forever, and losing a child is one of them. Even though you may continue living, growing, raising your family, laughing, celebrating and making memories, there is a part of your heart that will always remember the little life that was supposed to be part of those moments. I have wondered so many times who Lily would be today. What would she look like? Would she be dark and with deep brown eyes like her daddy, Sawyer and Oliver , or the blue eyed tow head like our Sammy and (and Patience to come)? What would she love? Would she love pink and dancing and makeup and dolls? Or would she love soccer, not combing her hair and have a spitfire soul like her little sister?? lol What would make her laugh? Would she be silly and outgoing like her mom and uncles on her mama’s side, or would she be quiet and reserved like her daddy? What would her relationship with her siblings be like? There are so many questions I will never have answers to, and that is one of the strange and painful parts of losing a baby. You grieve not only the child you lost, but also the lifetime of memories you thought you would have with them.
For years, pregnancy and infant loss was something many families simply didn't talk about. There was often an uncomfortable silence surrounding miscarriage, stillbirth and infant loss, as though we were supposed to quietly move on and pretend it didn't happen. For instance, my great grandma birthed 16 children. 4 of them died. One at 19 years old in a car accident. One as an infant after my great grandma contracted German Measles during her pregnancy. Two children, she lost only a week apart from each others, aged 6 and 7. A boy and a girl. She lost as many children as I have. And she still got up daily to care for all her others and run a farm. I truly cannot fathom the life she lived and I am in awe of the woman she was. How do you simply "move on" from someone you loved? How do you forget a baby who was already part of your heart? I know there are so many mothers and fathers who have carried this pain silently, sometimes for decades. Maybe they don't talk about it because they don't want to make other people uncomfortable. Maybe they are afraid people will think they should be "over it" by now. Maybe they have never felt like their loss was significant enough to talk about. But I want to say this clearly: your baby mattered. Your loss mattered. Your grief matters.
And I especially want to speak to the mothers who have wrestled with the painful thoughts that can come after loss. Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Could I have prevented this? Was I being punished? Did God take my baby because I wasn't good enough? Those thoughts can become some of the darkest parts of grief. I know how easily our minds can turn inward when we don't have answers. But those thoughts are lies. Losing a baby does not mean you failed as a mother. It does not mean you weren't healthy enough, faithful enough, careful enough or good enough. And it does not mean God was punishing you.
We live in a broken world, and there are things we simply cannot explain this side of heaven. Sometimes there isn't a satisfying answer to the question of why. And I don't believe we have to manufacture one in order to have faith. We can acknowledge the pain. We can acknowledge that something incredibly heartbreaking happened. We can grieve what could have been while still believing that God is good. Faith doesn't mean we never hurt. Sometimes faith means we hold onto God in the middle of the hurt, even when we don't understand.
Lily is still part of my story. Her life was brief, but it was real. She was loved, wanted and prayed for. She was our daughter, and she will always have a place in our family story. I don't believe that talking about her means I am stuck in the past. I believe it means I am honoring a life that mattered. And perhaps that is one of the most important things we can do for families who have experienced pregnancy and infant loss: allow them to remember.
Our rainbow baby, Patience Clara, being held by her big brother Oliver.
This October feels especially significant because I am currently in the process of recording a song about Lily and the experience of losing her. It is finished and will be on all major music streaming services soon. You can currently listen to and watch the video I put together on Youtube HERE. I honestly can't think of a more fitting time for it to come into the world. October is the month dedicated to bringing awareness to pregnancy and infant loss, but it is also the month when Lily was supposed to be born. There is something incredibly emotional about taking an experience that once felt too painful to talk about and turning it into something that might bring comfort and hope to someone else.
I don't know who will hear this song when it is finished. Maybe it will be a woman who lost her baby last week. Maybe it will be someone who lost a child thirty years ago and has never really talked about it. Maybe it will be a dad who has quietly carried his own grief while trying to be strong for everyone else. Maybe it will be a grandmother remembering the grandbaby she never got to hold. Whoever it reaches, my prayer is that it reminds them that they are not alone.
If you have experienced pregnancy or infant loss, I want you to know that you don't have to suffer in silence. You don't have to pretend that your baby never existed. You don't have to minimize your grief because someone else doesn't understand it. You don't have to feel guilty for still missing your child years later. There is no expiration date on love, and there is no timeline that says you have to stop remembering.
Maybe this October is the month you finally say your baby's name out loud. Maybe you write their story. Maybe you light a candle. Maybe you look through the pictures you have tucked away. Maybe you tell someone about the baby you have carried quietly in your heart all these years. Whatever your story looks like, I hope you know that your baby mattered and that your love for them matters.
For me, this October, I will remember Lily Anastasia. I will say her name. I will remember the dreams we had for her and the life we imagined.
I know there are still so many people walking this road quietly. If that is you, let this be a little beacon of light in the darkness. You are not alone. You are not forgotten. Your baby is not forgotten. And the loss you experienced was not a punishment from God.
Sometimes we don't get the answers we desperately want. Sometimes we don't get the ending we prayed for. But we can still choose to bring our pain into the light. We can talk about the babies we lost. We can honor their lives. We can support one another. And we can remind each other that grief and hope can exist in the same heart.
This photo gives me a beautiful image of that time in our life. I remember thinking to myself, Lily was in Heaven with my Grandma Clara Bowe, and I imagined her being so happy to see this great granddaughter of hers. I imagined her sitting in one of Heaven’s rocking chairs, rocking and singing Jesus Love Me to her. It’s ok to imagine the glory of Heaven, because even our most beautiful imaginations of what it will be like do not even come close to the joy and glory it is.
This October, I remember my Lily. And I remember all the babies who were loved deeply, carried briefly, and lost far too soon. May their little lives never be forgotten.
