This time last year, I woke up in the early dawn hour and decided to take a pregnancy test because my next cycle was a few days late, not really expecting it to be positive. To my utter shock, it was positive. I was pregnant with our third child, to be born in August of this year, when our other boys were only 2 1/2 and 18 months old.
To think that I actually cried miserable, bitter tears at finding out I was pregnant grieves me today and shows me just how far I've come since this time last year. It grieves me not because I want a third child so much now when I didn't then, but because my tears meant that I wasn't relying on my Savior a year ago. I didn't give my problems over to Him, cry at His feet, and put myself in His caring arms. I simply cried because "I'd done this to myself", as if it was my doing and not God's anyway.
To be honest, with the holidays here, my loss has hit me again, hard, like a ton of bricks. A day does not go by that I don't think of my baby and mourn him. But this time I am sitting brokenhearted at my Savior's feet instead of crying alone, like I did this time last year. I am casting my sorrows on Him and am asking Him to heal my heart.