Last night was the liturgical anniversary of my loosing our baby. What I mean is, it was the 4th Friday of Lent when I began to miscarry. I don't remember the date, and would rather remember it this way, since it so directly connects the suffering my whole family experienced with Jesus' suffering on the cross. When I knew what was happening, the words we repeat at least 14 times during the Stations of the Cross on every Friday of lent were profoundly present: "Not my will, but Yours be done."
So last night during the remembrance of 14 moments of Jesus' suffering, I looked down at my cooing, smiling, bundle of consolation. I wondered for a moment how old our lost baby would have been. But quickly realized that if that baby were here, Blaise wouldn't. I don't need to remember the "might have been" age of our little soul, because his or her life on this earth is complete. God's design includes suffering, redemption, consolation, a love for ever single soul He Creates--no matter how young or old. That little baby, who we call Happy Marie Joseph, blessed us in life, and death. And blesses us from heaven.
A year after my Good Friday, holding Blaise, I'm already seeing Easter Sunday!
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