More Than What You See

If you ask my kids how many children I have, they’ll tell you seven.

This usually gets a confused look.

Because if you look at our family, you’ll only count five.

But my children know they have two siblings in heaven.

DJ and Lyndi Grace.

Two babies I never got to bring home. Two babies who were wanted, prayed for, and loved.

Both were lost during the first trimester, but neither has ever been forgotten.

And while the world may only see five children, my kids have always known there are seven.

DJ

When I became pregnant with DJ, Cristian was still little. After struggling with endometriosis and trying to conceive for several months, I was so thankful to be pregnant again.

But then I began bleeding.

I tried to convince myself it might be nothing. I’d experienced spotting in my pregnancy with Cristian, and I wanted so badly for everything to be okay.

But an ultrasound confirmed there was no heartbeat.

It took nearly two weeks for my body to complete the miscarriage. Two weeks of physical pain, exhaustion, and grief while still trying to be a mom to my little boy.

I didn’t even have an ultrasound picture. Nothing tangible to hold on to. Nothing to show the world that this little life I had loved had existed.

I remember having a dream of my mom, who had passed away years before, playing in a grassy field with a little dark-haired boy.

I believed it was DJ.

And I found peace in the thought that my mom, who never got to meet my children, was with one of them.

Not long after losing DJ, I became pregnant with Aidan.

My rainbow baby.

For years, I struggled with how to explain something. If DJ hadn’t died, Aidan wouldn’t be here.

And how do you reconcile that? Grieving the baby you lost while being so incredibly thankful for the child you have?

It wasn’t that Aidan took DJ’s place. He couldn’t. They were two different children, each loved and wanted.

But Aidan was God’s gift to me in a season when I was completely heartbroken. He brought joy and healing into a place that had been filled with so much grief.

I still missed DJ. I still wondered who he would have been.

But I could grieve the child I lost and be thankful for the child God gave me.

Both could be true.

Lyndi Grace

Years later, I became pregnant with Lyndi Grace.

I found out on my mom’s heaven birthday, and her due date would have been around my mom’s earthly birthday. Those dates felt significant to me.

But life was incredibly difficult then.

Addiction and abuse had brought so much chaos into our home. I felt trapped. I couldn’t imagine how I would raise my boys alone, but I also couldn’t imagine bringing another child into the hell on earth we were living in.

I desperately wanted this baby. I loved her.

But I also prayed some prayers that are difficult to explain.

I begged God to spare her from the life we were living. I didn’t want her to experience the pain and chaos surrounding us.

And then I lost her.

I remember holding her tiny body in the palm of my hand. Something I hadn’t been able to do with DJ.

And I remember the complicated emotions that followed.

I was grieving my daughter. But there was also relief. Relief that she wouldn’t have to grow up surrounded by the pain and chaos I felt powerless to escape.

How do you explain being heartbroken over losing a baby while also feeling relief that she wouldn’t have to endure what you were living through?

For years, I’ve struggled with those feelings.

I named her Lyndi Grace. Lyndi after my mom, and Grace because of what God’s grace meant to me in that season.

Something to Hold On To

After losing DJ, I started doing something intentionally with every pregnancy. I had my children pick out a stuffed animal early on.

Just in case.

Cristian had picked out a stuffed dog for DJ. All the boys picked out a bear with a pink bow for Lyndi.

For years, those stuffed animals were part of our lives. The kids would hug them, snuggle them, and remember their siblings.

I’ve always been open with my children about their brother and sister in heaven.

And I love that heaven became more than just some distant place I’d taught them about. It became a place where their brother and sister were. Where their Nonna, my mom, whom they never had the opportunity to meet, was. Where their Oma was. And where other people they loved were.

Heaven became a place that held people who were part of their story, whether they had known them here on earth or not.

Grief I’ve Carried for Years

For a long time, I struggled with comparing my losses to those of other mothers.

Both of my babies were lost so early. I didn’t have the pictures or memories I wished I had. Sometimes I wondered if I had the right to hurt as deeply as I did.

But losing them early didn’t mean I loved them any less. It didn’t mean I had fewer hopes or dreams for them. And it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

And if I’m being real, I don’t think I’ve fully grieved either of them.

So much of my life has been spent in survival mode. Taking care of everyone else. Holding things together. Defending myself. Trying to get through the next hard thing.

There hasn’t always been room to grieve.

Since my ex-husband’s death, I’m beginning to have room to process some of what I’ve carried for years. Not just the loss of my babies, but the grief I pushed aside while trying to survive everything else.

And I’m realizing that some of the healing God is doing in me involves things I’ve carried for a long time that I didn’t even know I was still carrying.

Grief that got buried beneath everything else. Feelings I didn’t have the time or space to work through. Losses I thought I’d already made peace with.

Maybe that’s part of healing, too. Recognizing what’s still there and finally allowing myself to feel it.

DJ and Lyndi Grace may have only been here for a short time, but their lives have always mattered to me. They’ve always had a place in my family, in our conversations, and in the hearts of their siblings.

They are part of my story. Part of my family.

And they will always be a piece of me.

DJ and Lyndi Grace.

My babies. Forever loved.

♡ Katie Marie
Real Life with Katie Marie