Miles Apart in a Queen Size Bed

miles apart in a queen size bed
grief lies obstinately between the two

silent tears leap from her eyes and heart
while his are bound with lock and key

she wants to be held
he fears causing her pain

she needs to be kissed
he resists awakening desire

she aches to feel life coursing through her as she makes love to him
he rejects intimacy, unwilling to create a new life that could steal hers

she hungers for connection in the moment
he keeps his distance so he might keep her longer

she lost a baby
he nearly lost her

for now, neither talk about it
they remain miles apart in a queen size bed

Looking to the Cross

Looking to the Cross-
(lest I think God does not understand)

waiting an eternity for three minutes to pass
with heart racing, hands trembling
two pink lines form a tiny cross proclaiming,
positive. love has sprung to life.

celebrating a much anticipated son
an invisible thief grips body and soul
and as the blood pours out
another life is torn from my grasp

falling to my knees in surrender and pain
i look once again to my Savior who...

waited and eternity for three years to pass
with heart submitted and hands stretched out
two splintered beams form a rugged cross proclaiming
positive. love has sprung to life.

rejoicing over the only begotten Son
invisible God made into the form of man
as His blood poured out
new life was placed with my grasp.

Held in the midst of grief

As a wild bird finding itself suddenly in captivity, my heart flutters furiously. Raging against the confines of my ribs, throbbing in my chest, caged in grief, it is aching for release from a silent prison. Breathless tears lock away the torment of a dream lost, grief unknown, unclaimed.

Now, once again, I am learning to surrender. To be held in the midst of loss. On my knees trusting a God that I cannot see, whose plans I cannot understand. And overall, through all and in all, learn that His love, His grace is sufficient in this moment.

For His glory...and In His Grip,

Jenni Sue

Finding myself struggling with grief, I have looked online for someone else who has gone before. Someone else who can light the path, rekindle hope. In finding no one with a similar experience, I decided to start a blog. Perhaps it will fill a gap, perhaps only fill the emptiness of my arms as I wait and long for the answers that will only come in eternity.

On Tuesday, January 19th, I went to the doctor because of a persistent ache in my left side. The doctor, upon examination, suspected that the baby I had been carrying for six weeks was lodged in the fallopian tube and that the tube had ruptured. We went to the hospitial and in less than an hour I was sleeping deeply as a surgeon cut into my body. He found that the baby had died two days prior due to the rupture of the fallopian tube and took both my baby and future hope for another in a two hour surgery. The doctor reiterated 3 times that I had lost a "significant amount of blood" and that if we had delayed two hours more, the results would have been "catastrophic."

Under normal circumstances this is a loss worth acknowledging. I am bearing a grief that is touchable, tangible where my child is not. That it is my 13th loss only compounds the aching emptiness. In memory of a child we planned to call Gunner, I wrote the following:

Borrowed Child

a warrior child
knit together secretly
in the shadowy space within
not mine to hold
not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

the span of life and death
a gulf narrowed down
to a tube a mere 10 centimeters
but he was not mine to hold
not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

six weeks I carried him
until his home, savagely torn
forced me to give him back
because he we not mine to hold
and not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

my body grieved clandestinely
blood and sorrow welling, pooling
filling the emptiness
until my heart could release
this child
borrowed for a time