Aimee Jones Uncategorized

Waiting

I’ve entered the third trimester. I’m glad we are that much closer! I’m still a couple months away from how far along I was when we lost Ginny, but that date is looming in front of me. How can I face that time? It feels so overwhelming to think of that week, of that day, of every day after. How can I be sure that it won’t happen again? How can I bear the weight of life or death at that time? It seems like it will be too much to handle. 

I ask God how will I be able to handle it. He reminds me again of the comfort I experienced by his presence on the day Ginny was stillborn. He was with us. That’s not the answer I want to hear. I want assurances! I want promises of life! I don’t want to wait! I want to know now that I will for sure bring Chet home! Don’t I deserve to know after last time? Haven’t I earned that? Haven’t I been patient for long enough?!

God hasn’t yet given me the grace for two months from now; he has only given me the grace for today.  I have the grace and ability to make it through today. That’s all I need…until tomorrow. 

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” Matthew 6:34

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’” 2 Corinthians 12:9

One thing I’ve learned about God’s character through our loss is his patience. His timing is not our timing. In the scale of an eternal timeline, our lives are a brief moment. He doesn’t do things as fast as we’d like, but conversely he gives us all the time we need. Sometimes we will take months or years to listen to what he’s telling us, and yet he waits for us. When I couldn’t even form a prayer, he sat with me. He still sits with me in my impatience. 

“But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” 2 Peter 2:8-9

I’m sure Mary and Martha experienced much impatience when waiting for Jesus after they sent word that their brother Lazarus was sick. Lazarus got sicker. Lazarus died. It wasn’t until 4 days later that Jesus arrived. They must’ve thought, “Doesn’t Jesus love Lazarus? How could he let him die? Why wouldn’t he come right away?!” They had faith that Jesus could heal Lazarus, but Jesus was taking too long. But then Jesus came, wept with the sisters, and then raised Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-44).  His timing isn’t our timing, but his is the right timing.

Grace for today is all we have. I pray that the Holy Spirit brings me the patience to make that enough for me. 

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” Romans 8:25

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” Romans 12:12

Aimee Jones Uncategorized

Making Room

Every second-time mother I know has cried about having another baby. They ask, “How could I ever love another child as much as I love my first? What if I’m not able to continue to give my first child the attention they deserve?” 

It wasn’t until I was pregnant that I realized that all of these questions and concerns also applied to me even though my first child had died. 

Often when I’m crying, I assume it is because of my grief and the difficulties of pregnancy after loss, but I need to realize that sometimes I’m crying because all second-time mothers cry when going through the transition of anticipating another baby. All second-time mothers need to make room in their lives, houses, and hearts for a new baby. They have to share the space. The same is true for a loss mom. 

How could I ever love another child as much as I love Ginny? 

What if I’m not able to mourn Ginny the way she deserves? 

Like all moms, I need to make the space and find a new routine. 

If you’ve lost a loved one (even just broken up with a boyfriend or girlfriend) you realize just how much space a missing person takes up in a home. Everything reminds you of them. The spaces where they were are filled with their things. Even though we took down the nursery less than a week after Ginny was stillborn, our “guest room” was filled with her garden decor. The closet had a plastic wrapped stroller in one corner and a boxed crib mattress in the other. The shelves were full of a vacuum sealed breastfeeding pillow and baby lounger. The racks were empty, but every time I looked at them, I saw all her little pink and white outfits hanging there on miniature hangers. 

Even in our master bedroom, there is a basket of homemade blankets, artfully crafted to comfort us in our grief. Under our bed is the disassembled crib and the priceless memory box we got from the hospital. The memory box is too sacred to pull out often, but we know it’s there. Our desk has a collage of ultrasound pictures. The hall has framed quotes to encourage us, a vase of sunflowers, a small “hope” placard, all reminding us of Ginny. She’s everywhere, and that’s how we like it. It makes us happy and fills us with love. 

So how do we make room in a house that is already full? We started this weekend. I wrapped up and packed up the “You Grow Girl” pots, I took down the wooden wall art with vegetables, we folded up the floral quilt. Daniel hung shark and whale pictures. We got a blue striped bedspread. We hung cute fish-tail wave hooks. We ordered beach photos to fill the gallery wall frames. We washed and neatly hung the little blue and gray onesies on miniature hangers in the exact spot where Ginny’s clothes were. 

We did it. Piece by piece the transformation is happening. It is bitter sweet. It is sad that it’s not Ginny’s room anymore. But we are happy to be decorating Chet’s room. More than symbolizing hope of bringing Chet home, redecorating the nursery is a way to parent Chet now. It allows us to do something to care for him and show our love for him. It’s a way to bond with him. 

I don’t regret having snipped a single tag off of Ginny’s clothes. I don’t regret having the nursery complete before she died. It’s some of the best memories of parenting her while she was with us.  I knew we needed to do the same with Chet, no matter the outcome. Although I will say that while hanging the cute little boy clothes and seeing the beachy blues around the room from the glider, I do imagine bringing him home and watching him grow. 

My heart is making room for Chet. I can love both Ginny and Chet, just as all mothers can love all their children. And just as all mothers must find new routines and split their time, I will make time to care for Chet and mourn for Ginny. And just as all siblings grow up together, Chet will grow up with Ginny. He will see the vase of sunflowers. He will see the ultrasound collage and make a fort out of  knitted grief blankets. One day he will even look through the precious memory box and see a picture of his sister’s face and touch the molds of her hands and feet. He will know he has a big sister who loves him in heaven. He will know there is more than enough love to go around. 

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Movement

As with everything related to grief or pregnancy after loss, my emotions aren’t simple. The same goes for feeling Chet move and kick in my belly. Every time I feel him move, a swirl of emotion hits my heart. 

The most prominent of these emotions is relief. Every kick reminds me that he is alive. This pregnancy got significantly easier once I started feeling him move consistently. I no longer have to wait to hear a heartbeat to know he is still living. I get reassurance throughout the day. I tell Daniel when I feel him move so he can feel that as well. 

It also brings back memories of Ginny. I thought that would be really painful, but it isn’t. It warms my heart to have a physical reminder of the time spent with her. After losing Ginny, I had to focus to remember the feeling of her moving. Now I get reminders every day. It makes me feel like Chet and Ginny are connected. They both have dwelled in my womb. That’s something special only the two of them share. 

I am currently in this happy but helpless period of pregnancy where I can feel him move but I shouldn’t expect to feel him move often enough to track it or analyze his health because of it. 

From the beginning of this pregnancy, I’ve dreaded needing to do kick counts. That usually starts around 28 weeks when baby’s movements are felt consistently enough to predict. Kick counting is when you lay on your side and literally count the number of kicks you feel in two hours. The number should be above 10. If it isn’t, you need to call your doctor. 

For a low-risk pregnancy, kick counting isn’t always required, but the doctor may recommend it to get familiar with baby’s movements and if you ever feel a lack of movement. That’s what I did with Ginny. The Friday night before she died, it seemed she wasn’t moving very much. I decided to do kick counts. I laid down and immediately felt her kick. She kicked 6 times in 5 minutes, and I felt much better. She’s doing just fine, I thought to myself. No she wasn’t, but the kick counting didn’t predict that. 

I ask myself if I should’ve done more kick counts or if the moving I was feeling wasn’t actually her kicking. Why didn’t I know she was in trouble? Just like the measuring tape, the heart rate monitor, and even sometimes the ultrasound, there are limitations to tools like kick counting. It may detect problems, or it may not. 

My doctors haven’t talked about it yet, but I know they will ask me to do kick counts once I hit 28 weeks. I want to do them because it can give me some reassurance and it is something that I can physically do to monitor Chet. But I’m scared of being scared. I’m scared of not feeling him. I’m scared of it not being enough. I’m scared of getting obsessive about it and wanting to do kick counts around the clock. I’m scared it will trigger anxiety. I’m scared of feeling like I’m in control when I know I’m not actually in control. 

Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe I’ll feel him so much that I won’t ever worry. Maybe I’ll just get reassurance and never have the panic. I pray that’s the case. But for the next three weeks, I’m going to enjoy this time when every kick is a relief and a lack of kick isn’t concerning. 

Even when I do have to do kick counts, I don’t think the feeling of movement will lose its magic. I’ll try to embrace the special time with Chet. I’m going to keep bringing Daniel’s hand to my belly and experience the flood of emotion in bonding with our son and remembering our daughter. 

“When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.” Luke 1:41-44

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries

Springtime

I have always loved spring. It is the most hopeful time of year. I loved that everything turns green and comes to life. I loved the anticipation of summer break from school and graduations. Daniel and I first starting spending time together in spring. It is full of excitement!

While I was pregnant with Ginny, I loved the fact that she was due in springtime. Spring represents new life! We would have the rest of spring and summer to go on walks together. All winter, I patiently waited for spring. That’s why I got so excited when I saw daffodils blooming when Daniel and I went on a walk a couple days before Ginny was stillborn. “Spring is here!” I proclaimed. That meant Ginny would be here soon. I don’t think I have ever had so much joy at the thought of spring arriving. 

When we lost Ginny a few days later, it was like winter came crashing back. Everything seemed dead and dark. 

In the coming weeks, several very well intentioned loved ones would try to encourage me by saying, “Think of the future. Spring is here, and it’s getting warmer. Try to enjoy that and have hope.” They didn’t realize that was like a knife in my heart. Every tulip that came up and every tree bud reminded me that Ginny would not be arriving that spring. The springtime that I most anticipated would be empty.  Thinking of the future made me think of what was missing. I couldn’t envision the future.. 

Spring 2019 was filled with the deepest grief. I still spent time outside. I spent hours in the UNC Arboretum, crying, reading, and praying. I walked around campus listening to songs that made me feel every emotion in efforts to mourn and face my grief. Spring passed by without Ginny in my arms but with Ginny in my heart, and she was all that was in my mind. 

I worried that spring was ruined forever. It hurt so badly to think of the disappointment spring 2019 carried. I wondered if that hurt would reemerge every spring along with the daffodils. 

This spring, I decided to let myself feel whatever I was feeling. To my surprise, the daffodils brought joy, not heartache! I love seeing all the flowers blooming and bright new leaves appear at the treetops. I think of new life with our baby Chet. But I am also reminded of the sweet time I had mourning Ginny in the deepest moments of grief last year. Although painful, that time so close to Ginny was full of love. 

I’m not sure if those who have never lost will understand, but the early moments of grief are filled with so much love. It is normal to miss the intensity of early grief. This year, spring reminded me of the long walks on campus thinking of Ginny and tending to my broken heart. Our loss didn’t ruin spring; it brought more love and renewal than ever before. I’m so grateful for that. 

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Tough Days

Today is a tough day. For the most part during this pandemic I’ve had a pretty good attitude. I’ve known we could handle whatever comes our way. Some days are easier than others. Sometimes there is a reason days are hard and sometimes there isn’t. I’ve tried to let myself feel all my emotions without sinking into a pit or being fearful. Most days I’m fine, but it’s a hard balance some days. 

I had a prenatal appointment scheduled for today. Earlier this week, I came to terms with the fact that Daniel can’t come with me. And then yesterday I was informed the appointment is now a phone call. I don’t know the point of a prenatal phone call  – I can’t hear Chet’s heartbeat, I can’t be measured, I can’t check my thyroid, etc. I don’t need to talk; I need to make sure things are ok. There’s no way to do that over the phone. I know they are weighing the risks and trying to protect us all. It just makes me feel more helpless in a situation where I already feel helpless.  I know people all over the world aren’t able to have the care they expected or need during this time. It’s unfair but no one’s fault.

Today is also a tough day because today is my last day working for who knows how long. The Family House closed yesterday to protect guests and volunteers from COVID-19. I know it’s the best decision, but it’s heartbreaking. Again, this virus is causing people to not get the level of care they normally would get. Transplants and treatments are being postponed. Visitors aren’t allowed at the hospital. My heart goes out to those going through serious illness right now, no matter if it is COVID-19 or not. Some people have already had their world flipped upside down and are already making life and death decisions. Adding a pandemic to the mix is making it exponentially more difficult. 

Without my job, I will need to figure out how to spend my time. I’m grateful I get to stay safely at home. I will just need to find ways to fill my time in a meaningful way – without dwelling on what we are missing out on with Ginny gone or worrying about Chet. 

Today is also a tough day because tomorrow is one year since Ginny’s due date. We already celebrated her birthday, but this is a meaningful day as well. If things were right in the world, she’d be turning one now. I do want to make it special but have no idea how. Last year we went to Charleston and walked along the beach all day. We talked about going back this year. We will need to make do with a batch of brownies and looking through the memory book I made. I miss her so much. 

I know things could be a lot worse. Everything is ok. We can make it through this. But it’s also ok to feel disappointed and sad and frustrated. I try to surround myself with love and good words when I feel this way.

The song I Shall Not Want by Audrey Assad has helped me. I sang this song as a prayer before Ginny died. Last year, I feel like God answered the prayer in the third verse. I have been delivered from the fear of serving others, the fear of death or trial (most days), and the fear of humility.  This year God must be working on answering the prayers in the first two verses. Sometimes it hurts to be delivered from something. But it’s also beautiful. When I taste His goodness, I shall not want. 

I Shall Not Want by Audrey Assad

From the love of my own comfort
From the fear of having nothing
From a life of worldly passions
Deliver me O God

From the need to be understood
And from a need to be accepted
From the fear of being lonely
Deliver me O God
Deliver me O God

And I shall not want, no, I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness, I shall not want

From the fear of serving others
Oh, and from the fear of death or trial
And from the fear of humility
Deliver me O God
Yes, deliver me O God

And I shall not want, no, I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness I shall not want
No, I shall not want, no, I shall not want
When I taste Your goodness I shall not want

When I taste Your goodness I shall not want
I shall not want
I shall not want

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Naming Our Son

We found out the sex as soon as we could with a blood test. We already had a name picked out, and we named him as soon as we found out he was a boy. No time to waste. This living person inside me needed a name as soon as possible. We called our families and shared his name that day. 

Why the urgency? At that time, I was only 3 months along. It is so important to me for my son to be named. 

After losing a child during pregnancy, you realize how precious the time in the womb is. This may be your only time with this child. The womb may be the only life on Earth your child experiences. For me and for many others who have experienced pregnancy loss, you want to do all you can to bond with your baby and make as many memories as possible. You want to know your baby as well as you can for as long as you can. Hopefully that means watching him grow to adulthood, but sometimes it doesn’t. 

I wanted our son to have an identity. I wanted others to start to know him and think of him as part of our family. We wanted to bond with him as a real living person. So we gave him a name. 

His name is Chester Thomas Jones. We call him Chet!

Chester is my father’s middle name, both my grandfathers’ middle names, and my great-grandfather’s first name. My great-grandfather also went by Chet. So many wonderful men in my family are named Chester; I had to keep the tradition going!

My great-grandfather Chet Dilley in 1929

We liked how classic and solid the name Thomas is. We also appreciated that it is the name of one of Jesus’s disciples. Thomas in the Bible is known for being a doubter. When all the other disciples were telling him that Jesus was resurrected, he said he’d have to see Jesus and touch his scars to believe He was alive. 

Doubt has been a big part of my relationship with God. Every time I’ve brought a question or doubt to God, he opened my eyes and heart to something new. When something doesn’t add up in my mind or I don’t understand something, I haven’t denied my doubts. I bring them straight to God. He has always shown me his scars – so to speak. He answers my questions. It may not be right away, but eventually he does. Every time, my faith is strengthened and my mind and heart are broadened. I want our son to remember that it’s ok to ask questions. Even though “blessed are those who believe without seeing”, Jesus will show you his scars. Don’t be afraid to ask.  

Chet Jones. The name of our son. The name of Ginny’s little brother. The person wiggling in my belly. Our 2nd firstborn. We love him and are so happy to share him with you. 

24 Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” 26 Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” John 20:24-29

Aimee Jones Concerning Suffering, Faith-Based Encouragement

Pandemic

After losing someone, things that used to be unthinkable are believable now. Something happens in your brain when you realize the unimaginable can happen to you. You aren’t immune to difficulty. Suddenly the crazy things seem realistic and possible, like this pandemic. 

There are some other things that I’ve realized through loss that are coming in handy now in this time of uncertainty: 

  • Sometimes when we cling too tight to things in our lives (jobs, school, money, security, health, even loved ones), we are reminded we aren’t really in control. We can easily lose anything we thought was ours. Who knows what the future holds? We have to hold things loosely in trust. Hand it over because it’s not yours. 
  • There is immense strength in the human spirit. We are stronger beyond what we can imagine. I’ve seen this in myself, but I also witness it all the time with people who I’m around at work who are battling cancer. We can handle much more than we think. We can survive and thrive.
  • God is with us in times of trouble. He is not hidden from us.
  • There is opportunity for good in this time. That doesn’t make the hard things easier, but it does bring some hope. 
  • This time of stillness is a gift. We often struggle with busyness and being consumed with all the tasks and activities of the day. Now is the chance to embrace the stillness. Let’s not waste this time. This is an opportunity to realize who we are outside of our careers and activities and social life. Let’s experience God’s love for us and our families’ love for us outside of those things. Just based on who we are, not what we do. 
  • If we are fortunate enough to be quarantined with loved ones, let’s make the most of this extra quality time together. Let’s never take this time together for granted.

My heart goes out to those who are fresh in grief during this time. Things are already hazy and bizarre. I can’t imagine adding a pandemic on top of that. It must truly feel like a nightmare. With everything going on, let’s not forget to reach out to those who are grieving.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalms 46:10

Aimee Jones Pregnancy After Loss

Halfway There

I’m 20 weeks pregnant. My mind goes straight to the thought that I have reached the cutoff between a miscarriage and a stillbirth. If I lose this baby, it will be considered a stillbirth. That feels like an accomplishment!

That’s certainly not something I thought about in my first pregnancy. At this point I had already felt “in the clear” for a couple of months now. I will never feel in the clear this pregnancy, but I do feel better than I did even a couple weeks ago. Now that I can feel him move, I get reassurance without going to the doctor’s to hear a heartbeat. I know he’s alive today. That makes me feel so grateful. I have today with him. 

Last week we had the targeted anatomy scan. I was anxious for what the results could be, but I also anticipated a magical moment watching him wiggle around like Ginny’s anatomy scan. I underestimated the heaviness of the dark room and quiet sonographer. I’m glad Daniel’s parents were with us. They were able to bear some of the tension in the room. I guess because I am high risk, the sonographer spent maybe one minute on his face and profile and the rest on his heart and other organs that I couldn’t make sense of. At one point she apologized for being so quiet, “Sorry some of these measurements are really hard to get. I have to focus.” That didn’t make me feel better. My mind was wondering what could be wrong. At least I could see his heart beating. I saw 4 chambers; that’s a good sign. 

The mixture of flashbacks of Ginny’s last ultrasound, the long wait for the doctor, and the disappointment of realizing we were only getting two pictures was enough to overwhelm me. The ultrasound pictures of Ginny are the only pictures we have of her alive. I look at those pictures all the time. They are what I will look at for my whole life; they are priceless to me. What if I only get these two pictures of this baby? What if that’s all I get of him?!

The doctor came in. Everything looks good! That’s a big relief. 

She goes on to say that the next ultrasound will be scheduled for over two months from now. What?! I thought I was getting more monitoring. Two months is a long time to wait when you feel like your placenta could stop working at any time! The doctor explained that there is not much they can do prior to 28 weeks. But after 28 weeks, I will get growth ultrasounds and non stress tests. I feel helpless until then. I asked for more pictures. The doctor was going to ask the sonographer if she could send more. 

Daniel and I then met with the receptionist and scheduled appointments out until July. We finally left after 3 hours. 

I felt so exhausted. I felt overwhelmed. I was glad that everything looked good, and our baby boy was measuring on track. I was disappointed that the appointment wasn’t the amazing experience we had at Ginny’s anatomy scan. I was frustrated that there isn’t more we can do to protect our son. I was upset at myself for not asking to spend more time looking at his face and hands. I felt guilty for not being happier and more grateful after getting a good report. I still felt afraid. 

As soon as we got in the car after the appointment, I broke down crying. It was all too much for one afternoon, and I missed Ginny. 

I’m realizing this is the reality of pregnancy after loss. You want so badly to be positive and cheerful and enjoy every moment, but there is an emotional barrier that can’t be ignored. Fear gets in the way, and grief is part of all your experiences. Hope is still there though. It is harder to see always, but love brings it to light – love for both children. 

Aimee Jones Faith-Based Encouragement, Pregnancy After Loss

Balancing Trust and Trust

“Just trust God.”

Pregnancy after loss…well actually anything after loss can be very scary. Knowing that bad things do happen and they do happen to you is a realization that can cause so much fear. 

Often the advice is to trust God. But I do trust God more than I ever have! But now my trust looks different. There are two types of trust I’ve experienced…

  1. Trusting God used to mean trusting that everything will work out and that our prayers for health and blessing would be answered. I would pray with faith that my requests would come to pass. I truly believed! 
  1. Trusting God now means trusting that God will be with us no matter what – good or bad. It also means that we believe we have hope beyond our Earthly desires. Those Earthly desires include health and blessings here. The hope extends past this life into eternity. 

I don’t think either type of trust is wrong. Although after losing Ginny, somehow the first type of trust feels selfish. 

At first, I couldn’t pray for health or protection or life. I could only pray that His will be done. Now when I do pray for health I fight the feeling that I’m being selfish or short-sighted. I remind myself that it is not wrong to want my child to live on Earth with me. It is still a struggle though. 

As this pregnancy gets farther along, I feel myself being drawn from the second type of trust back to the first. I’m starting to believe that this baby may live. I pray for his life. But along with that comes a desire for control. Prayers, practices, and even faith start to feel like superstition. I start holding my breath in hope for his life. The trust feels conditional. It changes from an “even-if” to an “only-if” faith.

How do I balance the hope that this baby will be born alive and healthy while maintaining the belief that God is good no matter what happens?

I’m still trying to figure this out, but I think the answer is in surrender. When I feel my need for control taking over, I need to remember I have no control. I need to surrender to God. God loves this baby more than I do. I need to let go and have peace in that. 

I focus on the fact that this baby boy is here with us today. I also remind myself that, like Ginny, this baby boy will be part of our family forever, whether here on Earth or in heaven. That’s not changing, and that is certainly something to be joyful about! 

Each day feels like an ebb and flow between the different types of trust. When fear and control creep in, I remind myself to surrender. Love fills that surrender with peace. 

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through rivers, they shall now overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up.” James 5:15

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” Psalms 139: 13-14

Aimee Jones Milestones & Anniversaries

Happy Birthday, Ginny

Ginny, 

It’s been one year since I felt you wiggle in my belly. You were more than a belly bump or a series of kicks. I felt your spirit. You were with me wherever I went. I could feel your presence in the same way I know when your dad walks in a room. 

I felt you were joyful and fun. I imagined being silly together, laughing together. I felt your playful spirit. Beyond that, I had an indescribable sense of you. I’ve been told by other mothers that the sense you get from your child in the womb is the same as the sense you get from them outside the womb. That convinces me that I truly did know you. I do know you. 

But one year ago, when I held your body in my arms, I didn’t feel you anymore. You weren’t in your empty shell. I waited to see you. Then when I did, you weren’t there. You were in heaven. We missed you.

We miss you. Every single day we miss you. I try to remember that sense of your spirit. I do feel you. 

But I wish I could see you, hear you, hug you, laugh with you. I wish we were singing “Happy Birthday” to you and watching you make a mess of a cake. I wish I was laughing and saying, “She’s never had this much sugar before!” I wish I was wetting a washcloth and wiping you down. I wish I was helping you open a new toy and watching you reach for it. That’s one of a million moments we are missing with you. 

But we will have more than a million moments together one day. One day this time apart will seem like nothing. But it doesn’t feel like nothing now. This year seems massive. 

So we celebrate this massive year. We celebrate your precious life. We celebrate your spirit that was with us for a short time and is in heaven now with Jesus. 

We celebrate making it through this year of grief. We survived when it seemed like we wouldn’t. 

We celebrate the love, perspective, and hope you’ve given us. 

We thank God for all these things, most importantly you!

Please know your daddy and I love you with all our broken, growing hearts. Your brother will know you and love you too. We are family forever. 

Happy Birthday!

Love, Mama