Dear Little Girl...Grief Comes in Waves
Grief comes in waves.
And today, it’s the quiet kind — the kind that tiptoes in through the back door of your heart.
Today marks sixteen years since I lost the baby I never held.
And today… I miss them.
I wonder who they would’ve been.
A boy? A girl?
Would they have had blue eyes like us?
Would they have danced with me?
Been close with Graeme?
What would they have loved?
I never found out the sex.
I would tell people I did, and I don’t know why I said that — but that’s what grief does.
It makes you say and do weird things.
At the time, I just couldn’t.
I was too overwhelmed by pain.
And now, I wish I had.
I wish I could call them by name.
This morning, I asked God for a sign.
I know He doesn’t have to give me one.
But I asked anyway — because this ache is still real.
I believe love began the moment I knew I was pregnant.
And that kind of love never dies.
It just lives quietly in your bones — rising to the surface on anniversaries and in church pews when you see a newborn resting in her mama’s arms.
And somehow, I’ve learned to praise through the pain.
To thank God for a love so strong it still moves me to tears.
To trust that He holds my baby in heaven — safe, whole, and fully known.
Today, I also felt something else:
Release.
For the first time in a long time, I felt myself letting go.
I prayed for the person I was releasing — not out of obligation, but out of a desire to be free.
Free from the resentment, the hurt, the tension that lives too long in our ribs when we cling to pain.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean re-entry.
It doesn’t mean I erase boundaries or pretend everything’s okay.
But it does mean I can say, “Lord, bless him,” and truly mean it.
And that? That’s healing.
This morning’s Bible study brought me to Genesis 31 —
Where Jacob is confronting his own family wounds.
His father-in-law had manipulated him, betrayed him, changed his wages ten times.
And yet Jacob says:
“But God did not allow him to harm me.”
