The Holidays, 15 Months Later

January 5, 2009 at 11:47 pm 73 comments

For some reason, the Christmas holidays this year were more difficult for me without Felicity than last Christmas. Mostly because last year I was in total shock—I was 28 years old and had just buried a child.

In the first couple months after she died, Abraham felt antsy and restless. He just wanted to hit the open road and never look back. I wanted to barricade myself in our house and never get out of my pajamas.

But, we went on a massive road trip at this time last year, making stops in Erie, State College, Newport News, Raleigh, Louisville, and Chicago. And during that time we discovered we were expecting our third child.

Reflecting on last year’s Christmas with Abraham the other day, he said something to the effect of, “Well, if you’re already in a tailspin you might as well go all out.”

Last year, I felt cut loose, spinning out of control, unable to focus on anything. This year the pain has had time to soak into my heart. I’m a different person.

She would be fifteen months old now. She’d probably be doing that clumsy, half-drunk walking that you capture with a video camera. And she’d have been scolded endlessly for being all up in the Christmas tree.

In some ways this felt like the first Christmas without her. This is the first year we’d have bought her presents and she’d have learned the joy of ripping wrapping paper and finding the delightful surprises inside. Maybe I’d have bought her her first baby doll.

Losing a child who never lived on earth means all your “memories” really aren’t memories at all—they’re just a bunch of imaginings and what-ifs.

All these imaginings and what-ifs make Christmas a really hard time for me, and probably for all the other mothers in the Living Without Children Club.

Losing a child means you lose more than a child. For me this Christmas it meant I’ve lost a little of the sparkle and delight, a little of the zeal and wonder.

That’s not to say there weren’t joys through these last days. It’s just that there are no more pure joys for me, it seems. There’s a heavy weight that I pull along through all my joys now, like a loaded-down sled through thick, wet snow.


Entry filed under: Felicity, Grief.

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73 Comments Add your own

  • 1. Tami  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:41 am

    “Like a loaded-down sled through thick, wet snow,” very descriptive, I can feel your sorrow. Thank you for being honest with your feelings and for not tying to come off as a super Christian that grieves and no longer feels any pain. May God continue to heal your heart. -Tami

  • 2. Casey Zachary  |  January 6, 2009 at 1:32 am


  • 3. Alecia  |  January 6, 2009 at 1:50 am

    I grieved badly. Your blog is new to me and I am grateful for your horrifying honesty. It shakes a fist at this broken world and yet not at God. I am honored by this and learning. Thank you.
    Blessings from Seattle.

  • 4. Erika  |  January 6, 2009 at 3:55 am

    Thank you for posting this. It is very comforting to me somehow. Many hugs to you.

  • 5. Heather  |  January 6, 2009 at 6:40 am

    I am so sorry. I continue to pray for your peace.

  • 6. To Be A Pilgrim  |  January 6, 2009 at 6:57 am

    […] The Holidays, 15 Months Later […]

  • 7. Jecholia Gallagher  |  January 6, 2009 at 7:16 am

    Thanks for sharing this molly. It helps those around you (or through the computer) to know how to continue pray for you.

  • 8. Brian  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:06 am

    Thank you for sharing. My heart aches for you and your loss.

  • 9. Kristy  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:07 am

    So well spoken. I shared many of those feelings this Christmas and have had a hard time putting them to words. Thank you!

  • 10. April  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:12 am

    Molly, although this was the first Christmas for me without our son, you have taken the words right out of my mouth. Thanks for sharing.

  • 11. Denise  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:29 am

    You know, I love that you continue to share about your heart’s love and grief for Felicity. You share in such a real way that it impacts a lot of people. I know I have been.

    Grieving for the child we’ve lost often feels unique to me because it’s what you say: not a grieving over memories, but a grieving over the loss of them (what could/should) have been. I grieve for what we’ve lost, because our child stands to gain everything by never knowing sin and immediately being ushered into God’s presence forever. But I can feel pain for never knowing them on earth and sharing what we expected to share.

    My loss occured October 07, and I have a friend with a child born 2 day before our due date. I look at that child and have difficulty knowing I don’t get all those same memories. Even while I am 3 weeks from hopefully bringing a child into the world. One child’s birth will never replace the pain of missing the other one.

    May the Lord continue to minister grace to your heart, and remind you every day that He is holding Felicity for you. I hope our children both are playing in heaven at His feet.

  • 12. Tammy  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:48 am

    I am so sorry for your loss. I prayed for you this morning.
    I Peter 5:7

  • 13. Jennifer  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:58 am


    Everything you just wrote, I have felt and still feel at times. My son Kyler would have been turning 5 this March. It stil hurts missing him and wondering all the fun things he would be doing now. Yet I know he is having a much better time in heaven. Thank you, God, that this world is not our home!!

    I continue to pray for you and all the other families who have lost children that God has given me the privilege of praying for. I hope you have a blessed new year.

    Your sister in Christ,

  • 14. Laura Gruner  |  January 6, 2009 at 9:20 am


    This was our second Christmas without Tyler – we just passed what would have been his second birthday. I completly agree with “the pain having time to soak in”. It seems like things get harder rather than easier.

    Thank you for your honesty.

  • 15. jennapants  |  January 6, 2009 at 9:51 am

    I wondered about Felicity (and other should-be toddlers) a lot this season. How long would her hair be? What would her Christmas dress have been? What would she be saying?

    I’m so glad you make these thoughts public, Molly. I know that there’s a feeling of isolation in grief, but honest words about your grieving experience hem us all closer in…

  • 16. ~Kim  |  January 6, 2009 at 10:21 am

    Thank you for sharing your heart and life so honestly. I am so sorry for the loss of your daughter.

  • 17. Christopher  |  January 6, 2009 at 10:25 am

    Thank you for being so incredibly honest and grieving out loud. I have never lost a child…I’m not even married, but it is so helpful to know that others have felt this weight.

    Have you ever read David Crowder’s (co-written with Mike Hogan) Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, But Nobody Wants to Die? It is an incredible book on death, grieving, the eerie and uncomfortable weight that you talk about. It is a brilliant and often times hilarious read. If I knew you and Abraham personally I’d mail you a copy. Thanks again for putting your hurts in words.

  • 18. Jessica  |  January 6, 2009 at 11:11 am

    Affectionate thanks for your articulate, honest, and steely vulnerability.

  • 19. Amber  |  January 6, 2009 at 11:12 am

    This brought me to tears. I can’t imagine.

    God knows. He KNOWS. And He will comfort you where we cannot.

    Your sister in Christ,

  • 20. Ellie  |  January 6, 2009 at 11:13 am

    It is eleven years now for me. Three more kids since my daughter died. I mourn still. I miss the sight of two little girl’s heads bent together over dolls. I wonder what would have been.

    Now, my one daughter plays with cars and trucks. This year, I bought her a little tea set which delighted her. Daddy had a tea party with her the first day.

    The tea set sits in her room on a tiny tray. Sitting. I walk past her room and see it as I pass. My mind goes to a picture which unbidden repeats every time I pass. Two little heads, two sets of braids bent over the tea set.

    I walk on. There is now only one.

    There has been only one for so long. She was gone, before she was born, before her sister even thought about her first doll. I still mourn. Even another girl did not soften that mourning. It did, in a small way. I get to have pink in my house of three boys. But it didn’t. It increased the pain. Not only do I miss her for my sake. I miss her for her sister’s sake.

    There will never be two little heads in braids bent over the tea set.

  • 21. Sarah  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:11 pm

    Thank you ever so much for your post. I’ve felt the very same things and your eloquent posts on grieving have been so helpful to me and to so many others.

    I am praying for you. I’m so sorry that you lost your precious baby girl.

  • 22. linda s  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:11 pm

    hi molly. i’m just another reader from northern california. i just wanted to say thank you for sharing about your loss and struggle. i’m going through a different kind of struggle in my life right now, and still, it’s helpful to me to read such an honest sharing from a fellow sister. thank you for being so open and real.

  • 23. Karla  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:21 pm

    I am so sorry, Molly. I do not even know you, but my heart aches for you.

  • 24. Leslie Camp  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:25 pm

    My Ethan would have been seven and a half this Christmas. I miss him horribly! It hasn’t hit me every holiday since his stillbirth, but it comes in the strangest moments. I can’t always control the tears.

    This year was tough. I have three kids now, Ethan was our first. Though none of them were born before Ethan, they all know his name, have been to his grave, and have looked at his baby book. My three and a half year old girl just spontaneously burst into tears the other day in the car. When she finally got enough control to tell me why she was crying, she said, “I miss Ethan!” I just said, “I do too, baby!” and I cried with her!

    We hang a stocking for him every Christmas. He would be the same age as our niece and we had many hopes and dreams of seeing them play together at Christmas and other times we got together as family. It is hard to wonder what it would be like if he were there, and sometimes even funny! We sometimes laugh at the thought of another wild child added to the mix! How would his personality have changed our family dynamics? Would he have been a trouble maker or a peace maker?

    I love the words that you often put to my feelings! No more PURE joys for me, either! Many joys, just not PURE joys! May I quote you on that? I have my own blog now. I’m not nearly as eloquent as you, but maybe I could at least sound as though I were well read if I quote somebody!)

    Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability. It has helped me through my grief, even seven years later!

  • 25. rachel  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:27 pm

    It’s amazing to think how time changes how you are grieving, but it never goes away. Felicity has changed you, but that’s not a bad thing.

    Love you. jealous that D&D got to see you guys!

  • 26. Stacy  |  January 6, 2009 at 12:34 pm


    A friend just put me on to your blog today.

    This was a great post and it spoke to me greatly. My husband and I delivered our first child, Isaac Timothy, at 36 1/2 weeks on October 7. He lived for 16 minutes before entering eternity with our Savior. From 12 weeks pregnant, we knew of his poor prognosis, and from 20 weeks, new that barring a miracle, his condition was fatal.

    This past Christmas was so, so hard… and I imagine that next Christmas will be as well. Like said… it wasn’t only the loss of Isaac himself, but also of all the “what would have beens”…

    Thank you for sharing your heart here…

  • 27. Kristi Henson  |  January 6, 2009 at 1:25 pm

    Thank you for this post. It brought back many memories from the loss we experienced some years ago and still feel strongly at times in the present. Five years ago when we lost our first baby to a miscarriage I clung to Psalms 145:9 “The LORD is good to all and His tender mercies are over ALL His works.” Although I wanted to ask “Why?” my sweet husband kept reminding me to ask “What do I know about my God?” instead. It was this encouragement that helped me through the hardest days of wondering and, as you put it, trudging along carrying the weight of the burden.
    The Father’s love wants the best for His children. The Father’s wisdom knows what is best. The Father’s Power does what is best.
    Praying for you today…

  • 28. Ashley Juliot  |  January 6, 2009 at 2:27 pm

    I can understand your pain, I lost my son October 20th (end of 23 weeks gestation) and He is still not buried (We are waiting on the fetal death certificate).

    This Christmas was especially hard because other family members have tiny babies, and some are pregnant. I pray that the Joy of the Lord would be your strength, let us both rejoice in what was done for us a Christmas, a savior was born to take away our sins, and leave us in righteous standing before God.

    I wish I could comfort you with words that would some how make your little girl come back, and my Isaac too, but the only thing I have to offer you is Christ. For He is my only hope and restoration.

    I love you in the Lord!

  • 29. Bethany  |  January 6, 2009 at 3:04 pm

    thanks…I lost my little Elijah 5 months after you lost Felicity…this was our first Christmas and it was so difficult…we tried to do things to make it easier…but I know your pain. Sometimes I think no one else could hurt as much as I…but then I read things like this and find comfort in knowing I am not alone.
    I am trusting the LORD for patience as I wait for another child. Just know…I feel the sick to your stomach grief a lot…and you are not alone…
    Have you seen the new Job book by your father-in-law?…we got it for Christmas…love it…love it…it truly left us speechless…God will restore what has been lost.

  • 30. shawnda  |  January 6, 2009 at 3:21 pm

    I love you, sister. Thank you for sharing your heart. I have thought of you endlessly over the past 15 months, and I think of Felicity. I know God has His purposes, and I trust Him with you. I don’t know that this side of heaven is supposed to have pure joy…how can it with all the sin and evil, the orphans, the widows, the poverty, the loneliness, the starving, the homeless, the disasters. I think what your experiencing will really benefit in heaven….where you will know PURE joy and enjoy it 100 fold. Oh, to be with Him where all things will be restored! Hugs, sister!

  • 31. Pam  |  January 6, 2009 at 3:46 pm

    I thought of you so many times during the Christmas holidays. I kept thinking that this one would probably be tougher than last year…I kept praying for you knowing that while there’s joy having a first Christmas with Morrow and making memories with your boys there’s always a certain heaviness and heartache behind the smiles and laughs. I prayed that God would keep you strong, always hoping in Him for His glory. So many people read and enjoy your blog and as a lover of Jesus you show His worth in struggle and suffering…may God grant you his perfect peace!

  • 32. Rachel  |  January 6, 2009 at 4:21 pm

    Today marks three months since MY Felicity went to be with Jesus! (Also a full-term stillbirth) I’ve been following your blog since someone included a copy of your story in a sympathy card we received. I’m also in the Twin Cities. So often your words capture the exact emotions I’m feeling and I’ve added you to my blog roll so other grieving moms who read my blog, can read your insight too. God is faithful though and will redeem our loss when we get to heaven! AMEN!

  • 33. artsieandie  |  January 6, 2009 at 4:21 pm

    I wanted to respond to Ellie- comment 20 above:

    Thanks for sharing. I am the little sister of a brother who died at 8 days old. My mother and father hardly talked about him. But, I know my mom must have missed us playing together just like you do. My parents never had other children after my brother and me. I am just starting (at age 27) to realize the loss of my brother. It’s a whole new grief for me since reading Molly’s blog and seeing what my parents must have gone through. As the little sister, I’d just encourage you to talk about your daughter you lost. I think it would have helped me to see my brother as part of our family instead of a photo that was never mentioned, but always sat on our shelves. Thank you again for articulating what you did today.


  • 34. Nikki  |  January 6, 2009 at 4:34 pm

    God bless you, sweet sister in Christ whom I’ve never met. Your honesty brings tears to my eyes. I continue to hope and pray to our great God that when the day comes when we finally see Him face to face, the little ones we have lost will be there… never having known anything but the utter and complete joy of being in His presence. My prayers are with you today and always.

    Nikki (baby #5 due in April, #1 and #3 are with our Lord)

  • 35. Hannah  |  January 6, 2009 at 4:36 pm

    Oh, Molly…that last paragraph captures it exactly…

  • 36. MrsMK  |  January 6, 2009 at 5:20 pm

    There are no more words, Molly, you took them all. right. out. of. my. heart.

    Thank you.

  • 37. Patty Broberg  |  January 6, 2009 at 6:29 pm

    Sorry Molly…

  • 38. Erin  |  January 6, 2009 at 7:45 pm

    Praying for you….I can’t imagine how you are feeling but I am sorry for your sorrow.

  • 39. Chris  |  January 6, 2009 at 8:30 pm

    When you wrote that there are “no more pure joys for me,” I can identify with that, but for different reasons, and it reminded me of a message I heard at Desiring God, that said in essence, if you’ve lived long enough you experience what the scriptures describe as “always rejoicing, yet always sorrowing,” or maybe it’s the other way around, but still joy mixed with sorrow.

  • 40. Jane  |  January 6, 2009 at 10:37 pm

    Oh Molly. Thank you for sharing your heart. Your way with words has struck such a chord with so many, including me. I wondered all through this season what was the emotion in my own heart and you have captured it with the “no more pure joys” phrase. Yes, that’s it! I said along with you.
    Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing. . .2Cor6:10.

  • 41. Rob  |  January 6, 2009 at 10:50 pm

    I often find comfort in songs. Andy Gullahorn has one called “How Precious Life Is”. Thought you might find some comfort in it too.

    We moved the desk out of the office
    Took down the college picture frames
    Painted all the walls yellow
    Because it goes with anything
    Put those guards on all the outlets
    Found a safer car to buy
    Did it all for your protection
    And your mama’s piece of mind

    I couldn’t see it ‘til now
    You were teaching us then
    How precious life is

    I saw you in that picture
    When they said you were a boy
    Though I swore I had no preference
    Those words filled my heart with joy
    My mind raced ahead a decade
    It had us camping near a fire
    Where you’d tell me all your troubles
    And I’d make everything alright

    I couldn’t see it ‘til now
    You were teaching us then
    How precious life is

    God willing if we have another child
    I’ll see it for the miracle it is
    I’ll be hanging on to every blessed breath
    ‘cause I can’t forget
    How precious life is

    I thought I knew what pain was
    But I really had no clue
    Until the hope was disappearing
    And there was nothing we could do
    I was too tired to shout in anger
    Too scared to run and hide
    I just stared there at your mother
    And thanked God she was alive

    I couldn’t see it ‘til now
    You were teaching us then
    How precious life is

  • 42. Lori  |  January 6, 2009 at 11:47 pm

    Hi Molly. They say that our pain will become less over time. Somtimes I wonder about that. This was our third Christmas without our son (died at fourteen years old) and it was still hard! I am so glad that you share so honestly about your grief. I try to do the same in my sphere because people need to understand if they haven’t experienced it and others who are experiencing it need to know they aren’t alone.

    Isn’t it interesting – and sometimes aggravating! – how differently our husbands deal with their grief? 🙂 Another way that I see God’s wisdom in marriage.

    You are in my prayers.

  • 43. Annie  |  January 7, 2009 at 4:41 am

    “Losing a child means you lose more than a child. For me this Christmas it meant I’ve lost a little of the sparkle and delight, a little of the zeal and wonder.

    That’s not to say there weren’t joys through these last days. It’s just that there are no more pure joys for me, it seems. There’s a heavy weight that I pull along through all my joys now, like a loaded-down sled through thick, wet snow.”

    I am new to reading your blog and did not know you had lost a child just a year ago. Our second son would be 3 1/2 now if he were still with us. I still struggle some and it was a blessing to read the quote above. That describes my heart many times, and I haven’t been able to describe it quite that well. Thank you for sharing. It was an encouragement to my own heart. We too, had our third just a year after our second son was born. Pregnancy can make the grief a very difficult journey.

  • 44. Ellie  |  January 7, 2009 at 6:24 am

    Andie – thank you for your comment. I’m sorry that your parent never talked about it. It would make things harder.

    I told my kids the day they heard me tell a friend that I “lost a baby”. The serious question from two small boys, “where did you lose her and why aren’t we looking for her?” I sat down immediately and told them the truth, even their sister’s name, and all the details I knew.

    Over the years, they continue to talk about her. At times more, and at times less. I find to them, heaven is a less vague place than it was for me. Their sister is there. At times, they tell strangers that they have two sisters and one is in heaven.

    We went past a pro-choice booth at the fair where they had little rubber models of babies. Big signs on them to “not touch without the cloth”. I picked up the one which was the age of their sister when she died and showed them. They all took turns holding it, and quietly running their finger down the cheek. The booth workers were teary eyed and told the kids it was ok for them to touch when I had told them no. This was different.

    It has been important to me to talk to them openly, and they deal with it well – by talking. At times with tears, but they talk, and I find that far healthier.

  • 45. Debby  |  January 7, 2009 at 6:48 am

    Hi Molly,

    I can’t imagine the grief you carry around in your heart every day over Felicity. Every time I see you, I think of her and am just speechless over your pain. And amazed at how God strenghtens you to get up and do “normal life.” To smile and have conversations about ordinary things and such.

    Don’t know if this is helpful, but I read it this a.m. & just shared it with another grieving friend:

    “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strenghten, and establish you.” 1 Peter 5:10

    With love & tears,

  • 46. Julie  |  January 7, 2009 at 7:26 am

    Molly, your transparency and trust bless me. I love the name Redeemer because He redeems all…all…our losses. Your journey to the Celestial City has been marked by profound loss, but it is not wasted. By your blogging Felicity is blessing others. Thank you for Psalms honesty and hope.

  • 47. Christine  |  January 7, 2009 at 8:56 am

    Thank you for putting into words what I have been searching for when people ask how I am. I just say that I am surviving. We are celebrating Micah’s first birthday on the 12th. While so many around are getting to see their one year olds eat cake, I get to cry and pray for the day that I see him and get to hold him again. How different this Christmas was-fun and happy watching Zane but sad and lonely with only one child. The hopes and dreams shattered before we even heard a cry.

    Praying for you as you continue to heal. I also want to thank Ellie for the encouragement to continue to talk with Zane about Micah.

  • 48. Cara  |  January 7, 2009 at 9:06 am

    Molly, your words are a sweet balm to many broken hearts. Thank you for drawing us out of isolation and giving our pain a voice.

  • 49. rocksinmydryer  |  January 7, 2009 at 9:06 am

    “Losing a child who never lived on earth means all your “memories” really aren’t memories at all—they’re just a bunch of imaginings and what-ifs.” — I think that’s a very profound statement you made, and so true. It’s like it’s own special brand of grief, I think.

    Grace and peace to you, Molly.

  • 50. jenrigney  |  January 7, 2009 at 10:08 am

    I cried a lot over Felicity this holiday season while I was in Texas- she just seemed to be the only person I could think of during our Christmas Eve service, and of course that meant praying for you the entire evening and next day. I love you and I love Felicity- know that you are not along in missing her.

  • 51. Jane  |  January 7, 2009 at 11:20 am

    Still thinking about you this morning, and praying.

    Found this quote in my journal from William Cowper.

    “The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.”

    The flower of Felicity blooms and one day you WILL see it! It’s just the long waiting in this earthly life, “the loaded down sled through thick wet snow” that we have to bear.

    May you feel the Lord coming alongside of you today and pulling that sled with you.

  • 52. Corie O'Brien  |  January 7, 2009 at 1:04 pm

    Well said. I could not have said it any better. Praying for you as I know the feeling of carrying a weight. God is good to give us an amazing amount of Grace.

  • 53. Kendall  |  January 7, 2009 at 3:37 pm

    My comment is also to Ellie from above:
    I feel that your words capture the soft sadness my heart feels as I look at my second daughter. We lost our first – Autumn – one year to the day before Peyton was born. Each day that passes I wonder… wish… and lately there have been more tears as she grows and changes.
    Thank you for your transparency – for looking back and giving me an idea of what to expect ahead. Your statement about having a girl being a blessing – but also making it a little worse is exactly what my heart feels.
    And to Molly:
    In so many ways I read your words and wondered why my Christmas was “easy”. Partly because it was super-busy: but I think it was also the lack of contrast. All I have to compare it with was my last one – empty and lonely. It was just me, Kurt and the dog wandering around the house looking at each other. I didn’t put up a tree, I didn’t play music… I (like you wanted to) just kinda went cold and thought every day how surreal it was that I had lost a beautiful baby girl.
    Although I missed Autumn, the joy of having Peyton this year was such a balm… but she has become my firstborn. I don’t know what Christmas is like with a toddler – I’ve never done that before. I wish I did – but a part of me wonders if that is God’s mercy to me that my loss was my first child. Like, if the comparisons and first-hand knowledge of what “should be” would be too much for me, or something.
    But I hurt for you. You’re in my prayers. Some days I cannot wait to get home and cry on Jesus’ big and loving shoulder.
    Today is one of those days.

  • 54. Jess  |  January 7, 2009 at 4:04 pm

    Your words are used by the Holy Spirit in my life. Thank you.

  • 55. emily  |  January 7, 2009 at 6:23 pm

    Thanks for writing Molly. I feel like you are or could be an anchor in the Christian world for women and couples who experienced stillbirth through your blog. Have you thought about starting some sort of conference for believers who lost babies? Probably not a regular conference, but more prayer counseling and sharing stories and hearing from speakers who have traveled the road ahead of us. Or just starting a MEND group? Thanks for writing, in any case. I’ve struggled in these past four months since my son was born still, full term, to reconcile my identity as a beloved daughter of God with being the mother of a still born baby. Those two things are still mutually exclusive in my heart. I’m sure so many other women whose expected blessing and joy turned to devastation in a moment struggle with faith and anger and identity and the goodness of God. Sometimes, I want to just meet all of them and hug and cry together for awhile.

  • 56. Kate  |  January 7, 2009 at 7:52 pm

    It’s just that there are no more pure joys for me, it seems. There’s a heavy weight that I pull along through all my joys now, like a loaded-down sled through thick, wet snow.
    And here I was, berating myself, thinking I was the only person thinking and feeling that way. Thanks again for your candor in grieving Felicity. I don’t really know anyone that has suffered through this kind of thing, and that can feel lonely. Reading your blog entries about Felicity make me feel a little less alone.

  • 57. kim  |  January 7, 2009 at 7:59 pm

    You and your little girl are being used by God in so many amazing ways. Praise Him. What a blessing your Felicity has been to so many.

  • 58. Caryn  |  January 7, 2009 at 8:34 pm

    Your honesty & transparency is an encouragement for many! We have to get together soon…I’d love to talk in person.

  • 59. treasuredfemininity  |  January 7, 2009 at 9:19 pm

    well said. joyful but sad, casey

  • 60. Amy  |  January 8, 2009 at 3:26 pm

    i love you, molly! i’m glad you were able to some time to spend with Dave & Danielle during these times 🙂

  • 61. Kathi  |  January 8, 2009 at 6:28 pm

    I still pray for you and Abraham — I won’t stop until you tell me to.

  • 62. Andrea  |  January 9, 2009 at 12:45 pm

    Dearest Molly, you were heavy on my heart this Christmas. For me the holiday season brings back memories of all the previous holidays. I suddenly remember with vividness and relive the emotions of what each past Christmas was like. And so my thoughts and prayers for you have intensified lately. I’m praying you would feel held and loved by your Heavenly Father as you continue living through this.

  • 63. Melissa  |  January 9, 2009 at 5:10 pm

    14 years ago I lost a little girl and every Christmas I feel her. You will never forget you daughter though in time yeah what they say is mostly true. Your daughter is in His arms now. Believe that and all is good. Bless you.

  • 64. Kelly @ Love Well  |  January 10, 2009 at 11:22 pm

    I can’t stop thinking about this post, Molly — and I can’t stop praying for you. It’s such a poignant description of grief. It has greatly tendered my heart.

    My prayer for you is that God would truly, miraculous heal your wound, even as He makes Felicity more and more vivid to you.

    I’m so, so sorry for your loss, Molly.

  • 65. Holly  |  January 11, 2009 at 5:21 pm

    Thank you for putting into words something I have not been able to. My loss is different than yours but I have not been able to admit these feelings – a sense that I would be condemned as a believer. That is what I so appreciate about your blog – your honesty and yet your unwavering faith. Thanks for the encouragement and I have been praying for you throughout the months that I have been a silent reader.

  • 66. Brenda@CoffeeTeaBooks&Me  |  January 12, 2009 at 9:39 am

    I was twenty-two years old when my first child, Matthew, was born and passed away within thirty minutes.

    His sister was born the next year (and another son was added TWELVE years later).

    Now there is another little Matthew toddling around. My daughter named her fourth child (her second boy) Matthew. They called and asked if “I would mind” if they named the newest boy Matthew.

    Mind? What an honor to a little boy who never knew what it was like to be held by his mother but went straight to our Lord.

  • 67. Megan  |  January 12, 2009 at 1:20 pm

    Your words capture so well what I was feeling this Christmas. We lost our first child , Jeriah, this summer and are now expecting another little one in June. I found I was more aware than ever that Jeriah was not there, even though he wouldn’t even have been born yet.
    Your blog has been a huge comfort and encouragement to me over these last few months. Thank you for your honesty.

  • 68. Boysmum2  |  January 15, 2009 at 6:03 pm

    I have never been to that place you are describing, but man I feel for you. I got goosebumps just reading what you wrote.
    May 2009 shine down on you and your family.

  • 69. Marla Taviano  |  January 15, 2009 at 11:03 pm

    I’m so sorry, Molly.

    One of my dear friends just gave birth to a baby girl at 22 weeks. They got to hold her, then she died. Another friend is 27 weeks pregnant with a baby girl who stopped growing at 16 weeks and won’t live.

    My heart breaks for each one of you.

  • 70. Stacy  |  January 16, 2009 at 2:55 pm

    Just wanted to say that I really enjoy your blog and am praying for you.

  • 71. Ebe  |  January 16, 2009 at 10:55 pm

    Molly, I am so sorry for the loss of your precious one, Felicity. I only just found your blog today. My son died at 36 weeks just 6 weeks after your daughter went home to Jesus.

    Owen’s life and death have rocked my very being and everything I’ve ever thought about God has been shaken. I have since lost 2 babies during the first trimester and find myself back at the beginning so to speak.

    Thank you for your honesty, your transparency. God is using your life in ways you cannot imagine. Even though my anger and questions and the confusion abounds in my head, I can still see clearly that God does use all things. ugh. I hate even saying that sometimes, because it’s like a justification and saying ‘it’s ok with me that my son died.’ When…no…It’s not ok that Owen and I are separated. I miss him. There is always a big hole, a void, where he should be growing up.

    Your words strike a cord within me and I want to shout from the roof tops ‘I am grieving!!! I am not over anything!’

    I’m sorry to ramble. I’m sorry for your loss.
    Praying for you tonight.

  • 72. Chelsea Pang  |  January 20, 2009 at 9:13 pm

    We are just four months out from our loss of Grace Ola. I think about how different our lives would be with her, if she was healthy of if she was home and sick (she had Trisomy 18). But I am so thankful for the way she lived out her life, I couldn’t have imagined it a better way. It still hurts and I am always changed, never over her.


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