March 10th

It’s very hard to believe a year has gone by since our hearts were broken by baby Zach’s death. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him, in some way or another. I often wonder what he would have been like – his personality, his looks, his character. Would he have been outgoing, or shy? Would he have been a bookworm like his parents? Would he have had his daddy’s dry sense of humor, or been over-analytical like his momma? Would he have loved sports and supported the Steelers, like his dad, or loved the piano, like his mom? Even little things, like would he have pulled Toby’s tail out on the deck, or chased him around the yard? It’s sad to think that we will never know the answers to these questions.

There are so many unwritten “memories” that I have of him – things that will never come to be. His first steps, first day of school, first girlfriend, first time behind the wheel, high school and college graduation, wedding day, etc. This is what is the hardest about grief over one who died in the womb – you don’t have any memories. They are all just dreams that stay dreams.

It is difficult to know how to mourn for one I never met, but one whom I loved nonetheless. The world often has a hard time validating the significance of babies, especially ones that were never known or held. But we know that Zach was special – that He was God’s gift to us, and that he was greatly wanted and loved. I know I didn’t grasp this until we lost him. For truly, my short time with him has changed me forever. I am not the same person I was before him. That, if nothing else, serves to remind me just how precious he is. What little relationship I had with him in the womb was powerful – I didn’t even realize how much so until he was gone.

As for now, a year later, I’m still working hard to sort through all my feelings and thoughts regarding everything that has happened concerning Zach. I think I will be doing this for the rest of my life, although I anticipate greater relief and peace the further along I go. I believe he wants our joy to be restored, and our heartache to be redeemed. I like to believe that Zach is in heaven smiling at us, knowing how much we love him and wanted him to be a part of our earthly family. I like to believe that God has given him the ability to understand our difficulties in trying to grieve for him but also move on. That he knows he will always have a place in our heart as our first born son; even that he is excited about a baby sister coming for his mommy and daddy to hold. His sister will make us a family of four, even though only three of us are physically together. I’ve often read that a woman who loses a child, even one that was still in the womb, forever feels that her family is incomplete. I believe that is true.

This day is a powerful reminder of the excruciating pain and loss that Adam and I experienced with Zach’s death. There are no words to do it justice. Yet, we are comforted that while we wrestle with grief, Zach is at peace, in the arms of Jesus. While I know he wants to be with us, at least we can know that he is well taken care of, and that we will see him again someday. One of my favorite images of him to remember is a video of a sonogram that we had done just a few weeks before he died. At one point in the video, you can see him hold his hand up, and it appears he is waving to us. At the time we thought he was saying hello to us, but now, it is the final scene in my mind of saying goodbye. What a treasure to have that image of him, our baby boy.

Lovingly dedicated to the memory of Zach Moore, our first born son, who died before he was born on March 10, 2006.