shine on

Whenever this time of year rolls around, the constant ache in my chest expands, like an oddly shaped balloon, the pressure building, threatening to burst.  I realize it's another year without the twins, and undoubtedly wake up crying on their birthdays.  Five. years.  It has been nearly five whole years since we met and lost them, five whole years since we held them in our arms.  It's an indescribable feeling to stare at your daughter's angelic face, realizing it mirrors your own; or hear your son's first and last cry, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest until it becomes utterly still.

I think of our babies often, every day, in fact -- but late August always feels a bit more raw.

I read today that it's National Rainbow Baby Day.  It wasn't until after Sophia was born that I was first introduced to the term, "rainbow baby," and couldn't imagine a more fitting name.  After weathering a loss, it's a beacon of hope -- like a rainbow after a rainstorm.  And our Sophia, she is nothing short of a miracle.  She's not a replacement for our angel babies, but she has healed us somehow, teaching us to carry our darlings with us in heart and in mind.

To my rainbow baby, shine on.  Shine on as a symbol of hope, and strength, and perseverance, and courage, and love.  Shine on as we remember your siblings and what can come after -- beauty, and grace, and life.