Roman Xavi- 2 Months Later

Today marks two months since we said goodbye to Roman.  Here are just some scattered thoughts of mine...

Looking Back

One day, I went back and read my old blog posts about my pregnancy with Roman.  I had nearly forgotten that in the very beginning we had a scare that we were going to miscarry with him.  After the scare passed, I wrote my first blog post about him, and in it, I said this:

"We kept coming back to our prayers, that no matter what happens with our baby, may we still say "praise God" at the end of the day.  Because our God is a faithful and loving God who will never abandon us nor forsake us in times of trouble.  And even if bad things happen because of the sin that is in this world, we can still say with confidence that we serve a good God."

Wow.  I can't believe that I wrote these words about our sweet boy, not knowing what the future held for him.  But God knew.  And  I think He has used these words of mine to remind myself that he is still good.  That though my circumstances with Roman have changed, He has not changed.  He has not forsaken us in this time, but rather drawn us ever closer.  

Joy & Pain

I have found over the past couple months that this new season we are in is constantly riddled with joy and pain.  
Joy as we celebrated Christmas and Christ's birth.  Pain, as I look at the photos of the kids in their matching PJs and know that Roman's set will go unused.  
Joy as we spend time together as a family.  Pain as we always notice his absence.
Joy as my body heals and returns to normal.  Pain as my body no longer bears the marks of him.
Joy as friends welcome their babies into this world.  Pain as my arms are empty.
Joy as we get ready for our big vacation to Australia in a couple of weeks.  Pain because Roman was supposed to be with us.  We had meticulously planned this trip around him, planning to take his passport photo in the hospital, joking about how he would have the youngest passport photo ever, figuring out how to get all our baby gear there on top of everything else.  Though our load will be lighter, our hearts will be heavier.  

How We're Doing

I know so many people have been praying for us and would love to know how we are doing.  Every few days, up until a couple of weeks ago, I would ask Ron, "Do you think it's getting any easier?"  He would respond, "No, do you?"  "Nope."  We often wondered if such pain would ever diminish even an ounce.  2 months later, I can say that it has.  Maybe not a lot, but it is getting a little easier.  I am still sad throughout most days, break down often, and think about him constantly, but the crushing weight of pain that I felt every second of the day isn't always present.  In the last couple weeks, I have found a day or two might feel "normal."  We of course will never forget our son, but hopefully the grief that plagues us when we do think of him, will diminish.  

As hard as it is to go through this ourselves, it's harder to watch our young children walk through such heavy grief.  Fynn has had nightmares pretty regularly since we lost Roman; we're not entirely sure it's related but the timing is there.  I think he understands who Baby Roman was and that we had to say goodbye to him, but beyond that he is limited in his understanding of course.  Aly is still processing and working through everything too.  She has started having more breakdowns as she thinks about him, sadness, confusion, and frustration as her classmates (naturally) can't understand or empathize with her.  It's also hard with things like doing an "All About My Family" unit at school.  We're all trying to navigate what this new dynamic looks like.  Like how do we include a picture of our whole family on a family collage, when we don't even have a picture of the 5 of us?  It's the little things that are hard.  


One passage of scripture I keep coming back to is Lamentations 3.  Though we are so afflicted, we constantly must remind ourselves of the hope that we have.  

"My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.  But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”...For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart or grieve the children of men." -Lamentations 3:20-24, 31-33

A Letter to Roman

Roman, my sweet baby, I cannot believe two months have already passed since I held you in my arms.  We have started to pick up the pieces of our lives again, but we are forever missing one piece.  Instead we carry you in our hearts and minds always.  You're on my mind every hour of the day.  I think about all the things you would be doing right now, smiling, learning to laugh, and I ache to know your smile and hear your voice.  I see your brother and sister with other babies, and I mourn the loss of you for them.  Fynn would have been such a great big brother to you.  I often selfishly wish you were here with us, but I am reminded that you are in the best place, Heaven, and what kind of mother would I be to want to take you away from there?  I am thankful you are in a place where there is no pain or suffering, and you are with God who loves you infinitely more than I ever could.  We were so ready to bring you home, but God was too.  You have made Heaven that much sweeter, my son.  And we look with anticipation to the day we get to see you again.  

Love Always,