Two years…It’s been two years since I delivered our sleeping baby.  Two years since I held him in my arms, prayed over him, cried until the tears wouldn’t come, kissed his beautiful face, and asked God all the “whys” Two years ago my life was forever changed.  The way I love my husband, the way I care for my children, the way I interact with others, the way that I view the world, and my faith all changed in a matter of seconds.  Recently I have had a few people tell me how strong I am, I feel like a fraud, because I know how weak I am.  You see for two years I have struggled with this faith that I always held tight.  This faith that no longer makes sense.  This faith that now holds more questions than answers.  Since that day I have cried more tears, loved more fiercely, questioned more deeply, and held onto moments more closely. 

I remember dropping off Luca that morning at my parent’s house.  Clinging to my parents and Jeff, crying repeatedly “I can’t do this, please don’t make me do this”.  As my dad prayed over us, it was all I could do to get into the car to go.  The drive to the hospital was eerily quiet, as we both sat with tears streaming down our faces. 

Sitting in the delivery room, being induced, giving birth and holding my beautiful son wrecked me in ways I can never fully express.  I remember when they told me that Zechariah was coming and it was time to push, all I could do was cry, afraid of the silence that was about to follow.  Hearing the joyful sounds of babies crying in the next room just added the extra feeling of sharp knives stabbing at my heart.  It was a pain so deep I felt it with every part of me.  My son would never cry, he would never open his eyes, and he would never breath a breath of air.  I wanted to take all the pictures, get all the hand and footprints, hold him as much as possible, kiss him over and over again, because I was so afraid to let go.  Letting go, placing him in his small casket would mean goodbye, I wasn’t ready for goodbye and the finality it brought.  After we placed him in his casket, a guard took him and led us to the elevator where we rode in silence, both struggling to breath as we sobbed.  We got to our floor, touched his tiny casket one more time, and walked away, leaving our son to go down another flight to the mortuary. 

Two years feels like a long time, but the memories of that day, the pain, the fear, the questions remain.  When talking with my closest friends, I share that God and I are working things out.  I think that is the best way to describe my faith.  I know He is real, I felt Him closely in that room.  It was a mixture of all the pain, yet there was a beautiful sense of Peace that was there.  I’m working through believing in a good Father amid such brokenness.  I am learning how to love myself and forgive myself for not being able to protect my son.  For feeling like a failure, because my body failed him, and I couldn’t keep him safe.  I am working through the struggle and painful understanding that I found out I was pregnant with my miracle baby two weeks before Zechariah’s due date.   That I spent that pregnancy afraid that my body would fail me again, that I would have to say goodbye to another son.  The painful irony that one son’s life couldn’t be here without one son’s death. 

Two years…it’s your Heaven Day Zechariah Hilby Rubino – giving birth to you has absolutely wrecked me, brought me to my knees, and has made me strive every day to be a better mother, wife, sister, daughter, and woman.  You remind me every day that life is not guaranteed, and to hug your brothers and daddy tight every night.  I can’t wait to hold you one day in Heaven and to kiss your sweet face a million times. 

Mama loves you, you are always in my heart!