The night before I miscarried, I had a dream. It was one of the most beautiful dreams I have ever had. My husband and I were in an orphanage looking at the children. Across the room I saw a little boy I knew to be our son. We went over to him and saw that he had three arms. I asked him how old he was and he held up seven fingers on two of his hands. We smiled at each other and God blessed me with experiencing the love of my son. I delighted in his presence. Then he held up his other hand and waved to me saying, "Goodbye, Mommy." My eyes filled with tears and I woke up. Tears were streaming down my face and I quickly awoke Tony to share this dream with him. It was just minutes later that I began to miscarry.
Over the past few months I have had much time to reflect on this miraculous dream and the one feeling I keep coming back to is overwhelming love and thanksgiving to God for granting me those precious few moments with our son before he left us to be with the Father. I will cherish this gift from Him all the days of my life. Thank You, Father.